Page 13 of Heartbeats and Hashtags
Well,shit. I have some serious damage control and trust rebuilding to do after sticking my foot in my mouth just minutes into meeting this woman I'm meant to protect.
From the hallway she calls out, “Oh! And I’m going on a run tomorrow morning at 7 am. Join me if you think you’ll be able to keep up.”
I grin despite myself.Maybe this assignment will be more exciting than I thought.
EVERLY
Iwake early, eager to clear my head and head down the hall and give Cole's door a loud knock.
“Rise and shine!” I call out cheerily. “Going for a run in ten minutes. Meet me downstairs.”
“I’m already awake, I’ll be down in five.”
I roll my eyes,of coursehe’s already awake. He’s probably already completed a hundred press-ups and made his bed.
Five minutes later,to the second, Cole appears. He runs a hand through his messy hair, and I pointedly avoid staring at how his athletic shirt clings to his sculpted frame.
“Alright, let's do this,”
I take off into a jog, and he settles into pace beside me. I set a brisk tempo, running a little faster than I usually would with the audience.
I let my breath find a rhythmic pace, soaking in the fresh air. I peer out of the corner of my eye, noticing Cole matching my stride even when I accelerate.Bastard.
I lose myself in the run's cadence until we slow outside my favorite café. Nearby, a couple strolls past, murmuring intimately with easy affection. My chest twinges.
Truthfully, I’ve never felt genuinely loved before. Sure, I’ve had publicity stunt flings and a few connections, but they all ultimately ended in heartbreak. Much to my own annoyance, the yearning for fairy tale romance still flickers inside.
Expecting passionate, lasting love is foolish and naïve. In the back of my mind, lingering doubts planted long ago whisper that I'm too broken or unlovable to ever have someone commit for the long run.You’re not good enough, not pretty enough, not skinny enough.
My trust in men cracks a little more each time a relationship crumbles. Cynicism comes easy after enough disappointment. Sometimes the reminder of my father leaving makes me wonder if abandonment isinevitablefor people like me.
I shut down that spiral quickly, shaking off the gloom before Cole can notice. His alien eyes give me the creeps. When he looks at me, I feel as though he can read all my emotions and thoughts.
As we head inside the cafe, I meet his observant gaze. It sends a spark of electricity along all my nerve endings.That’s just because it’screepy.
The aroma of caffeine and pastries fills my senses, making me salivate.
I'd pushed myself to the limits on the run here, driven by a subconscious need to impress Cole, to challenge him. But while I’m panting and sticky with sweat, I risk a glance at Cole, who is breathing perfectly well and actually looks better than when we started the run. I suck in an unsteady breath, trying to compose myself.
I move up to first in line, feeling the intense stare of Cole's eyes heavy on me and resisting the urge to look back and see if my instinct was true. A young barista taps the counter with perfectly painted claws.
She is wearing braces with multicolored elastics, probably about sixteen years old, and I offer her a warm smile. When I was only thirteen, I’d chosen the same color mixture; I'd been teased endlessly for mine, and after that I got gray every time. She looked up and gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth and nearly dropping the mug she was holding.
“Oh my gosh, you're OhItsEverly, right?” she lisped. I remember that unfortunate side effect. I was so embarrassed I didn’t talk for a whole week after my braces had been fitted.
I laugh a little. “Yeah, or you can just call me Everly.” I wink.
This is a nice hit of positive recognition. Young girls and women make up a large portion of my fan base, and mostly, they’re like this girl: sweet and nice.
She laughs a little too loudly, and her cheeks flush a bright pink.
“Sorry, it’s my first day, gosh. I love your account. Your style is, like, always on point.”
“Thanks you. I really appreciate that.” I point to her hands. “By the way, I love your nails. They're really cute.”
The barista’s eyes widen, and her jaw nearly hits the floor. “Seriously? You think?”
I nod.
