Page 24 of Brushed and Buried
I stumble rounding the first cone, my elbows buckling and the ground rushing up at me. Before I can crash, Vince jerks my legs higher and steps forward, catching me with practiced ease. The sudden shift tips my chest upward at the same moment his body leans down to keep hold. For one suspended heartbeat,our faces are drawn close, closer than they should be in a game like this.
Light catches the edge of his jaw as his breath brushes mine, warm and sharp with the mix of cologne and skin. The noise of the crowd fades until it feels less like a race and more like a charcoal sketch of two bodies straining for balance, held steady by tension more than touch.
We manage to cross the finish line without disaster, but Vince doesn’t drop my legs immediately like I expect. Instead, he lowers them slowly and carefully, as if measuring how much he can let slip without the invisible cameras of his celebrity life turning it into something else. His hands slide along my calves as he sets me back on my feet, and I swear he hesitates just long enough to make me wonder, before he finally steps back and puts that careful distance between us again.
We move on to the next game, the water balloon toss. I grab a balloon, a perfect round orb of deep red. Vince stands across from me as we both step away from the starting line. We toss the balloon without letting it burst, and after every successful catch, we take another step back. It seems easy at first, until the balloons grow heavier and the space between us stretches thin.
Holly and the other bridesmaids are laughing and wobbling a few steps away, already dripping from the water bursts. Their shirts cling to wet bras, shrieking with each failed toss. Lance keeps glancing at them a little too long, and George smacks him on the back of the head with a loud, “Focus!”
I grin at the chaos around us, but try to keep my attention on the balloon. Vince’s lips quirk as he tosses gently, with a perfect arc. I catch it, feeling the water shift inside. For a second, we’re flawless, moving in rhythm, and I swear I could forget the world.
However, disaster strikes just as I lift the balloon to toss it back to Vince, and it bursts the moment it leaves my hands. Water slaps against my chest, soaking the pale blue shirt I was hoping would hide…well, me. The fabric sticks stubbornly, molding to my skin, the nipples obvious despite my subtle attempt to shift and cover. I glance at Vince, and his eyes flick to mine, holding just long enough to make my stomach tip, then slide away, smooth as if nothing happened.
We’ve lost. I lower my arms, trying to shake off the chill and the heat of being seen. Around us, other pairs are still tossing. Eventually, Trevor announces Stephanie and one of his female cousins as the winners. They’re both dry and steady, laughing, raising their hands in triumph. The group erupts with cheers, whistles, and playful groans.
Vince steps beside me, shirt damp from sweat. I try to ignore how his shoulder brushes mine when he leans to watch the winners, but it’s impossible. My chest still burns from the earlier glance, my soaked shirt pressing against me, my nipples peeking through the fabric.
“Sorry,” I mutter quietly. “I…I messed up.”
He shrugs, the corner of his mouth tilting up, casual but grounding. “It’s a game,” he says, voice low enough that no one else hears. “No harm done.”
The crowd moves on, laughter spilling through the yard. Water balloons are discarded, towels waved around, and the games shift to the next activity. I stand there, feeling the brush of heat that lingers, not from the sun, but from the proximity of him.
We take a cool-down break. Everyone lounges on the grass, sipping lemonade.
Vince passes behind me, brushing my lower back as he moves to grab a drink. The contact lingers long enough for me to notice and feel a small jolt run through me. He doesn’t pause. He keeps walking, but the air around me still sizzles.
I turn slightly and catch him staring at the group. Something has changed. He’s softer, not entirely open, but thawing. The armor is there with just a crack in it.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of laughter, close calls, and small, electric touches. By the end of it all, the group collapses on the grass, sweaty, sunburned in places, but laughing harder than I have in weeks. Vince sits beside me, shoulder touching mine. I feel him exhale slowly, almost imperceptibly. Almost…like relief.
Trevor nudges him, smirking. “See, Vince? Touch him more. You’ll survive. Maybe you’ll even like it.”
Vince snorts quietly, his gaze lowered as if daring anyone to notice. I lean in just a little, letting the warmth between us linger. It feels effortless, charged and undeniable. He doesn’t pull away, not completely. And that alone is enough for now.
Today, he is here. Present in a way he hasn’t been for a long time. He’s opening up, not fully, but just enough to make my chest ache and my mind spin.
10
Adrian
Lunch feels too loud and bright. Everyone’s joking, shoving sandwiches down, drinking fizzy sodas, with sunburns starting to show. Vince is across the table, all broad shoulders and silence, chewing like he’s in the middle of a locker room huddle instead of a wedding-week circus.
I keep catching myself watching him. I hate that.
Becca jumps to her feet and claps, her smile wide. “Alright, ready for round two?”
Cheers erupt across the lawn, the post-lunch lull instantly broken. The coordinators fan out, passing around slim paper envelopes like party favors.
“Next up,” Becca announces, her voice carrying over the buzz, “The Destination Clue Chase.You’ll stick with the same partner as earlier. Every pair gets an envelope, and inside is your first clue. Solve it, get to the spot, take a photo, and only then can you open the next one. There are four checkpoints total. The final destination is a surprise sunset picnic.”
The crowd hums with excitement, voices overlapping as people laugh and elbow each other, snatching up envelopes like it’s Christmas morning. Vince gets ours, pinched neatly between two fingers as if it might wrinkle otherwise.
I study him out of the corner of my eye, hunting for any crack in that armor. If he’s annoyed about being stuck with me again, he hides it well. The only giveaway, if it even is one, is the faint pause before he slides the envelope into his back pocket, like he needs a breath no one’s allowed to see.
I give him a half-smile, breaking the silence. “I’ll try not to slow us down this time.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he says, voice low, measured. “You’re fine. We’ll be fine.”
