Page 21 of Catching Camila

Camila jumped back.

The guy from the dumpster. His arms and legs were a mess of dirt and scratches. He was shirtless and the skin on his sculpted body was raw and red. His expression? Terrified.

“Oh my God, what happened?” she asked, dropping her trash bag. His jaw was tight, his eyes hollow. She stepped back, her hands starting to tremble. “Are you hurt?”

Finally his voice broke from his throat, a cracked whisper. “I didn’t know where else to go. Someone attached me.” He looked down at his trembling hands. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.” He swiveled to go.

“Wait!” She held her hands out as if that could stop him. What was she doing? She shouldn’t be talking to a strange, shirtless guy. But, he looked absolutely terrified. How many times had she faced her terrors alone?

She had to think quick or he'd bolt again. She slipped both hands around her body and lifted the baggy work shirt off her head. Clad only in a thin white tank top, she held her T-shirt out to him.

“Here,” she said. His eyes were so deep, so brown, she could fall into them. “Take it.”

He took a step toward her. She looked into his face, the strong chin covered with a few days’ worth of stubble, the way his sorrowful eyes watched her like she was a falling star and he was making a wish. She could smell his earthen scent beneath the dirt. Heat ran up her arm as his hand closed around the T-shirt.

He lifted his eyes to hers, a question forming on his face.

“You can’t walk around shirtless,” she said. Well, he probably could with pecs and abs like that. “Do you need medical attention? Should I call someone?”

He shook his head vigorously. “Don’t call anyone.”

“Then what happened?”

He pulled on her shirt. The flex of his chest drew her eyes, his washboard abs, the ripple in his thick arms as he pulled the pink shirt on, tugged it over all that muscle.

“I…I just got scared.”

“Oh… Okay.” He wasn’t ready to talk. She knew what that felt like.

“What’s your name?”

She dropped her eyes and smiled. “Camila.”

“Thank you, Camila.”

“I don't know your name.”

He looked up at her. “It's…John.”

Voices from inside.

Camila stiffened. “They’re coming.” She turned around, then spun back to John. “Where are you sleeping tonight?” She shook her head. “Never mind, just meet me back here at nine. Okay?”

The nod of agreement came immediately, relief flooding his eyes. Seeing the fear leave his face sent warm tingles across her chest.

She smiled, lifted her hand in parting, and then turned and walked back into the shop.

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