Page 26 of The List of Things

“This is proving my point. Only hopeless romantics hope for a happy ending… It’s just like real life, nothing ends the way you want it! That’s just the way it goes. That’s why I love the movie. It’s real.”

His arm falls, slinking around my lower back only to slide me closer to him. I move my hands up, still keeping some distance as I place my manicured hand on his chest.

“I just love how pessimistic you are…” He smiles.

“And I hate how optimistic you are,” I fight back, my tone completely playful.

“You’re a shit liar... Either way, my favorite romance is The Notebook. It’s top tier... And even though the ending wasn’t perfect, it was better than that stupid La La Land movie. And the Proposal. It’s the best one. It’s the best cast. And it has a wonderful trope too.”

I scrunch my nose up. “You using the word trope feels wrong,” I tell him.

“Don’t be mad because I’m just as well rounded in romance as you are.”

I get up, moving toward the railing of the ferry boat, but not too close. The sun is setting, the sky a million shades, all blending together perfectly. My eyes scan over everything, my ears listen in, the waves slapping the boat, and the simple sound of the engine too.

“It’s your turn.”

I feel him behind me, and then next to me. He walks to the railing, actually standing on the edge, holding on, looking at the water below him.

“Which of your tattoos is your favorite?” I ask, my eyes catching the ink that peeks from the black shirt.

“Well, this is a few pieces mixed into one big piece so I guess I really only have one in my head,” He tells me, and I watch as he pulls up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing his bicep to me, my mouth watering on the spot.

I suck in a breath at the sight of the tattoo fully. It looks like a painting, angels, sculptures. It’s incredibly well done, and beautiful. The black and white shading almost makes it look real.

“What’s the significance? With your parents I mean...” I ask.

I instinctively reach my hand out, stepping close to him. I take his arm in my hand, touching his warm skin, turning his arm so I can see the half sleeve that must continue onto his chest. I can’t see all of it because the piece is so big. He’s quiet, so I look up at him. He’s watching me as I touch him, his eyes stuck like glue on my face. He’s very attentive in what he does, and how he watches me, and I’m not used to it yet at all. I feel like running away when I catch his eyes on me like they are now.

“Oh... Um, my parents passed away when I was in high school. They traveled a lot, they were big in business, but they had a company together so every deal was done together, every trip... I spent a lot of time with my grandparents growing up, but my parents always made it home for my games... They loved Italy... They loved art. Michelangelo, and all those older painters, and artists. That’s why I chose this style, it’s significant to them. Some of their favorite things all meshed into one,” He tells me, his words directed to me as I carefully inspect the intricate ink on his strong arm.

He’s incredibly open. More open than I could be and I appreciate that, but I’m unsure of how I should go about talking to him about it... If I should even acknowledge it at all...

“Wow...” I breathe out. Those are the only words I can form at the sight of the artwork etched on his skin.

Not only do I not know how to reply to him after what he just said, but I also can’t stop looking. It’s the perfect piece to be able to dedicate to someone else. It truly is one of the most beautiful pieces of work I’ve ever seen on someone’s body. It helps that his body is so nice and sculpted... A piece of art itself.

I let my hands fall, and look up at him, noticing how close he is to me, and how close we are to the railing I have tried so hard to keep a distance from.

“It’s your turn,” I almost whisper the words, and he nods, his eyes still staring me down.

I wonder if he feels the tension between us or if I’m completely making it up in my head. I wonder if he knows that I want to touch him again.

“You hate romance... Is it because of Dylan?” He asks me, and I instantly glare at him, my eyes narrowing.

The tension leaves my body, and annoyance fills it.

“That has nothing to do with it. And it’s none of your business either. What about you? Why did you and Leah break up?” I cross my arms over my chest, and he tilts his head.

“I didn’t mean to piss you off Ryn... Either way, I just want to make sure someone else didn’t ruin something for you that you deserve to enjoy,” He’s even closer to me now.

I look up at him as he faces me head on, his eyes looking down on me, his body right in front of me. My back is turned away from the water, and the railing. He leans forward, his hands grasping the railing, and simultaneously pushing my back against it too. He’s pressing me to the cold metal, holding me in place. Our chests touch, and my heart stops.

“Are you going to tell me, or are you just going to stare?” I try my hardest to keep my lips pressed together, not letting an inkling of a smile peak out.

“I don’t know, I like the view,” He raises his eyebrows, a lopsided smirk forming on his lips.

“That was incredibly cheesy,” I loved it though.

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