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My parents would rejoice if I simply let them do as they wished without argument. Not that arguing would matter much anyway.
In my world, smarmy blue bloods spent their lives making people believe they were good and doing whatever was necessary to further their own agenda
s. Following a predestined path came with the lineage that swam through our veins. I loved my family, but that didn’t make me blind to their sordid truths.
Gracelyn nudged me with her elbow, interrupting my inner monologue. Meeting her eye, she did some weird brow movement that had me quirking one of mine.
“What?”
“Look,” she mouthed silently, giving a subtle nod of her head.
I glanced over at the group of guys. None of them were paying us any attention. Looking back at Gracelyn, she shrugged and waved her hand as if to say, “Never mind.”
As she and Mel began a debate about one of the newer movies coming out, I adjusted how I was sitting once again.
The new position gave me a better view of my visual delight. He was intently focused on the cellphone in his hand, head angled down.
I used his distraction as an opportunity to really drink him in, committing the smaller details to memory.
His toned arms had sleeves running all the way down to his fingers, each tattoo a well-placed piece of artwork on his sun-kissed skin, every one of them adding to how damn fine he was. He looked like someone you’d find within the pages of a more sophisticated edition of Inked Magazine.
The angle his head was at allowed me to peep the tat on the nape of his neck--some variation of a cross with wide spanning wings. I dropped my gaze back down to his right arm, studying all the different pieces that were visible beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt. There was a cluster of roses similar to the sole tattoo I had on my upper shoulder.
His petals were black while mine were both purple and magenta. Gracelyn and Melantha had the same one, but their colors were different. Each hue held a different meaning to who we were as people.
A devilish depiction of the crying Virgin Mary was on his inner forearm, beneath that was another rose, this one by itself. On his hand was the face of a woman with skull-like features. Beside her, a word I couldn’t read unless I leaned way too close for either of our comfort.
Not wanting to get caught in my thorough perusal, I looked around the shuttle bus, counting how many people were on board and taking in their appearances. Had I not gotten enamored with the guy beside me, I would have already done this.
I liked trying to guess someone’s story, seeing how spot on I could be. Everyone had a tale they could tell.
From the grocery store cashier to the person that delivered the mail. No one person walked through life the same as another. There could be similarities and situations we related to, but in the end, we were all individual souls--some of us more damaged than others.
There once was a time I would go to the park just so I could people watch. That was prior to my life spinning out of control, before my rose-colored glasses were snatched away. Everything that happened afterward left me with some valuable, hard-learned life lessons. One being that appearances were almost always misleading.
That had me considering the man to the left of me again.
I was especially curious about him, more so than I should’ve been. He was someone I would never see again once we got to the airport, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to know him.
Our first (albeit dismal) interaction would leave me to believe he was a nice guy with a sense of humor—an undeniably attractive nice guy. That didn’t mean he was, a nice guy that is. He could’ve been the worst kind of sinner, could’ve been a saint. Or he could’ve simply been a regular mundane guy enjoying a vacation with his friends.
Relaxed and without a smile lifting strong-lined features, his default expression was uninviting. I’d go as far as to say intimidating. The hue of the setting sun drew attention to his hair. He was sporting a rather dapper style—an undercut that was long on top and short on the sides.
The smooth strands were dark brown with naturally lighter pieces weaved in.
It looked good on him. I imagined most anything would, though. He suddenly glanced away from the screen of his phone, and I pretended I was looking out the opposite window.
I probably looked twice as obvious now. It was hard to play off you’d been staring at someone once you made direct eye contact. He didn’t call me out on it, thank god.
“Are you guys from the area?” he asked, pocketing his cellphone.
“No, we--.”
“Where are you from?” Mel cut in.
I shot her a questioning look.
What was that?
