His eyes hold me captive as I will my body to keep moving, to get in the car and leave. But I still as he approaches.
“That from your boyfriend?” He jerks his chin to the cocoa in my hand.
I glance down at the packet, then back to him. No trace of the vulnerability I saw at the gym. He seems so… confident… all the time. From experience, I know it gets exhausting holding your anxiety inside all the time.
And who does this guy think he is, anyway? Isn’t that a personal question? What makes him think I want to talk to him about intimate details of my life?
Someone says hi to him as they walk past us, and Ares jerks his chin again. That arrogant head-tip-hello thing that guys do. I want to be icked out by his cockiness, but my gaze catches on the stubble on his chin, and I want to drag my teeth over it.
Yeah, I’m screwed. Would he notice if I started fanning my girl parts? He’s paying such close attention to me that he’d notice.
His eyes search my face as though the answer to his question might be written there. I shake my head.
If someone were to take my temperature right now, I’d likely register a fever. My body is scorched all over, and the longer I stand in his presence, the more my skin sizzles. I need to get myself out of his space. The closer I am to this man, the more likely I am to combust.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” His eyebrow arches, his chocolate eyes twinkling as though he’s contemplating saying something else.
What was he going to say? That if I have a boyfriend, it doesn’t matter? That if I have a boyfriend, he could join us? I try to fight the shiver skating up my spine, but it makes me twitch involuntarily.
Oooooh, rats. I’ve gone and done it now. The temptation to scrunch my eyes shut until he disappears is so overwhelming. My heart is stammering along in my chest, and I’m sweating through the brown paper packet in my hand.
I shake my head again.
He hooks his knuckle under my chin. My hair falls away from my face as he tips my head. My breath catches somewhere in my throat on a strangled gasp as I’m forced to look him directly in the eye. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Ugly.
He’s touching me. He’s touching my face. My actual face. Swallowing down the panic, I don’t smack him away this time.
My stomach tightens, and the urge to recoil is strong. No one touches my face. I barely even touch my face. If he goes near my cheek, I may cry right here in the middle of the street. Or vomit on him. That’d be one way to get rid of him, I suppose.
His other hand reaches for my hair. I dunno if he’s going to stroke it, or move it but I flinch so hard, the packet of hot chocolate I was clutching tightly only a second ago falls to the ground.
He pauses, like he’s reconsidering touching my hair. Is that because I winced? Or because he doesn’t want to touch me?
“Cat got your tongue?”
I don’t know if he didn’t hear the cocoa hit the ground, or if he doesn’t care, but he grazes his thumb over my bottom lip. It’s hard to keep my body from arching into him.
Torn. My face is laid bare in front of him, burning under his appraising stare. It feels like fire ants crawling over my scar. But he’s not visibly disgusted, he’s not recoiling in horror, he’s not looking at me with pity in his eyes.
Ugh. I want him to graze other parts of me, too, but I don’t want to want it. I also want him to say dirty, dirty things with his tongue. And I don’t want to want that either.
The contradiction is tying me in knots, and despite my shallow breaths and my on-fire face, he doesn’t let me go. He holds my chin, tilting my head enough that I can fall into his bottomless stare.
His eyes glance down to my mouth, then back to my eyes. His tongue sneaks out to dampen his lips. Is his tongue pierced too? If Tori is right about his pierced manhood, he could have other piercings, too.
I urge my voice to come out so I’m not stuck here, standing mute, staring into the enchanting eyes of the man I dreamt of pressed up against me last night. “I…” My voice is crusty, like I haven’t had a drink for weeks. I clear my throat and try again. “I don’t know who they’re from.”
He leans closer, his breath tickling my skin like in my dream. The way he angles my head makes my hair fall back on one side. Thankfully, it’s my good side. His eyes rake along my jaw as though he’s contemplating nibbling on it, and I’ll be damned if I don’t quietly pray to God that he does just that, willing my dream to come to life right here in the street.
“Secret admirer?” He cocks his head to the side, humor dancing in his eyes. “Interesting.” He looks down at where our skin is connected. Does he feel anything at the touch? I can’t tell from his face, but my chin definitely knows he’s there, and when he pulls back his hand, I ache to lean forward so he touches me again.
What in the world is wrong with me? This man must be a wizard, because as anxious as I can be sometimes, I’ve never been so boy-struck that I stand nodding at someone without the ability to speak.
Maybe I’m stunned by his confidence. That has to be what it is.
“We have back-to-back games home tonight and away tomorrow, but we’re having a party at the hockey house the night after. You want to flush out your secret admirer by being my date?”
