Page 35 of Fate Fiction

“If you keep coming back I might have to keep overtaking one of the cabins that same week,” my eyes widened at how quickly that flirty quip snuck out.

Evan was, unsurprisingly, unphased. “I’d happily allow it, so long as I get to shadow you for the week. Though we might have to discuss quiet hours for singing in the shower.”

There was no way to cover up my swiftly pinkening cheeks. I hadn’t felt banter this simple since the early days of dating Nick.

“I thought you said you liked my voice?”

Now I was playing it up. It all felt almost too easy. This may all be a prank and the cops and paparazzi would be waiting in the parking lot, restraining order in hand, but damn, was it fun. To keep myself grounded I had to tell myself that he’s an actor, and he was only acting like a normal cute flirty guy.

“I believe I said it was nice⁠—”

A resounding thud cut Evan off mid sentence from my body crashing to the ground. I got too in my head and missed a large twisted root jutting from the ground, which my ankle was now firmly placed under. I was stunned by how fast it all happened, one second I was upright and now I was facedown in the dirt.

I pushed myself up, waiting for pain to set in and the shock to wear off. There wasn’t a horrific popping or ripping sound accompanying the thud, so at a minimum it wasn’t broken or torn.

Without speaking Evan grabbed me from under my shoulders and pulled me up. I certainly wasn’t waifish, but he wasn’t straining, not even a bit.

Unfortunately the action was incredibly hot. Maybe I liked being a little bit of a damsel in distress.

I assessed the damage. Aside from scratches on my knees and hands and a dull pain in my ankle I was fine, mortified maybe, but physically fine.

“Are you ok?” Evan asked, helping brush debris off. His hand lingered a little long on my hip before stepping backwards.

“I’m good,” I exhaled in a huff, “ego might be bruised, sorry I’m not the rugged guide you might have signed up for.” I attempted to cover the embarrassment with a halfhearted smile.

“You might have some battle scars now, so if anything you earned the rugged title.”

I finished brushing off my legs and kicking the dirt off my sneakers. The scrapes on my hands weren’t all that bad, and dirt had managed to avoid the broken skin.

Evan was looking at me, almost like I was a baby deer who needed to take its first steps before he’d be assured that I was stable enough. My ankle definitely didn’t feel good, but it was only about two miles to the car. We were making good time, and the pain would be manageable. I took a few cautious steps and reassessed the situation. It was fine, and even if it started to become not fine I certainly wasn’t going to force Evan to play the hero and carry me back.

“I’m good, seriously. We can keep walking.” I needed to reassure him.

His eyes had grown so big, and so hypnotically blue. He still looked concerned as I kept walking.

I felt obligated to change the subject out of concern that the next forty five minutes would consist of “are you okay?” every quarter mile.

I thought back to his comment on my shower singing and the song playing in the truck. Maybe I could gain more intel about how his brain was working. “Do you consider yourself a Fall Out Boy fan?”

“As much as a person who was conscious in 2007 could be,” he laughed a bit.

“You guys listened to them over in Scotland?”

“What, do you assume we only listen to The Proclaimers and bagpipes?”

“It certainly wouldn’t be the worst option.”

“I, like many others in our general age range, had a non-insignificant emo phase in my younger years.”

I pictured a young Evan with straightened black hair covering the top third of his face paired with a studded belt and bit my tongue to keep myself from laughing.

“I don’t fully believe that,” I joked, “because I also had one, but I’ve been told I seem like the ‘type’.”

Of course I had an emo phase, I was fully obsessed with anyone signed to Fueled By Ramen, the Twilight books and movies, and spent the majority of my allowance at Hot Topic. My middle school years were probably my first introduction to the concept of fandom before fandom was a part of the world’s lexicon.

I spent most of my teenagedom playing the “not like other girls” card, and it took until I was eighteen—when I met Andrea and her bubblegum pink personality—to realize it was fun to be like other girls.

As we continued walking I wondered what Evan thought about things like pop music and Twilight. I wanted to ask him all of it. I wanted to learn about his childhood and gangly teenage years and how he got swept away from his small Scottish town all the way to Hollywood.