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That’s what I see.
Etched into every feature of his face.
And it breaks me.
It shouldn’t. I shouldn’t care at all. But I do. Partly because I’m a compassionate person and partly because for some unexplainable reason, I care for the man sitting next to me. He hasn’t earned it, and he likely doesn’t deserve it, but it’s there just the same.
I don’t realize I’ve reached out for him until I look down and see my hand on his leg. Seconds later, his hand covers mine and for a long moment we just sit here.
For a brief moment I allow myself to let go of my own expectations and the ones others expect of me and allow myself to be there for someone I feel really needs it.
It’s strange that only days ago I thought him nothing more than an arrogant playboy who thought the world belonged to him. And while yes, I do still believe that to be true, I’m slowly learning that’s notallthere is to him.
“So, youdon’twant to go on a walk with me then?” He grins, breaking the moment.
“I didn’t say that.” I pull my hand away, swiveling back toward my food.
“So youdowant to take a walk with me?” Goosebumps erupt across my skin when I feel his finger glide gently across the back of my arm.
I immediately shake him off.
“I guess.” I shrug. “If you want to.” I push my plate away.
“If you’re hesitant because you’re afraid of being photographed, don’t be. I’ll wear a hat if it makes you feel better.”
“You have a hat?” I ask, turning back toward him.
“Nope.” We both laugh and I feel a tiny bit of my anxiousness melt away. “But I’m sure you have one I can borrow, right?”
“One that you would be willing to wear?” I shake my head. “Doubtful.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Where do you keep your hats?”
“Hat. Singular. And it’s in my room.”
“Okay then.” He abruptly stands.
“Wait.” I stand too, pressing a hand to his chest. “You are not going into my bedroom.”
“Why not? Forget to hide your vibrator?” His eyes turn mischievous and the look does something to my stomach that I couldn’t put into words if I tried.
“Very funny,” I deadpan, trying to hold my composure. “I’ll have you know, I don’t own a vibrator.” I drop my hand from his chest and cross my arms in front of myself, a little off kilter by how close we’re standing.
He leans in, his face so close to mine that all I’d have to do is press up a couple of inches and my lips would be on his. It would be so easy. Effortless really.
It’s a ludicrous thought, I know. And goes against everything my brain is saying. But right now, it feels like my body has a mind of its own and the two sides are waging war on one another.
“Bullshit,” he finally speaks, his warm breath dancing across my face.
It takes me a moment to refocus and remember what the hell we’re even talking about.
“I’m serious.”
“How many men have you slept with, Hamilton?”
“That is none of your business.” I balk.
“That few, huh?”
