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I watched the way his lips moved.
I watched the way his hair blew in the wind, framing my face.
I watched the way his chest heaved up and down, mirroring mine as if they were in sync with one another.
I especially watched the way he looked at me. No one had ever looked at me like that. I wanted to engrain it in my memory. To take a piece of him home with me.
When he brushed the hair away from my face he didn't say a word. His eyes spoke for him.
The way he affected my mind and my heart was petrifying, but it was so real.
The emotion…
I could touch it.
I could feel it.
I could taste it.
It surrounded me. It undid me.
“You’re trouble, McGraw. You’re so much fucking trouble,” I murmured, loud enough for him to hear.
“Baby,” he huskily groaned, placing his forehead on mine. “You have no fucking idea.”
He wanted to kiss me.
By the look on his face, he knew I wanted it, too. But what he did next surprised me more than anything.
He sat up.
Breaking the strong connection that held both of us captive for just a few minutes. I cleared my throat, sitting up with him. Pretending like I wasn’t hurt by his rejection.
“You hungry?” he asked, walking over to the picnic basket, breaking the thick air between us.
I nodded, not being able to find my voice. He handed me a sandwich before he headed over to the edge of the boat, sitting with his feet dangling in the water.
I watched him from afar without him noticing, which was odd because he seemed to notice everything.
An old blues beat unexpectedly filled the silence. The first few lyrics described a man that was running, hiding, and then running and hiding again, not knowing what the girl wanted him to do. I couldn’t help but laugh and smile.
I smiled so wide that it hurt my face.
He was trying to tell me something again. Letting the music express what he couldn’t say himself.
I paid attention to every word as the enticing beat rocked through me, and I felt the need to be close to him. Closer than I already was, and I meant that in more ways than one. I took off my sandals and scooted to the edge of the boat where Dylan sat, letting my feet sway to the music in the warm ocean water.
His fingers strummed to the beat of the music on the side of the boat, and I placed my hand close to his.
“You like blues, huh?” I questioned, pulling him away from his thoughts.
He nodded, glancing at the side of my face. It didn’t take long for his hand to find mine, and he lazily drew circles to the rhythm of the music. Shivers coursed through me even though there wasn’t a chill in the air.
“Who is this?” I asked out of curiosity. I really liked the man’s voice. It did something to me.
“Jimmy Reed. Do you like it?”
“Very much so. What’s the name of the song?”
