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Terrified or not, the man is also hero through and through. In one fell swoop, he has a fistful of sweatshirt with me inside it hauled nearly into the tree line.
“Hey, I want to look at the view!” But I’m laughing, at his overreaction, and a little perversely, at the horror on his face. I tug some, but it’s all pretense. Nearness isn’t such a bad thing. I could use some hugs. The last weeks have been rough.
Twice since he swooped to the rescue, picking up my poor, homeless self from the hospital lobby, he’s used these big, strong arms of his to hold me close and calm my fears. Embarrassing?Yes. Unpleasant? Um, that’s a hardno.
He’s frowning down, those magical eyes cruising across the peaks and planes of my face. Sadly, I don’t have to imagine what he sees, because I looked in the mirror this morning. Dark circles, dry skin, and chapped lips that have been that way since early in my hospital stay.
I plant my palms on his shoulders, intending to enforce some boundaries upon my wayward self, but instead, they slide a little south. His chest is firm, a bit like the solid rock the man himself has been in my time of need. My eyes snag on a thumbnail of green at the base of his neck, a tattoo coloring itself outside the lines, beyond the confines his t-shirt attempts to impose. I’m caught by thethump-thumpof pulse in his throat. The stubble on his jaw. The empty pinpoint in his earlobe. Tripp removes his earrings on visits home, too, and—
Oh.
Tripp.
Marco.
Reality crashes like a brick through a windshield. My thoughts—no, my intentions—just barreled over the cliff like a crazy person in a barrel at Niagara Falls. Another second and I’d have had my lips on Marco’s, take my word for it. I tug backwards, but his grip holds fast.
Low and a little rough, like the words have been run over a grater, his murmur fills my ear. “Don’t go over the edge, okay?”
Um…which edge exactly?
I nod—and a second later we bounce off each other like we’re wearing those obnoxious Sumo costumes. Somehow, I still feel entangled, like when I try to take my jeans off the lazy way but wind up with both pant legs down around my feet and I wind up trapped, trying to step on one to pull off the other—and it no worky.
Marco’s gaze is ricocheting all over the small clearing, anywhere but on me. Good, because my knees are weak and my breath is short. I press my palm against the thrumming of my pounding heart.
“You alright?”
“Stop asking me that all the time.” I spin back to the spectacular view and try to regain my earlier peace.
“You’re rubbing your chest like it hurts.”
“Hush.” I drop my hand, curling it along with the other into the hem of the sweatshirt.
“You took your medicine, right?”
Uhh…
A sigh. “Come on, we better get you back.”
“I want to stay here.”
“Annalise—”
“Leave me alone,Tripp.” I emphasize the name. I’m pretty certain calling a man you’re hot for by your brother’s name is an effective way to cool things off.
Hopefully it works for him, too.
To make my point, I drop to the ground and pull my knees in.
With a release of breath, he slides down the front of a towering pine and dangles his arms across his knees.
Picking up a short stick, I etch meaningless squiggles in the dirt. Wait. I’m here for the view, aren’t I? I drop the stick and slap my hands on my jeans, casting my gaze across the panoramic vista to where it meets the blue horizon. “Tell me about the names,” I order.
“Names?”
“Maria, Marina, Marco…” I can’t quite recall his middle sister, but I do remember it started with the same three letters. I’ve been chewing over the dissonant pattern break with the youngest sibling since yesterday.
He’s silent at first, probably needing a moment to catch up. “You noticed that, did you?”
