Page 119 of Callan

“Big mistake,” he comments. “So you’re not trusting me?”

I jerk my hands up.

“I can’t believe you. How did we even get here with our conversation?”

“I don’t know. You asked me about my women.”

My eyebrows knit into a scowl.

“Your women?”

Lip rolled under his teeth, he nods.

“Uh-huh,” he says, amused with my quest for territoriality.

“I know about your women. That’s how I met you. I wanted to know where you were going tonight.”

Annoyed, I point to his suit.

“Decked out like this.”

“You’re jealous.”

I lift my eyes, throwing flames in his direction.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Haha. No, I’m not.”

My laugh is phony like my argument.

I am jealous. And vulnerable as hell.

“Forget about it,” I say, gesturing while losing ground.

He clutches my wrist, and I draw still, looking into his eyes, consumed by emotions. Jealousy, anxiety, and embarrassment.

All dipped in a gnawing need to feel his body against mine.

My irresistible attraction to him is obvious and difficult to control.

Outside the windshield, old trees with large branches guard the park, and groups of people walk in and out.

Some have their kids with them. Others walk their dogs.

It all registers with me remotely while my eyes dive into his, and my soul awaits for his to speak, engulfed in flames.

When his smile slowly dies on his face, and there is no trace of teasing and playing, no amusement, and no taunting, my heart drums in my chest, and his grip softens around my wrist.

He lowers my hand and brings his lips to mine, dimming my anguish and numbing my fears while kissing me with purpose as if he’s telling me a story. Teaching me to just stay still and forge my deep attraction for him in blind trust.

I can’t say I’ve ever wanted something more than I want this. His lips pressed against mine, our mouths locked, our minds quieting down, our journey starting.

I don’t know what he has poured into his kiss. Some sort of good poison. An aphrodisiac. A magic potion.

Mushroom dust.

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