Page 12 of Kiss Me if You Can
Jake
I’m just full ofbad decisions today. Starting with agreeing to help the FBI—worst decision of the year—today has consistently gone downhill, and I’m honestly surprised I haven’t hit the bottom yet. One minute I think things are as bad as they could be, and the next I’m agreeing to be a virtual stranger’s fake husband instead of lying low.
Now I’m walking into a public library where I’m bound to be recognized or caught as soon as I sit down at one of the computers because Isla insisted I try to get some answers while we still have time.
“Would you relax?” Isla hisses to me. She’s smiling brightly beside me, like she doesn’t have a care in the world. “You look anxious, and that’s going to make people nervous.”
“It may come as a shock, but Iamanxious.” I wish we had stopped at a thrift storebeforecoming to the library; people keep eyeing my bright blue pants and giving me judging looks. My outfit is probably getting me more attention than my torn-up suit would have.
Isla nods to one of the librarians, who averts her eyes as soon as she sees Isla’s missing leg. “Iknow you’re anxious, but you don’t want anyone else to know! Take a deep breath, Jake.”
She said that same thing under the bleachers, and it did help. But we were basically alone then, despite the crowd above us, and we’re definitely not alone now.
Even if I would like to be.
“Hey.” Isla stops, grabbing my arm to stop me along with her. Then she reaches up and places her palm against my cheek.
Instinctively, I grab her elbow to keep her steady even though I’m pretty sure she has excellent balance. I probably just want to be closer to her because her blue eyes seem to pierce my soul, especially when we’re close like this. She sees so much when I wish she wouldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She smiles. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to tell me I’m going to ruin your lunch meeting if I can’t get a grip.”
Though I wish we weren’t standing in the middle of the library, I can’t move because she’s leaning on me now. She knows this, which makes her smile grow. “Jake, you can’t control everything in life, and I wasn’t going to say anything about the lunch. Right now, we’re here for you. And you need to breathe.”
I shake my head. “We’re wasting time. I don’t need—”
“You need to figure out what happened at the park, and we have plenty of time.” Her thumb brushes across my cheek in a tantalizingly soft touch. “Take a breath with me, Jake.”
I do, even while my eyes dart around the library to make sure no one is giving us attention they shouldn’t.
“No, stay focused. Look at me.”
I couldn’t ignore that order if I wanted to. My eyes slide back to hers, which are fixed on me above a pert nose and a warm smile on her pink lips. Everything about this woman is beautiful, and I’m not talking about her physical features. No one has ever taken the time to see me like this, and they certainly haven’t spent any energy helping me. I’ve always been on my own, looking out for myself, making my own choices and dealing with the consequences.
Isla has every reason to hate me and leave me behind, but she’s here, calming me down so I can try to save my own life.
“Breathe,” she whispers.
I lean in close and take a breath when she does.
“One more time.”
“You’ve clearly done this before,” I murmur. It’s not a complaint, but concern colors my words.
Isla shrugs. “My mom gets panic attacks all the time. So does my brother-in-law. And everyone struggles with anxiety now and then, so it’s not like this is some breakthrough in calming someone down.”
The first time the FBI caught me, I was in my apartment downtown. I tried to run, and I got so panicked that I only made it a block or two before I couldn’t breathe anymore. The man who cuffed me and took me in didn’t even have to chase me down. Outside of fighting against firewalls and viruses, which isn’t as exciting as it is in the movies, I’ve lived relatively stress-free since getting let out on parole. This whole anxiety thing is relatively new to me.
I don’t like it.
“I feel like I’m wearing a hundred pounds of wool coats,” I admit, holding her elbow a little tighter.
Isla’s expression softens. “That’s normal in high-stress situations. That’s why breathing is so important. The more you breathe, the lighter you’ll feel.”
I believe her, but that doesn’t change the situation. “We’re wasting time. I can breathe at a computer.”
