Page 7 of At First Smile
Still, the thought of Pen witnessing that part of me so soon after meeting churns in my gut. I don’t want to hide who I am from her, but the idea of her seeing me as the world sees me…
“I hope things turned out okay with you and motherfucker,” she says. The sweetest goddamn smile widens on her face.
“Ha!” I bark, unashamed of the booming laugh. “Yeah. He’s fine. Greg can bea lot.”
“Guess he earned the nickname, then.”
“That he did.” I smirk, thinking motherfucker may be my nicest term of endearment for my agent of the last ten years. “I’m sorry you overheard that.”
“No apology needed. I was the one chasing you down.”
“I’m happy you did.”
Even if I don’t like that she witnessed my mini meltdown, something buzzed in my blood seeing her there. Standing there – bag in hand – her eyes wide with embarrassment, apology, and determination to ensure I got my breakfast sandwich. How many people would offer to pay for a complete stranger’s breakfast then chase them down in a busy food court to ensure they got it? Most people wouldn’t. Although, I already know Pen isn’t like most people.
My brother, Gillian, would warn me that I don’t know her, not really. That I’m blinded by a gorgeous smile and stunning personality. He’d say I’m thinking with my cock. He may be right. He generally is about me. But something tells me in this he’s wrong.Very wrong.
“Thank you,” I offer. She’d run off so quickly after bringing me the sandwich that I hadn’t gotten a chance to thank her.
“You’re welcome.” She just beams.
God, I could drown in that smile. Allowing its warm waves to wash over me cleansing away the last week. The sting of a lost championship, thirsty reporters, disappointed yet not surprised family, and a pissed-off coach dwindle to mere shadows in her presence.
She wraps a tendril of auburn hair around her finger. “I didn’t know you were on this flight. I didn’t see you in the gate area.” Her face scrunches in self-deprecation. “Of course, me not seeing something doesn’t mean much.”
“I don’t know if I should laugh at your blind joke or not.” I rub the back of my head.
“You must laugh ornokarma points for you.”
A low chuckle rolls out of me at the serious pout puckering her pretty face.
Her lips tug up into a smirk.
“May I…” I shift in my seat, trying to figure out how to word the question without sounding like a dick.
The first few traits of Pen that I cataloged were that brilliant smile, those honey eyes, shapely figure – I am a man after all – and all that hair. God, my fingers itch to thread into her hair, pulling her close in a deep kiss. The thought ran on repeat while we’d chatted at Tim Hortons. It wasn’t until we moved down the counter that I noticed the cane.
“You can ask.” She leans back against the plush leather seat.
“I imagine you have people ask you all the time.”
“Not really.” She shakes her head, a silent laugh sparking in her eyes. “Most people don’t ask me directly.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“They usually talkatme, spewing whatever misinformation they have about blindness, gush, ‘God bless you’ or, mostfrequently, ignore me completely. Well, they don’texactlyignore me completely. I have enough vision to see their stares and pointing fingers.”
“Assholes.” My jaw clenches.
Her palm rests on my hand, its warmth soothing the angry beast inside me. I fight a strong urge to punch anyone who’d ever looked at this gorgeous creature with pity or indifference. The same angry beast that came out a week ago as I ignored repeated calls from Greg to fix this or else I’ll find myself wearing yet another new jersey.
“It’s okay, Rowan. My Aunt Bea always said the world is full of assholes, but it’s also full of a lot of good people. People who ask questions rather than assume. People who meet my gaze when they talk to me.”
Placing my other hand atop hers, sandwiching it between my far larger ones, my gaze meets hers. “How much can you see?”
“May I show you?”
An electric zing pulses across my skin with the sensation of her satin hands wrapped around mine. Folding them into small circles, she brings them to my eyes like makeshift glasses. The TV screen and flap with inflight magazines is eclipsed in the tiny holes I look through.
