Page 20 of Waiting For Ever
Clear, hungry blue eyes meet mine a second before the shutters come down. “Hi—” He clears his throat and tries again. “Hi,” he repeats, his voice even deeper than usual from sleep.
“Hi.”
“Sleep okay?” He yawns the question.
“Better than I expected.” I grip the edge of the mattress and hold my breath. I don’t know what to make of waking up with a beautiful man in my room. Or in my life. I hold my breath.
He pouts his lips at my reply.
I change the subject. “What time is it?” I ask, reaching for my phone. “My alarm never went off,” I say, looking at the screen.
“It did. I turned it off. Sleep seemed like the priority.” He shrugs as he stands and rolls his neck. Several cracks pierce the quiet room.
“Didn’t you have sand coming to the beach . . . an hour ago?” I ask, looking at the time again.
“Yeah, Pete and his three boys are out there right now. They’ll handle it.” He pauses, then, “So . . . kickboxing?” This he says as he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
As much as I want to revel in that sweet gesture, I’m suddenly furious. Maybe it was him babysitting me in a chair all night instead of lying next to me, or him deciding to shut off my alarm, or changing the schedule without asking me, or Chase’s texts last night, or all of it. But shortly after my dad died, I became hyper independent. I don’t like people telling me what to do. Especially a guy I’m interested in. Granted, I don’t have any previous frame of reference, but him taking care of me is one thing. Himhandlingme is another altogether. Maybe it’s just the OV stuff coming up last night weighing on me, but none of those people are here right now. Julian is.Lucky him.I take it all out on him, deserved or not.
“Look, I’ve been making my own decisions for a while now. I don’t need a dad. I don’t need a babysitter. And I don’t need someone making decisions for me. And yeah. Kicking the shit out of something sounds pretty good right now. See you downstairs in fifteen.” I say all of this as I stand up and face him. When I’m done, I pivot and storm into the bathroom, my shoulder bumping his chest on my way. I slam the bathroom door and immediately regret it, because it’s giving unhinged soap opera energy which is very not me.
When I get downstairs fourteen minutes later, Julian is dressed, his hair damp, his clothes fresh. He’s a statue in front of the kitchen slider, with the morning sun beaming on him. I know he hears me; I wasn’t quiet coming down the stairs. I wait for him to turn.
He doesn’t turn but says to the glass door, “Want to ride to Fit together? There’s coffee if you want some.” He’s choosing his words carefully.
I’m an asshole. “Uh, yeah, thanks. I’ll grab a travel mug and take it with me.”
He nods once and heads toward the door without looking at me. “I’ll go warm up the Jeep. Take your time.”
Fuck.I’m such a jerk. Maybe this hillbilly air isn’t working its magic on me after all. Rolling my eyes, I begin digging through cabinets for a travel mug.
Chapter 19
Julian
Iknow this drill. Walk softly and giveita wide berth—like encountering a wild animal. I’ve had lots of practice. It’s just been a hot minute since I’ve seen it up close and personal. Doesn’t matter how long it’s been. It all comes screaming back in full color. Ever doesn’t radiate violence though, just coiled wire ready to snap. And like me, kicking the shit out of something is her remedy of choice.
I keep my mouth shut on the way to Fit and while unlocking the place. Once inside, I turn to gauge her mood. She won’t make eye contact but heads to the kickboxing room. I clear my throat and prepare myself for the sass. I ignore the tingle in my gut because it’s not helping that I like her sass. The nostalgia it brings equally haunts and enchants me. She doesn’t look like her at all, but the familiarity is tangible. It’s an essence that I can’t ignore.
“Uh, Ever?” She stops but doesn’t turn, so I continue. “We need to warm up first. Cardio or stretching. You choose.”
“Stretching,” she replies without hesitation. “My legs will thank me.”
“Okay, kickboxing room then.”
She resumes walking as if I hadn’t spoken.
I follow behind her with a smirk.
Wait till she realizes we’ll be touching each other for the warmup.The tingle intensifies. Adjusting the crotch of my sweats, I follow her.
Inside the room, I start with downward dog and move into some side lunges. She mimics me without looking at me directly but at my reflection in the wall of mirrors. When I sit down on the floor and spread my legs in a vee, she watches me, waiting for instructions.
“Mirror me here,” I say, motioning to the space in front of me. She does, still looking every bit as sulky as she did back at the house. I hold my hands out to her.
Without breaking eye contact, she places her hands in mine.
I push the soles of my sock-clad feet against hers and take her hands. I pull her forward, slowly, until I meet resistance. As I release the tension and center again, she follows suit and pulls me toward her, never once breaking eye contact. The room, cool at first, feels warm now. This warmup feels like the start of a hot yoga class—emphasis on hot.
