Page 2 of Constantine: Britain's Story: Part 2
I give him a once over, up and down.A very attractive man I don’t know.He’s got thick, sandy-colored hair and is dressed handsomely, leaning against the sink like a damn J. Crew model.Handsomely? Who am I?I should hand the bag of ice over, make a final apology, and leave. I should get him two ibuprofen from my bag, tell him there’s a bottle of water on the sink, and walk out that door. I should definitely do that, but…the longer I stayin here, the less time I have to spendout there. So, I keep holding the bag, and surprisingly, he doesn’t move to take over.
“Would you like some ibuprofen?” I ask him quietly. At the sound of my voice, he starts to ease his eyes open…andfuck.They’re the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen.Jesus.It’s not even like the color is particularly bold. It’s just that they’re his eyes, on his face. And he’s striking. His strong, sharp jaw,perfectly straight nose, and dirty blond hair accentuate his tan, creating a perfectly balanced harmony with those gorgeous blue eyes.
I could have stood here for hours in quiet companionship as long as he kept his eyes closed, but damnit, with his gaze fixated on me, I’m getting hot again. The small bathroom starts to feel stifling, and as if on cue, I feel a drop of sweat bead and roll down my spine, getting trapped in my panties. I can’t help but fidget under the weight of his focus, which he hasn’t broken since opening his eyes. To be fair, I haven’t either.
“I have some ibuprofen in my purse if you’d like some,” I offer again quietly, “for the swelling.” He’s still staring at me, and I don’t understand why. We’ve definitely gone past the point of polite eye contact, with no talking.
“Crap,” I whisper mostly to myself as a wave of panic takes hold. “Do I need to call an ambulance? Do you know where you are? Do you know who you are?”How bad did I hit this guy?He just laughs a low, calming laugh. The sound puts me at ease while simultaneously exciting me.
“I know where I am, I know who I am…What I don’t know is whoyouare.” He cocks his head slightly, questioning.
“Oh, um, I was just helping set up the picnic.” I give him a half smile. I don’t know why I didn't answer his question. Well, I guess he didn’t really ask me a question, though, did he? He made a statement. A true one at that; I don’t know him, and he doesn’t know me.
“Huh,” is his only response, but the questioning look lingers. I finally break eye contact when his Blackberry begins vibrating on the edge of the sink. It’s behind him, so I instinctively reach for it to pass it to him, and while I shouldn’t, I do. His phone is still open to the chat he was reading when I hit him with the door…and I read the message.More like a novel by the looks ofit,butI only have a moment to glance at the first couple of lines before I hand it over to him. Immediately, I wish I hadn’t.
I hold the phone out for him to take, but he doesn’t. He just keeps looking at me, completely ignoring the phone in my hand. When it vibrates again, I push the phone towards him, and when our hands touch slightly this time, I feel that hint of intimacy again. There’s this heat between us, and it's growing.
What is happening right now? Am I imagining this?Stuff like this doesn’t happen to Britain Palomino, and after readingthattext, I should absolutely not be feeling the kind of warmth that I am right now. The kind that makes you rub your sticky thighs together and squirm with anticipation.
Ugh.Why? Why won’t he take it?Probably because he knows “Nancy” is leaving him — for someone else. He makes no move to take the phone, though, leaving us stuck in this strange standoff. Me holding ice to his head, holding his phone out for him to take. Him staring at me, bracing his hard and muscular body against the sink. My fingers are still slightly touching his hand when I have the realization that I’m being weird.What the fuck is wrong with me?
I clear my throat and look away, setting the phone back down behind him.
“I should probably get going…” I begin to lower my hand from his forehead when he grabs my wrist to stop me. It’s not hard — quite the opposite, actually. He does it with so much tenderness I can’t help the burning in my pelvis.
“Please,” he pauses, dropping his gaze to the ground, “can you just stay a little longer?” I reply wordlessly, with a simple nod and move my slightly trembling hand back to his forehead. He releases my wrist, and I feel his thumb slowly graze my underarm as he does, but maybe I’m imagining the intent behind it. I guess it’s just been a while since anyone has touched me.Huh, it’s been over a year since I’ve been touched. Atleast not intentionally or, warmly…or intimately.That’s fucking depressing.
“Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?” His question breaks through my mental fixations aboutthe touch, startling me.
“Wh-what?” I awkwardly stutter back.
“Do you believe in fate?” He asks again. I’m struggling to comprehend why handsome Mr. Blue Eyes is asking me this. I flounder for a moment, blinking awkwardly.
“Do you want my honest answer?”Stupid question, Britain, you idiot.Would anyonewantyou to lie to them? I die in embarrassment slightly.
Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice and just replies solemnly, “Always.” His striking blue eyes pierce me with their intense focus and I muster the courage to tell him what I really think.
“Well, no,” I sigh. “I think believing in fate means believing in fairy tales and happily ever afters, and I don’t believe in those. So no, I don’t think things happen for a reason. Things just…happen. Good things, bad things, things that don’t make us feel anything at all. Constantly and for no reason at all. At least that’s the conclusion I’ve come to so far.” I shrug my shoulders and his face transforms, his mouth turning up into a smile.Damn, his smile is contagious. It makes me smile. And for what seems like no reason at all, I’m smiling with this man. In a shitty bathroom, at a dusty lake, on a day that feels like hell reincarnated on Earth.
“Do you? Believe in fate?” I ask.
He hesitates before laughing out his reply, “Nope.” His voice comes out a low, rumbling chuckle. The sound vibrates and shakes me to my core, but there’s something about his response that niggles the back of my mind, and I don’t laugh with him. Something about his response feels wrong, and my smile fades.
I move away from him, removing the bag that’s mostly water now from his forehead, and when he averts his eyes, I know that’s my cue to leave. I’ve spent a lot of years honing my ability to read social cues because I’m awkward enough as it is. Something about this moment feels definitive, and I know it; our time is up.
I drop the bag in the sink and bend over to get the ibuprofen out of my purse. I fumble for what feels like minutes until I find it, hidden under my swimsuit and cover-up. Popping the cap, I slip two red tablets into my hand.
I don’t attempt to hand them to him, avoiding another uncomfortable standoff. Instead, I drop them on the sink next to the water bottle. Even though I can feel him watching me, I do my best to avoid eye contact as I pick up my purse, straighten my dress, and head towards the door.
“Well, again, I’m very sorry about the door…and the head thing.” I look down at his phone and almost say,and I’m very sorry about your girlfriend, or maybe even your wife, but I don’t. I stop myself.
Instead, I say, “And it was very nice to meet you.” I give him a soft smile and turn to leave, instantly regretting my choice of words because did I meet him? I didn’t. I have no idea whoheis.
As I walk towards the picnic pavilion, a feeling of regret engulfs me. It’s so intense I come to a complete stop halfway to the picnic area. I pause for a moment, letting some weird, internal debate wage well below my conscious mind. This feeling is like an invisible tether, tugging at me to go back. Back tohim. But I immediately shake it off, mentally berating myself for being foolish.
I may not know much about life yet, but I do know that men like Mr. Blue Eyes aren’t interested in girls like me.
TWO
