Page 12 of Falling Faster
"What did he send?"
I angle the phone to show him, knowing I'll have to explain theI found youcaption posted over a comic book about the Greek gods.
Craig's brows draw together. "I don't get it."
"I'm on the cover. Well, not me, obviously, but my namesake. Typhoeus is my real name."
"That's unique. I've never heard that name before."
I slip the phone into my pocket, scoop my hair out of my eyes, and prepare for seemingly the millionth time, to tell my own origin story. "My dad was really into Greek mythology. Typhon, or Typhoeus, is a monster with one hundred dragon heads. He's known as the father of all monsters. Another name for him is the Storm Giant. I was born during a hurricane, so as the story goes, my father thought the name would be fitting."
"Itisa cool name. And now, Slater calling you Hurricane Ty makes more sense."
"It's also why I have a soft spot for the villains in anything, including the comic book universes. Typhoeus wasn't one of the good guys. He was a grisly, mighty, deadly monster." Suddenly cold, I cross my arms over my chest. Countless times over the course of my childhood, I'd been teased about my name. And just as many times, I wondered if my parents had chosen the name of a monster because I interrupted and altered their life plans, much like a severely damaging storm can wreak havoc and cause drastic, lasting changes. They sure as hell made me feel that way.
Craig's forehead wrinkles and lines of concern crease around his eyes. He cups his hand over my shoulder. "You look sad. What's wrong?"
Forcing a smile, I lift a shoulder in a half-shrug. "Nothing. Just old thoughts. There were a lot of times I hated my name while I was growing up."
Sympathy softens his features. He closes the distance between us and cups my face in his hands. "I think you're a good guy, Typhoeus. And absolutely nothing like a monster."
Emotion wells at the serious tone and softly spokenwords. The threat of tears shocks me. Obviously, old wounds haven't fully closed. But losing control here, now, won't do. Biting the inside of my cheek helps me gain command of my body. I drop my gaze from Craig's eyes to his lips, then return to getting lost in that deep brown. Forgetting the past is easy with this man in my presence. "I'm glad you think so. I wouldn't want to scare you off."
"There's no chance of that happening." His smiling lips hover close to my mouth. "You're definitely made of hero material."
Not a villain.
Not a monster.
A hero.
The surge of emotions swirls again, lightning fast. I wrap my arms around Craig's strong torso. Holding tight, I bury my face in the space where his neck and shoulder meet and breathe in deep lungfuls of that light cinnamon scent.
Hands caress my back in soothing swirls. The press of a kiss to my hair threatens to unravel me even more. I don't want him thinking I'm a mess. In his arms, I find comfort and feel a safety that surprises me, considering I've only known him a day. Feeling more in control, I raise my head.
Craig doesn't tease, or look at me with anything other than kindness. "You okay?"
I nod. "Sorry."
"Never apologize for that. I liked holding you." And then he kisses me. Soft and sweet, dragging me under to a place where need runs wild and desire roams free. A place where I could happily spend hours, days, years, centuries.
After a while, he raises his head and trails his fingers along my cheek. "How about we find some lunch?"
"Sure." My voice is raspy, and I pause to clear my throat. "My treat, as a thanks for everything today."
Those fingers continue down my neck, then my torso, then over my side until they link with my hand. With a wink, Craig smiles. "We'll see."
I glance at our joined hands. Twenty-four hours ago, I hadn't even met Craig, and now here we are, holding hands, flirting, smiling, kissing, and connecting. A sense of belonging that thrills me.
I pick up my bags and let Craig lead the way, falling in step beside him.
Maybe I don't have anything in common with a mythological monster, but the way my feelings for Craig are forming faster and faster like a hurricane gathering strength is downright scary.
CHAPTER FOUR
CRAIG
The crowd's energy feeds me. Pouring myself into playing, I move around my side of the stage, the lights catching the guitar strapped to my chest. My pre-show nerves are long gone, having worn off before the end of the first song. We're well into our set, and with every note played, I keep searching the crowd for Ty.
