Page 3 of Falling Faster
I take the two steps to close the distance between myself and the stranger. "As my buddy said, I'm Ty. Did you get hurt?"
"Craig. And I'm fine." Craig clasps my hand again, encasing me in soft leather and a secure grip. "I think you tripped over one of my boxes, so what happened was my fault. It must have gotten pushed out from beneath the table."
I have to tilt my head back a bit to meet Craig's gaze, which puts the man somewhere in the six-one or six-two range. Craig smiles again, and sparks of attraction tingle through my blood. I want the mask gone so I can see all ofCraig, uninterrupted. "I should've been watching where I was going."
"Let's call it even."
I nod and as I hold Craig's gaze, an electric thrill shoots through me, hot and lightning fast. The world around me dims to Craig and then to the strong fingers holding mine tight.
A shout sounds from somewhere behind me and the world flares into brighter focus. Sounds and scents creep in along with the realization that he and I are still joined together, and we have an audience. I force myself to release my hold. Muscles quivering, I stagger a step and then bang into Slater. Either Craig has dazzled me or I'm still feeling the surge of adrenaline from my fall. "Uh, these are my friends Slater and Noah."
As the guys shake hands, I crouch and begin gathering pamphlets. They advertise a foundation that sends volunteers dressed as superheroes to visit sick children in hospitals, houses for those bound to home care, and other charitable endeavors. And Craig, in his costume, is right there in the center of the picture.
Damn it.
I feel even worse.
"Um, Ty." Slater's hesitant voice pulls my attention.
I glance to my left, then to Slater lifting my sketchbook from a puddle of coffee.
"No." Horror and panic flashing like strobe lights, I rush to the book. My bag, which had slipped off my shoulder during the fall, is open. Beside it, a to-go coffee cup is on its side in a pool of tan liquid.
Dread increasing, I take the book from my friend's hands. Coffee drips from the pages. Helplessness wells as I sink to my knees, searching for something to wipe off the mess andstop further damage. I don't spy anything aside from my canvas bag, which wouldn't be a smart idea.
"I'll grab paper towels from the restroom," Noah calls, sprinting away.
Nodding, I leaf through the book to assess the damage. Parts of sketches have bled. Pages are sticking together. Hours of work, gone. I press my hand to my forehead. "Come on, no."
Craig crouches beside me. The warmth of his hand seeps into my shoulder. "I'm sorry. Is any of it salvageable? It seems I owe you a sketchbook. That was my coffee."
I sit back on my heels and fight through the tangle of feelings, forcing myself to focus on the positive, not the negative. Everything can be drawn again. It will take ages, but can be done. I'm lucky the entire book hasn't been ruined.Most lucky of all is that neither Craig nor I had been hurt during the fall. "It'll be okay. I owe you a coffee."
The sound of sneakers pounding over concrete announces Noah's return. He thrusts a wad of towels at me. "Here."
"Thanks." The rough, folded papers are thin and coffee soaks through faster than I can change them. Craig joins in, passing me towels and helping to wipe the book's exterior. Murmuring my thanks, I begin the task of layering the towels between the stained pages, careful not to tear any of the weakened sheets.
His heated touch lands on my shoulder once more, but is gone in the span of a heartbeat. "You worry about saving what you can of your book. I'll get the rest of the coffee."
Craig mops up the coffee in between handing me extra towels. Slater and Noah are slowly straightening the mess around us. Guilt over my friends restoring order to the chaos I've caused hits hard and fast. I owe them at least a drink for their trouble. With the last of the paper towels, I line thebottom of my bag, in case any drips work their way out of the dampened pages, then tuck the book inside. "Craig, I'm sorry about all of this. I can be a walking disaster."
"Hence, the nickname." Slater props one of the cutouts at the far end of the table. "But we love you, Ty."
Craig once again extends his hand and helps me to my feet. His glittering gaze and small smile invite me to play. "Then I guess you might need a superhero around all the time?"
"I wouldn't turn one away." That spark of attraction flashes bright. Craig's fingers tighten for a moment before he lets go of my hand. Blowing out a breath, I force myself to focus on the mess, not on flirting. I glance at my T-shirt and jeans. No coffee splashes, thank goodness.
We gather the rest of the pamphlets and I straighten the stacks of glossy paper until they are perfectly aligned, working side by side with Craig while Slater and Noah capture wayward papers that drifted into the foot traffic.
When everything is back in its proper place, I glance at Craig, not ready to say goodbye. "All done. It's like I was never here. Sorry again that I was a human wrecking ball."
"I'm not. Ending up with you in my arms was the best thing I've had happen in a long time." Craig takes a step closer, closing the distance between us. The intensity and interest in the gaze raking over my face sets off twin buzzes of hope and desire. "If you're not busy…"
"Yes?" Quick and eager, the response bursts from my lips. I don't care if my friends give me a hard time for having zero game later, as long as Craig's next words are something that keeps me in the man's company.
Craig gestures at the display table. "I'm finished my shift here. And I'd like to make up for your sketchbook. Can I offer you a ride in a replica of the Batmobile? It's parked outside."
From the way he lowered his voice, I figure the offer isn't one he extends easily or often. My excitement level soaring, I force my voice to match the same hushed tone. "Are you kidding? You drive a replica of the Batmobile?"
