Page 9 of Adrift

Why did I feel the need to tell him that? Was there any point to it? And what did that do besides force him to give me an awkward smile? If that wasn’t a clear indication of my youth and immaturity, then I don’t know what is.

I wasn’t lying when I told him I tend to be an over-talker when I’m nervous–it’s just something I’ve never overcome. It’s also another reason I won’t date good-looking men. Not that I’m even remotely thinking about Darian in that way–eew, he’s my brother-in-law!–I’m just stating the reason why.

I can’t be with someone and lose control of the shit that comes out of my mouth because I’m too flustered around them. I like to sound mature, like I have a well-developed frontal lobe, and be in control of my speech. It’s part of my guiding principles. I can’t do that when someone is so distractingly beautiful.

Again, not that I think Darian is distractingly beautiful or anything. He’s just an average man with above average height and features.

And biceps.

And ass.

That’s it. No big deal. Lots of men have that.

I just don’t date them.

“Hey! Are you okay?” Melody takes a seat beside me while Bella stays at the door with a concerned look on her face. They both seem to have dried off, though Bella’s long locks are still dripping down her back. Her purple tips look almost as black as the rest of her hair.

I put the ice pack back on my wrist. “Yeah, just a minor sprain, I think. Nothing these big bones can’t handle.”

Darian comes to stand in front of me with his eyebrows pinched and his arms crossed in front of his chest. His average biceps flex, distractingly. “Pretty sure that’s not how bones work.” He gestures to my wrist under the ice pack, before pulling out a brace from his pocket. “This should help.”

He drops to one knee before locking his coffee-colored eyes with mine, and I blame the drafty building for the traitorous shiver that rolls down my spine.

I shift uncomfortably on my seat, pretending not to notice Melody softly clear her throat beside me. “I can get it on myself.”

Darian ignores my feeble objection and gently takes my bruised hand in his, examining both sides. Goosebumps litter my arms as his warm touch electrifies my skin. Jesus, is it hot in here? Why is this man radiating heat like a damn furnace?

I wonder if people who are always this warm need to reapply deodorant often . . ..

I inadvertently lean forward, trying to get a hint of his deodorant. He doesn’t smell bad at all for someone who just came back from doing a strenuous activity. In fact, he kind of smells good. Really good, like pine and oranges.

I go stock-still.

My eyes collide with Darian’s, and I notice that somehow, in the span of five seconds, my nose has physically drifted well into his personal space. Anyone else watching us, including Melody and Bella, would think I was about to whisper in his ear. I’m sure he is wondering the same thing.

God, what is wrong with me?

Why am I acting like such a nutcase?

I lean back abruptly, flicking my eyes to Darian’s face before peering down to my bruised hand inside his large one. His lips twitch as he focuses on getting the wrap over my hand, velcroing it on the side, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying to hide a smile.

Honestly, that makes me feel worse.

How pathetic must I seem right now, sitting here with a bruised hand–though not nearly as bruised as my ego–after only an hour on the river, leaning over to get a whiff of this man like a malnourished dog in front of a steak dinner?

I’ll answer. Very, very pathetic!

“Thanks,” I whisper, feeling my cheeks burn.

“You’re welcome.” Darian gets up to walk back to his desk.

Melody clears her throat again, and I’m inclined to ask her if she has something lodged in there. “Since you’re already ready to go,” she scans my jean shorts and sleeveless shirt, “Bella and I are going to change into some dryer clothes. See you out in the lobby in like, fifteen minutes?”

“Sounds good.” I smile at both my friend and my cousin. Bella winks at me before her and Melody leave, and I mentally prepare myself for an interesting conversation during the drive back home. I turn back to Darian, remembering my chat with his mother. “Is there an issue with Karine’s health?”

He moves some papers around his desk before giving me a confused look. “How did you hear?”

I squint at him. Does he not know that I chat with his mother frequently? “I was texting with your mom, and she said you’ve been concerned about her health. Is she okay?”

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