small grin.
I shrink in place, right where I stand. Unbelievable.
Fuck my life.
“Oh.” My eyes automatically hon e in on his chest again, but for a vastly different reason than his gorgeous form. Beneath the wet fabric of his shirt, I can see a faint line extending down his chest, which I presume is his scar. I don’t want to see it. I can’t believe I’m standing here so close to Jake’s heart. I’m struck dumb, just staring. My fingers flex around myself, digging into my ribs on either side of me. I glance up to his blue eyes again and search for something. What? I don’t know, but I search anyway.
“Come on. That’s my house just there. You need to dry off and get warm.” Alexander—Zander extends his hand to me, but I don’t take it.
“No. No thank you. I’m just —”
“No , really, let me get you a towel or something.” His dark blue eyes rake over my dripping wet body, making me fully aware of how I must look.
I glance down the beach then to the house he indicated was his. It’s the same place I assumed was a rental or something. I got the or something part right. It’s the throne belonging to this god of a man in front of me.
“No really. I’m fine,” I insist far too weakly to come across as convincing. The sea breeze is so much colder with my body completely soaked. My chin quivers and Zander’s eyes turn stern.
“You need a towel.” The way he says it is like an order rather an offer and it has me ready to give in, remembering how Jake would take that tone with me sometimes. I miss it.
“Okay, ” I relent on a mumble.
“Okay.” Zander’s fingers reach forward, curling around my elbow, and pull me until I begin to follow him compliantly. He turns fully towards the big white beach house and starts walking. He releases me after a moment and takes a couple longer strides, positioning himself in the lead. He doesn’t say another word. Nothing. He doesn’t even turn to look at me once the entire walk to his mammoth beachfront home. I feel myself wither a little and privately bemoan the loss of his intense stare.
Even though his jeans are wet , he walks in long, easy strides back towards the beach house, which I’m beginning to think is more like a beach mansion, the closer we get to it.
Zander leads the way down another boardwalk that seems to go directly to his house. The boardwalk that inclines over the sandy dune is wide and weathered looking from who only knows how many years exposure to the seaside elements. Wind, rain, salt, and sand have worn down the wood, rewarding the planks with an uneven surface for having endured the abuse. The wood is sort of a gray color and I suddenly feel an inexplicable kinship with then entire thing. If I had to assign a place or item to represent me over the past two years, this boardwalk would be it. It stretches from one point to another. A passage. A journey. Gray, worn, warped—but still intact, somehow.
I pause and step to the railing , nearly forgetting Zander leading the way. My fingers glide lightly over the banister. The wood is rough and could easily give out a splinter or two if someone got too close and carelessly rubbed against it. It’s clearly in need of some love and attention. I can’t imagine it weathering another hurricane or tropical storm, but what do I know? It may have been here through countless storms. It’s a little ratty, but not broken or useless.
“Don’t worry. It’s solid. Doesn’t look that way to everyone else, but I know different,” Zander asserts from where he has stopped, only feet from me. He has turned to face me, leaning against the same railing my fingers are resting on. His light brown hair is tousled, a single lock hanging lazily over his eyebrow. Something powerful, yet perfectly silent, sheaths my mind and it’s as if Zander knows that I, somehow, relate to this boardwalk similarly to how I related to the beach. Somehow he knows that a part of me wants this boardwalk to last
I shrink in place, right where I stand. Unbelievable.
Fuck my life.
“Oh.” My eyes automatically hon e in on his chest again, but for a vastly different reason than his gorgeous form. Beneath the wet fabric of his shirt, I can see a faint line extending down his chest, which I presume is his scar. I don’t want to see it. I can’t believe I’m standing here so close to Jake’s heart. I’m struck dumb, just staring. My fingers flex around myself, digging into my ribs on either side of me. I glance up to his blue eyes again and search for something. What? I don’t know, but I search anyway.
“Come on. That’s my house just there. You need to dry off and get warm.” Alexander—Zander extends his hand to me, but I don’t take it.
“No. No thank you. I’m just —”
“No , really, let me get you a towel or something.” His dark blue eyes rake over my dripping wet body, making me fully aware of how I must look.
I glance down the beach then to the house he indicated was his. It’s the same place I assumed was a rental or something. I got the or something part right. It’s the throne belonging to this god of a man in front of me.
“No really. I’m fine,” I insist far too weakly to come across as convincing. The sea breeze is so much colder with my body completely soaked. My chin quivers and Zander’s eyes turn stern.
“You need a towel.” The way he says it is like an order rather an offer and it has me ready to give in, remembering how Jake would take that tone with me sometimes. I miss it.
“Okay, ” I relent on a mumble.
“Okay.” Zander’s fingers reach forward, curling around my elbow, and pull me until I begin to follow him compliantly. He turns fully towards the big white beach house and starts walking. He releases me after a moment and takes a couple longer strides, positioning himself in the lead. He doesn’t say another word. Nothing. He doesn’t even turn to look at me once the entire walk to his mammoth beachfront home. I feel myself wither a little and privately bemoan the loss of his intense stare.
Even though his jeans are wet , he walks in long, easy strides back towards the beach house, which I’m beginning to think is more like a beach mansion, the closer we get to it.
Zander leads the way down another boardwalk that seems to go directly to his house. The boardwalk that inclines over the sandy dune is wide and weathered looking from who only knows how many years exposure to the seaside elements. Wind, rain, salt, and sand have worn down the wood, rewarding the planks with an uneven surface for having endured the abuse. The wood is sort of a gray color and I suddenly feel an inexplicable kinship with then entire thing. If I had to assign a place or item to represent me over the past two years, this boardwalk would be it. It stretches from one point to another. A passage. A journey. Gray, worn, warped—but still intact, somehow.
I pause and step to the railing , nearly forgetting Zander leading the way. My fingers glide lightly over the banister. The wood is rough and could easily give out a splinter or two if someone got too close and carelessly rubbed against it. It’s clearly in need of some love and attention. I can’t imagine it weathering another hurricane or tropical storm, but what do I know? It may have been here through countless storms. It’s a little ratty, but not broken or useless.
“Don’t worry. It’s solid. Doesn’t look that way to everyone else, but I know different,” Zander asserts from where he has stopped, only feet from me. He has turned to face me, leaning against the same railing my fingers are resting on. His light brown hair is tousled, a single lock hanging lazily over his eyebrow. Something powerful, yet perfectly silent, sheaths my mind and it’s as if Zander knows that I, somehow, relate to this boardwalk similarly to how I related to the beach. Somehow he knows that a part of me wants this boardwalk to last
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