My dad hadn’t been thrilled about my solo outings (which normally took place when most were tucked away for the night), but in comparison to what I could have been doing during these hours, I suppose you could say he succumbed to the lesser of two evils.
His worries had been needless anyway. I’d never once been in a stitch of danger back home in Santa Cruz, and now residing in rural Oregon, the danger was laughable in comparison.
I threw on a clean hoodie and headed out the door, reciting lines of Shakespeare to keep me from thinking about the man who’d inundated my waking and sleeping hours since last Friday.
The Oregon morning was more damp than cold, but it was still convincing enough to skip my ritual quad stretches. I was eager to get the blood pumping to get my thermostat turned up.
I broke into a jog as soon as I stepped outside, knowing this was going to be a long one. The rule of thumb was, the more issues I needed to work out, the longer the run. I’d clocked a twenty-miler once, after my parents had died and I’d finally been allowed physical activity, and something told me this one could contend with the record.
Six strides in, I came to a screaming halt. Standing in front of me, leaning against his Bronco as if he’d been waiting for me all night, was the man I was trying not to think about at the moment. So much for that.
“All set?” he asked, smiling as if everything was just peachy-keen.
“All set for what?”
“Our date,” he answered matter-of-factly.
Heat burnt in me, without the need of pounding legs. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
His face ironed out. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
He didn’t, actually. He looked amazing. The way his t-shirt pulled at his arms, the boardshorts slung just low enough to make someone blush.
When I looked up, I knew my inadvertent look hadn’t gone undetected. “I don’t care if you’re serious or not,” I said, looking off to the side. “You can’t go out with one girl, and 24 hours later go out with another. She might be alright with that, you’re obviously alright with that,” I said, thrusting my arms at him. “But I am not alright with it.”
He approached me with arms raised. “I’ve upset you. I apologize for that.” He continued forward. “But I didn’t go anywhere with her. Besides to her car in the parking lot.”
“What a lucky girl,” I said, crossing my arms. “Not even a dinner out before a roll in the backseat of her car. Wow, you really are a gentleman.”
His eyes narrowed before they opened with recognition. “Let me clarify,” he said slowly. “I escorted her to her car, never entering it, before sending her on her merry way.”
“So,”—I narrowed my eyes at him, wishing I could erase my feelings for him—“did you meet up with her later then?”
His head shook.
“Then you have plans for another time.”
His head rotated back before it shook again.
“Plans with someone else?” I asked, trying to cover every loophole.
His chest heaved.
“Why?” Did I sound as dumbfounded as I felt? Why hadn’t he chosen her over me, every other warm-blooded male would? None of this made sense—none of him made sense.
“Why would I?”
“Let’s see,” I said, tapping my index finger on my chin, “she’s beautiful, charming, sex-on-a-stick—”
“I wasn’t referring to her when I asked why would I,” he interrupted, working at concealing a grin. “I was referring to you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” he said, coming for me. I didn’t back away; I was sick of backing away, even though I knew I should. I was all for sprinting forward, even if it sent me straight off the edge of a cliff.
“I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone else.” His eyes were intense, unheeding, but I kept his stare. “I want you.”
Something warm burst inside, it flowed through my body, spreading like an infection. “Why?” I whispered, perfecting the art of one-word responses this morning.
He knotted his fingers through mine. “I was born to like you.”
I knew I was smiling like an idiot. “And so we’re back to the cheesy one-liner’s . . .”
He laughed. “Not a line, just the truth.”
“Sure, sure,” I said, rolling my fingers through his. “I don’t care if it is a line. That one was actually top-notch.”
He rolled his eyes, before looking at me with an expectant expression. “So?”
“So what?”
“So I just put my heart on the chopping block,” he said. “Is there anything you’d like to say, perhaps admit to me?” He paused, his eyebrows peaking. “Regarding the way you feel for me.”
So I was ready to sprint, but I wasn’t quite ready to spill the way I felt about him. The magnitude and intensity of it scared me, and would certainly quarantine me to psycho-chic status if I admitted it to him.
Improvisation was a god-send. “You confound me.”
He tilted his head. “And?”
“You irritate me.”
He didn’t look amused. “And?”
“You’re nice to look at.”
“Bryn,” he said, as a teacher would to a truant student.
“Alright, alright,” I said, swallowing hard. “I like you, too.” An understatement of ungodly proportions.