Too bad I’d picked my favorite tee that probably should have been tossed in the rag bucket several washes ago, instead of the new tunic that played up the blue in my more-gray-than-blue eyes.
I shook my head, putting a kibosh on that train of thought. I wasn’t looking for his approval or acceptance or admiration.
Again, my best intentions at convincing myself were futile.
Despite Miss Ribbons and her pom-pom brigade’s present ra-ra-ra number, it couldn’t compete with the dark-haired man sitting quietly in the front row for my attention. I wasn’t the only one who felt the same way, either. There were five sets of eyes ogling him, and that was just within the ten foot radius around him I scanned.
The auditorium was erupting with noise, but I could still hear the squeak my sneakers made as I headed towards him. He didn’t notice me at first. He looked deep in thought, like the most practiced Buddhist in meditation.
I stopped a few feet off to the side of him, waiting for him to acknowledge me so I wouldn’t be forced to break the ice—knowing me, I’d go crashing right through and drown.
Still the thoughtful expression, as if he was lifetimes away from the cornucopia of noise.
“Hey,” I said unsurely, biting my lip.
His lids fell, revealing eyes that were back in the present time when they reopened. He sat up straighter, first looking surprised, before his smile turned into one I was getting quite familiar with—two parts smug to one part mischief. It was enraging and enthralling.
“Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
Despite being desperate to apologize for my childish behavior, I was ready to turn around and leave if this was the way things were going to be. Dominant side be darned.
He raised his eyebrows, waiting.
“I can go if you like,” I said in my don’t-push-me voice, twisting my head over my shoulder to eye the exit.
“No,” he rose to a stand, reaching for my forearm.
His fingers circled it, and whether he realized it—I’m sure he didn’t—this was the first time he’d touched me, the first time our skin had connected, and it was just that, a connection. From each ring of the five fingers wreathed around my arm, an energy that was as electric as it was intimate, streamed into me.
That connection opened a portal, one that was difficult, if not impossible, to explain, but I could almost feel our fates lacing around one another, cinching together so tight you could no longer tell which one was mine and which one was his. I could feel his emotions—peaceful, excited, warm—and I wondered if he could feel mine.
That terrified me, because before this touch, I could keep him at bay, not allowing him into the triumphs and tragedies that made me who I was, but if something inside me was unveiling to him as his was to me, I could no longer keep my secrets hidden.
My arm snapped away, and the energy zapping through every fiber of me died.
This time when he smiled, it looked right, genuine. It curled up the corners of his eyes and created a flat plane over his forehead.
“Please don’t go,” he said, motioning to a section of bench that would have barely fit a toddler. “Stay,” he added, when I didn’t respond right away.
I was still trying to figure out what the heck was happening. A few seconds had passed, and by all appearance’s sake, nothing had changed between us, but everything felt different . . . was different.
I took a seat, squeezing tight into the guy beside me, doing my best to make space for William.
“Tight quarters,” I said, clearing my throat as he slid next to me. More energy sparking like a fallen power line between us.
His thigh pressed against me pushed at mine gently. “I don’t mind if you don’t.” His tone was different now too, no hint of swagger left. It was soft and sweet, only further confirming he’d felt something earlier, but what, and how much, I didn’t know.
The referee spilling out of his uniform in front of us blew his whistle like he was announcing the second coming, shifting my attention to the game. OSU had possession and three minutes to make the comeback of a lifetime. My math oriented mind estimated they’d have to make a three pointer every ten seconds to tie it up, so they were as likely to win this game as I was to win the man watching me from the corners of his eyes to my right.
I’d stalled for long enough, and he was waiting, somehow knowing why I’d come looking for him. “I’m sorry for the way I acted back there,” I began, the words coming easier than I’d anticipated. “You didn’t deserve it, and I don’t know you well enough to be making those kind of judgments.”
He waved his hand as if he was dismissing it all away. “Forget about it. I did deserve it, but there’s one thing I have to know.”
Feeling generous, I asked, “What’s that?”
“Do you want to know me better?” I could hear the grin in his voice, and before I could roll my eyes, he elbowed me.
I crossed my arms, but there was no seriousness in it.
“Sorry,” he said, leaning into me. “I promise. No more teasing for tonight.”
That was unlikely. “We’ll see,” I said, turning my attention back to the game—for nothing more than a distraction—in time to see someone sink a shot several feet behind the three-point line.
The crowd exploded, hollering and stomping the metal bleachers. I didn’t recognize the hero of the moment until he spun around and loped down the court. Paul looked right at me, as if he knew exactly where I was, and pointed his index finger in my direction. His winked before turning his attention back to the player he was guarding on the opposing team.