Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Chapter 10 - River
The best part is gazing into Finn’s eyes again.
This close, where I can see them sparkle in the sunlight at our backs, flickering off the water from the Gulf.
The panic in his eyes as I hold him.
I guess it’s fair to say, I’m kind of holding him captive. And freaking him out in the process. And thereby stealing this gift of staring into his pretty eyes instead of earning it.
“What’s wrong?” he squeaks out.
“Person. Bungalow.” My mouth is so dry. I should’ve drank before I fled. The walk here in the heat wearing this jacket fucking sapped me. “Outside. Camera. Flashy.”
“Camera? There’s someone at the bungalow who—?”
“At least I think that’s what I saw.”
Finn blinks. “You mean you’re not sure?”
“I thought I saw someone staring at the house from the other side of the street. Then I heard a sound on the porch, and I hid. I kept seeing weird shadows, and … I freaked out, grabbed my jacket, shades, forgot my hat, then bolted through the back door, tearing over the rocks, running …”
“Did you see an actual person?”
My eyes wander off to the brick wall of the building. I find my grip on Finn loosening. Was it all in my head? Did I mistake a strong wind for movement on the porch? Am I letting my paranoia finally get to me?
The back door opens, and with ninja finesse, Finn and I tuck ourselves behind it while a pirate with big curly hair comes out lugging a bag of trash, tosses it into the nearby dumpster with a sigh, exclaims, “Fuck my life,” for some reason we shall never learn in this lifetime, then lets the door shut on their way back inside.
Finn has me pressed to the brick, face close to mine.
I’m staring into his eyes, breath held.
Everything grew intimate so fast.
“Did you come by the Fair yesterday?” he asks me. “In this same disguise? Jacket and shades?”
I swallow. “No.”
“You sure?”
I swallow again. “No.”
He squints. Then his eyes wander. “I think someone was outside the bungalow,” he says suddenly, as if it’s just now occurring to him. “It was when I left this morning, felt like I was being watched … I saw no one, so I blew it off, didn’t think about it since, but …”
He meets my eyes again. We continue staring at each other, neither of us making the effort to move away.
Just like last night on the couch, our bodies so close to each other, as I worked to loosen his tense muscles—both of us ignoring other muscles that were very much growing more tense by the second.
I get the sense it’s been a long time since either of us have been touched in that way.
The chemistry is practically crackling between us.
Where’s all my courage? Where’s his?
Why do we keep clutching each other, growing closer, then neither of us making a move?
“You totally were here yesterday,” he decides abruptly.
“No, I wasn’t.” I swallow. Then sigh. “Yeah, I was.”
“Pretty risky, to do that.”
“It was.”
“Why did you come here?”
“Cabin fever. Curiosity. Sheer stupidity. Just pick one of those answers, you won’t be wrong.”
“I’m sorry I conked out.”
My face scrunches up. “What do you mean?”
“After your … very generous massage. Last night. I … I think I was … a lot more tired than I realized. Actually … kinda mortified,” he then laughs, but quickly draws silent again. “Would’ve been nice to chat some more.”
“You probably needed the rest.”
“Needed the company more.”
“Me too.”
His grip on me changes, fingers curling into my jacket. Our hips are close, too. His lips part expectantly.
“You need to be more careful,” he says.
“What?”
“You shouldn’t have come here yesterday. Or now. You could be spotted. You’re not Clark Kent, your shades are no match for hiding those cheekbones.”
See? These gorgeous fucking cheekbones. I’m cursed. “I’ll be more careful.”
“Well, it’s too late now.”
“I know.”
His throat tightens. “Okay. Under the pier.”
“H-Huh?” I intelligently reply.
He takes hold of my hand, and off we go, hurrying to the end of the alley past the back of the Parrot, rushing past the openings between the buildings, dodging any person in sight and sidestepping along brick walls. Our hands graze one another’s as we flit from shadow to shadow together, cutting past curtains of sunlight that give us away.
This is the kind of role I always dreamed of. A sprinkle of danger. A dash of excitement. All against a backdrop of a budding will-they-won’t-they romance between men.
I could almost believe we’re just having fun.
If we weren’t sorta running for our lives.
Before I know it, we’re underneath the pier, the entire Hopewell Fair above our heads held up by thick beams and what I’ll reluctantly call “very confident stilts”. The water rushes over the stones and sand down here. Blades of long, stringy grass stick out from between the pebbles, now and then dressed with a piece of random litter—paper, candy wrappers, and bottles. One of the thick stilts we pass by has a heart with “K&J” etched into it. I think I spot a crab, but the second my eyes zero in, it’s gone.