But he smells so good I have to bite my tongue, and Christ knows what my face is doing when he pulls back enough to see me again.
“Are you okay?”
Negative. But I’ve been faking it since that flashover nuked me two years ago, and this…
This isn’t that. And it should beeasycompared to recovering from smoked-out lungs.
As easy as falling headfirst into Sab’s dark gaze and staying there. Which I do for way too long before I give him another instantly regrettable shrug. “Yeah, just sore and moody. I’ll get over it if this bugger in my shoulder lets me sleep tonight.”
“When are you back on shift?”
“Friday.”
Sab’s gaze flickers and he seems to step away, even though he doesn’t move. And that urge to touch him, it comes back stronger than ever. Itwins, and I reach for him, closing a hand around his wrist as the traffic ahead starts to move, fingers to his exposed skin, andChrist, it’s like I’ve touched a live wire.
He’s so warm, and he feels so good against my palm. Familiar in a way he shouldn’t be. Not yet. And maybe I’m imagining it, but I swear he feels it too as his hand covers mine, absent and sweet as we stare at each other in the street.
It’s a strange moment. For me, at least. And yet it’s kinda perfect.
But it’s short.
Fleeting.
A car horn blares and I realise we’re out of time unless I want a dust-up with the irate driver behind me.
Sab’s hand slips from mine.
I mourn it even as I drown in the searing sensation it’s left in its wake. Even as he really does step back this time and I put my car in gear without making a conscious decision to do it.
Drive away.
My feet twitch on the pedals. But Sab holds me hostage with his brown eyes and shy curiosity, and I can’t fecking make myself move.
LeLionDuBois96:I think I’d like that xx
What the hell does that mean? And why haven’t I asked him in the ten minutes we’ve been here?
Clearly, because it’s not just his addictive scent that renders me incapable of rational thought. It’s everything about him, a realisation that barrels into me as the driver behind loses his rag and swerves around me.
It’s the kind of knobhead manoeuvre that can get someone killed at any speed, and it’s my fault. I need tomove.But I feel like I’m waiting for something. I just don’t know what until Sab steps back to my car, firing a glare at whoever’s behind me, and sets a pair of work-scarred hands on the window frame. “Look, I’m not an expert or anything, but I’ve got some decent shoulder exercises in my arsenal. Je pourrais te montrer un jour…si ça te dit.”
“Say what now?”
Sab shakes his head—at himself, not me. “Fuck, sorry. I said, I can show you one day, if you want?—”
“I want.” I speak so quickly I almost choke on my own tongue. “I mean, I’d really appreciate that if you have the time.”
Sab shrugs, mauling his bottom lip before he seems to catch himself. “I have time, and a bunch of weights and stuff I never use. You could come over tonight? After I get Esme to sleep, which could be pretty late…”
“Late is good. I have to put my life back together after a messy weekend anyway.”
Sab holds my gaze, the faintest lift in his lips, not quite a smile, but so close. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Message me when you’re ready, and I’ll be there.”
A promise that echoes in my soul as I drive away.
His daughter’s name is Esme. Like my favourite auntie. Except, she wasn’t really my auntie. Just my nan’s mate who drank a bottle of stout every Sunday at midday on the dot, unless it was Christmas Eve when she drank two.
