I thought Hendrix and Ryder were the only people capable of tempering my storm. But one touch from her and I realise we’ve been pretending to have my impulses under control.
It’s like she is a dowser capable of finding the very source of the rage before her magic curls around it, taking me to a place of quiet stillness.
Everything is happening so quickly. I don’t even know a thing about her, but I feel like I do. Or maybe it is that I know learning everything about her isn’t a choice.
I’m so thrown, so not myself, I seriously consider that there’s the possibility I’ve fucking lost my grip on reality and am in the midst of a manic episode where I’m imagining everything. Except when I look at her, no shit, it’s like the clouds part. And the angels are at long last sleeping.
I am not the poetic sort. That title falls to our singer/songwriter, but when I look at Ryder, his eyes are full of awe. Because of course he wouldn’t have missed it happening.
“Don’t doubt her. Sin unleashes my muse every time I think of her. I haven’t stopped writing, but by the looks of it our sweet Omega may have the opposite effect on you.”
Ryder has always spoken the truth. Irrespective of whether you want to hear it or not. He is eloquent, a true romantic at heart, but his sledgehammer delivery can sometimes be difficult to bear.
Not today.
Today, I feel I am sharing another part of my soul with him. Perhaps we are, because how he spoke was better than I could ever voice.
“She’s hurt,” I tell him.
And in doing so, I probably scare her off, sounding like a fucking cave man—only capable of grunts and growls. All the logic and reasoning in my head vanish, leaving only the stillness. I finally get the draw Edward had towards Bella.
Her fingers bury further, and I look down at her to find her staring deep into my soul. A gentle smile on her lips rips my control apart, and I start fighting all over. This time though I have to direct all that control, to stop myself bending down to kiss her.
But the truth is this is not the first time I have met her and for months and months I have been pining for her on a primal level.
“I am okay. What about you?”
Jesus, even her voice is like a balm. Her little claws not so much, but even then I’m fooling myself. She could scratch me up and make me bleed, and I’d be the happiest man alive.
Except I know she’s hurt.
“Are you?”
Her eyes fall away, and she doesn’t rush her answer. I get little dots on the periphery of my vision as I hold my breath,waiting for her answer. Using his eyes only, Hendrix snags my attention and looks at me, asking what the fuck.
Clearly Ryder hasn’t updated him on why he arranged this meeting between her and me today.
Her awareness includes him though, and she pushes back against him, anchoring Hendrix while continuing to hold me.
“I had a run in with Brody.”
The sound that rips from Hendrix would haunt some people. He tries to cover it up. “You didn’t want to let me know, Simona?”
She spins in his arms, her hand going from me to him. And I watch surprised at the strength I witness as she pulls his face to hers, making it impossible for him to pull away and shield her from his emotions.
“I messaged and told you I was okay, Hendrix. I need you to have a little more faith in me.”
The way she looks at him has me envious until she turns back to me, and I get the same attention he did. “You heard me say, I am okay, right?”
I nod in agreement, and I get a small smile in return before she continues. “Perhaps though, you could get me a drink. And then I’d like to hear how you all know each other.”
For someone so slight, she’s got a way about her. In time, and if things keep down the direction we’re already travelling, I suspect I’m going to find it near impossible to ever deny her anything. Hendrix’s expression goes from trying to get answers, to caring mode, in a snap.
He swoops her up in his arms, making her glare. I follow behind but only after rechecking that the front door is locked and the building’s security system is engaged. And then because my protective urges are going off like rockets, I call down to security, telling them not to let anyone in without my permission.
I savour her, inhaling deeply. Her scent is cookies and cream, exactly how I remembered it to be. I knew I hadn’t gotten it wrong. Admittedly though, I hadn’t gotten it entirely right either. My fever made me miss how sugary, sweet and multi-layered it is—it’s complex but natural, like everything in her is wholesome and ideal.
Her cookies and cream perfume evokes my senses and strokes against parts of me—I feel happy from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head by simply being in her proximity. Another inhale of her scent before I go to ask questions about those injuries only reinforces the joy and calm that I associate with her.
