Jesus, this guy has no personality.
But beingthathot, I guess you don’t need one.
As I’m about to close out of his website, a picture on his dashboard catches my eye. It’s labeled asA Way to Escape, February 27th.
From the way the camera is positioned, he is clearly sitting in a tree somewhere, and his lens is focused on the leaves that drip morning dew. The rising sun is slipping through the branches, and you can see his hand reaching out, almost as if to grasp it.
I can almost feel it… his desire to escape, to break free, from what I do not know. But it’s a physical thing reaching out to touch me through the screen—boring into me and giving me another hint at the kind of man Rowan is.
And right as I’m leaning in, trying my hardest to catch and analyze every detail, my alarm goes off. I jump off the couch cushion, sighing loudly as I place the laptop onto the coffee table. My phone screen reads the same message it does every weekday night around 7 p.m.:Nighttime routine.
In the bathroom, I begin brushing my teeth and stare at myself in the mirror. Hazel eyes stare back at me; they hold no particular thought or desire. Fair skin and high cheekbones, golden blond hair with the world’s most uncertain curl pattern. Button nose. Lean limbs.
I know I’m attractive—everyone in the Camry line is. If I operated as a normal human being, I’d be the perfect contender for romance. But I don’t. So instead, I am the perfect contender for hooking up behind bars and flirting across diner tabletops. For one-night stands and being pretty enough for sex, and never much else.
Boring. I am so incredibly boring.
Rowan may have no discernible personality, but he at least has an interesting aspect to him. Even if it’s just his elusiveness.
I am just… Elijah. And all I have to offer this world is a pretty face.
I rinse my mouth and turn away from the mirror, making my way to bed and shutting off the lights as I go. Darkness swallows me up as I pull the covers to my shoulders.
I moved from California to escape my family—to escape the pressure of their insistent feelings and overwhelming affection. And here I am, obsessively thinking about the strange man who made me feel just that: feelings. Affection.
I should be scared. I should be running. But instead, I can’t wait to see him again.
I… I feel as if I’ve been waiting for so long just to see him again.
Chapter Seven
Rowan
Iwalk the produce aisle of Fort Myers’ local grocery store, ignoring the side-eyes I’m receiving from the employees and occasional shoppers. I only have to come once a week—other than that, I get to steer clear of this rumor-infested cesspool. Judgmental fucks and their cruel eyes.
Not that I’ve ever given them anything else to work with.
But I shouldn’thaveto. Why should I have to prove myself to these people? I’ve lived here my whole life; they know I’m not crazy. I just don’t fit their mold—Sunday services and festivals in the town square.
Whatever.
Instead of dwelling, I sort through the stacked watermelons, trying to find the sweetest one. Whichever has the palest patch is the one I want, so I’ll sort for a while. And as I do, I’ll think of Benjamin cutting watermelon for our trip to the river.
He stands in front of me, peeking up at me from under those thick lashes. His knife glides easily, his cheeks flushed so sweetly. I’m not sure what he’s so embarrassed about—I haven’tmade that up yet—but he’s smiling so gently at me, and my hearthurts.
Only now that I’ve met Elijah, it feels weird to think of Benjamin. It feels awkward to sit around and imagine the sweet, citrus smell of him that I crave so desperately when there is a man in town who looks exactly like him.
Which is cruel and unfair, as I’ve had Benjamin for so long now. And now it feels as if he’s being taken from me.
Benjamin is staring at me so sweetly in my mind, and I’m holding onto that image so desperately.
“Rowan?”
My head snaps up, meeting Elijah’s gaze from where I lean over the stacks of watermelon.Great fucking timing.
My heart speeds up, palms sweating as the desire to reach for him crawls up my throat.
Touch him, just for a second. You miss him, you want him. Grab him before it’s too late—before he’s gone again.
