A body drops beside me instantly, but the person doesn’t say anything straight away.
“I’m so sorry,” he says in a rush. “I didn’t see you. Are you alright?” His voice is smooth and velvety. A delightful surprise that makes me think about reaching into a box of chocolates.
I turn my head to look at him and go still at the person crouched in front of me.
Ocean eyes.
Sharp jaw.
High cheekbones.
Mahogany hair.
Blue jersey.
Woodland trail scent.
It’s him.
Eighty-Seven.
My pulse jumps, my body snapping to attention.
I am not my mother.
I am not my mother.
I am not my mother.
“Miss? Are you okay?” his rich voice asks me again.
I blink up at him, momentarily dazed.
“I’m gonna help you up. Is that okay?” he asks, his voice gentle.
My eyes track his hands lifting with careful intention, but he doesn’t reach for my arms, or any part of my body. He keeps them where I can see them, as if he’s waiting for me to give him permission.
I nod.
His hand folds around mine, and a jolt of electricity shoots through me. In one smooth movement, he lifts me up as he rises onto his feet, and we’re both upright.
I have to tilt my head back to look at him because of how tall he is. My head doesn’t even reach his shoulder. I’m standing in the shadow of a giant.
A really, really handsome giant.
My eyes flutter, caught off guard by what just happened. His hand, his touch—it’s all too new. Too close to the kind of thing I’ve avoided for so long. I can’t deny the molten rush that spreads through me. It’s not what I expected, but somehow, it feels right.
He swipes the sealed water bottle off the table and hands it to me after he twists the cap off.
I take it with gratitude. “Thanks, Eighty-Seven,” I murmur after taking a sip.
The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk. “She speaks.”
His eyes linger on my face a second too long, and warmth spreads up my neck. I take another swig from the bottle, hoping the flush doesn’t reach my face, and clear my throat, desperately trying to pull my gaze away from his.
“S-Sorry,” I stammer, embarrassed for calling him that. And then I apologize again for the other thing. “Sorry for not paying attention to my surroundings.”
He shakes his head. “It was my fault. I stepped out in front of you.” His voice is reassuring, and his politeness turns my stomach—a feeling that’s unknown to me. And the unknown is not a place I want to be.
