Trembling mouth to trembling mouth. A desperate plea whispered between us. Shared breath. Warm, sure hands pushing back my hair and holding the back of my head for a kiss. My clammy hands grasping at his throat, feeling the proof of his existence fluttering maddeningly against my palm. Me, turning my back to him. Begging for…
It never should have happened.
Another thing I have to apologize for.
I have to force the thoughts back into the dark recess of my mind where I keep all the things that are too hard to think about.
Kit
It took approximately forty-five minutes for Bowen to exit the cabin. I know this because I had a one-hour timer going on my phone and a promise to myself that if he didn’t come out before the timer went off, I had to knock.
He didn’t even look at me sitting in the open door of the van when he bounded down the steps. Just went about his business. Meanwhile, I spent every one of those forty-five minutes staring at the cabin, like if I did it hard enough, I would be able to see through the wood at the man inside.
Now he’s got all sorts of stuff pulled out from the shed that I never remember seeing in there before. A workbench, power tools. He even rolled out a big, sleek black toolbox a while ago. The one I remember being his dad’s. He’s got music coming from a Bluetooth speaker on the work bench,and he’s…sawing wood? I don’t even know. He’s doingsomething,though, and I’m still wondering what the hell to even say to him.
He has to know that I’ve been watching him like a lovesick puppy since the moment he walked out, but he shows no signs of caring.
Stop. Being. A. Baby! It’s Bowen for fucks sake,Brett’s yelling, flailing his arms around in the air.
Fuck! Fine.
I guess I’ll just figure out what to say when I get over there. I’m sure a perfectly good, normal question will come out of my mouth. Nothing embarrassing or weird atall.
Sleep Tokenis playing when I walk up, and my pounding heart in my ears adds an interesting layer to the already heavy music. I’m only a few yards behind him now. I wipe my palms down my shorts and open my mouth…
The music shifts to a completely different sound, and it’s not until Bowen pulls his phone from his back pocket and tucks it between his shoulder and ear that I realize it was his ringtone.
“Hey,” he says. Then, after a few beats and a small laugh, he says. “Yeah, I’m good. Just wasn't expecting it.” He inspects the piece of wood he was cutting. Running a fingertip over an edge. “No, I don’t need you to do anything. Really.” He laughs again, nothing loud or full, but it’s more than I’ve heard from him in a long time. “I missed your voice, too. Call you later?”
I missed your voice, too?
I rub my hand over my burning chest. A girlfriend, maybe? That would be more plausible than something happening with Ian, I bet. Yep. A pretty little blond. Maybe even a redhead. Or he found himself a badass little alt girl covered in tattoos and piercings that absolutely rocks his world in the bes—
“If you’re going to puke, puke over there,” Bowen says, motioning to the bushes on the side of the main cabin.
I didn’t even realize he turned around.
“I’m not going to puke.”
I don’t think…
Bowen hums, sounding like he doesn’t care one way or another. Then cuts off any more conversation with the sound of the saw in his hand. I watch him work for a moment longer, music back to blaring.
This is crazy. I rub my eyes, then walk over to the speaker and fumble with it until I find the power button. The lack of music doesn’t get his attention.
Or he is very purposefully ignoring me.
I deserve it. But the buffet of feelings I didn’t expect or ask for since the moment I got here is swarming and flooding my stomach, and I need tosay something.
“Why is all this stuff here?” I ask, but Bowen doesn’t hear me over his work, so I walk to the opposite side of the table and stare at the top of his head. The sunshine is hitting some of the curls in a way that casts a silver hue. One lone curl is hanging down his forehead. “Was that your girlfriend?”
The saw cuts off this time, and Bowen leans both hands on the table and finally graces me with his eyes.
Not that I’m looking, I’m looking at his big hands spread out on the sawdust-covered table. He has a silver ring on each middle finger. A tattoo on the inside of his left ring finger, but I can’t see what it is. The veins on his hands rope up his forearms and… Damn, it’s hot out here.
I can feel his eyes, and I can only stand it a moment longer before I turn my face away and rub my neck. “Hot day, huh?”
“Is there a point to you breathing down my neck, Meyer?”
