Page 48 of All The Ways to Miss You

“Shelby’s my business partner. We teach capoeira here on Saturdays.”

Four things strike me . . .

Relief is number one. She’s his business partner, not a girlfriend. The grip that’s clenched at my heart since the day I first saw her eases.

Second, he’s talked about me? My heart contracts, which brings me to number three.

I like it. This is bad. Very bad.

And four. “Capoeira? As in the Brazilian martial arts?”

“Yeah.” His smile crushes my heart. It’s so handsome, so epically adorable. And I was doing so well forgetting him.

I take a step back when he crosses his buff arms over his chest. Today he’s wearing a gray tank and black workout pants.

“Kinda cold for no sleeves,” I say. It’s officially fall, and although it’s sunny, it’s in the fifties. His nipples are as hard as his flexing muscles, and I can’t help but remember a secret I discovered when we were together. My gaze flicks to his crotch.

“Still commando.” He shoots me a flirtatious grin. He’s either caught me looking or read my mind. Maybe both.

Something inside whispers that denial would be an admission of guilt, so I remain silent. I bite my lip instead as heat sweeps my cheeks and drives its way to my ears. My gaze swings away. A family of four passes on bikes. Seagulls flap their wings in the breeze, squawking above us.

“Wanna see?” He lifts his shirt and tugs open his pants, stepping closer.

I die when my gaze is drawn back. It can’t be helped. Does he intend to flash me right here?

A peek beneath his clothing reveals tanned compact abs and a wide elastic band with the orange bold letters spelling Under Armour.

I laugh. A real laugh. An Aggie laugh, one that makes my hips rock from side to side. “Nice panties, liar.”

“Just trying to make you smile.” He shrugs.

“Evan!” Shelby calls, waving for him. He looks over his shoulder to her and then back at me.

“I don’t want to hold you up.” I’m doing my best to excuse myself from this conversation and return to pretending he and his underwear, or lack of them, don’t exist.

“You should stay.”

An invitation to stare at him? Not a good idea. As I shake my head, telling him no, he beckons me forward, drawing me in. Lacking self-control, my feet step in his direction. He clears a space for me on a small bench beneath a tree, and I sit.

“Help yourself to anything in there.” He points to a red cooler.

“Thanks.” I press my hands between my knees.

Jittery and unmoving for a moment, he rakes his hand through his hair before glancing around. His awkwardness reminds me of the night I showered at his place. It’s like he has something to say but can’t. Finally, he gives in.

“I’ve been trying to catch you this week, but you haven’t been around. We need to talk about the other night. After this? Okay?”

I nod, even though it’s unclear what we need to talk about. Whatever it is has made him nervous, which in turn makes me nervous. I squirm in my seat.

Evan runs off and joins the group, which has formed a circle. He and another man step inside. Shelby gives a welcome speech and turns on some drum music with singers chanting in another language. The sound pulses through a set of small speakers on a nearby picnic table.

Evan and the man move in a choreographed dance. First, they step side to side, moving to the sound of the wild drumbeats. In larger sweeping movements, they slink around each other in fluid and complex steps, using kicks, spins, and jumps, but they never make contact. One man acts as water and the other as oil. Every step taken forces the other to react, bending into impossible forms. The beauty of every articulated maneuver mesmerizes me.

My breathing hikes and blood pressure rises. I fan my face with my hand while the other claws at my side. I’m heating up when I should be cooling down under the shade of a tree. As I recall his words, anxiety zips through me at the possibility of Evan reciprocating my feelings. Did he say we needed to talk about the other night? A relationship kind of chat?

My arms tremble. The harder I suck air, the tighter my windpipe clenches.

Recognizing the signs of a panic attack, I stand. I raise my chin and chest, forcing in air through my nose to even out my breathing. In this case, it’s Evan who’s shoving me overboard, making me freak out. I turn away from him and his class and take another ragged breath.