Did you see that stuttering idiot on the stage? Even after all the practicing and notecards, I still somehow managed to say, ‘Yo, thanks,’ to the faculty like I was some dollar-store Eminem. “It wasn’t that bad,” Max says diplomatically. As if the poor thing hasn’t suffered enough without adding my abuse to the tally. It bounces off the stone pathway and hits one of the dolphins right in the forehead. “I think I’ve spoken enough for one day,” I say and kick a pebble. I can feel his gaze on the side of my face, drilling into me like he’s preparing to excavate the thoughts from my brain. He’s six feet of utter perfection in gray pants and a pink polka-dot button-down that most people would never be able to pull off but Max does with confidence to spare. Hell, most of the time it seems like he isn’t even aware of how accomplished he is, or how many people vie for his attention on an hourly basis. He’s not cocky and loud and obnoxious like some people get when they’ve been blessed in both looks and smarts. He knows what he wants, and he’s not afraid to go after it. There’s always been a quiet confidence about Max.
And if the eyes aren’t enough, there are the high cheekbones and the dimple in his left cheek that is only visible when he grins a certain way. He could put fans out of their jobs with those things during a heat wave. His dark blond hair always looks artfully messy, and his blue eyes are fringed with the longest lashes I’ve ever seen on a person. He’s the kind of hot that makes people turn their heads on the street and stare after him. Not that anybody could really blame me for looking. It takes concentrated effort not to stare. There’s the familiar tingle that I’ve almost learned to ignore over the years. His fingers are warm where they touch mine. “Don’t tell Anders I’ve corrupted his little brother.” He offers me his glass of champagne and winks. Max shakes his head fondly as he turns his gaze to me. Better some boob water than death, right?” “She figured the best way to save the poor things from dehydration was to lactate on them?” Max’s lips twitch, eyes locked on the mermaid. What we have here is a gracious sea goddess, who saw that the sea creatures were in trouble and decided to lend a helping hand.” I study the fountain. “I should say the answer is obviously yes. Ignore the way your heart is about to beat out of your chest. I rub my palm over the back of my neck and keep my eyes fixed on the mermaid. Max grins as he comes to stand next to me. I jump, startled by the voice from behind me. “Do you think the fountain’s meant to tell a story?” But, means to an end, I suppose? She’s saving the fish, so there’s that. In the case of this particular courtyard, there’s a mermaid spraying water on a dolphin and some fish. I tilt my head to the side and look at the fountain in front of me. Let’s be honest, there are only a select few holes where water can come out, so the fountain, by design, will constantly pee, vomit, lactate, ejaculate, or experience very concerning bouts of diarrhea, and as far as I know, those aren’t considered the classiest of activities. Same goes for angels, mermaids, centaurs… Really anything with a body that resembles a human. I don’t think sculptures of humans make for the best fountains. And why we're suddenly doing all sorts of other things friends don't generally do. Now, if only I could figure out why he's looking at me so intently. Luckily for me, I'm not the same pathetic, starry-eyed kid anymore. You can only make a complete ass of yourself in front of a guy so many times. The softness of his lips and the hopeful look in his eyes-I remember it all too clearly, and it's getting almost impossible to tell myself I don't want a repeat of that kiss. That damn kiss is coming back to haunt me now. I shut him down, telling him he was too young and didn't know what he was saying. He kissed me when he was nineteen and told me he was in love with me. Any perceived slight of any individual or organization is purely unintentional.įormatting by: Leslie Copeland at LesCourt Author Services Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Names, characters, events and incidents are either the products of author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in book reviews
0 kommentar(er)
