back to the door.
Wow, wow, wow . I almost faint on the spot. “Thank you,” I whisper.
I feel like we may have just had a little moment, but that warm and fuzzy feeling dissipates rapidly when a breeze blows and I detect what feels suspiciously like the little legs of a bug on my cheek.
“Oh, God, what’s on me, Flynn?” I smack at my face. Lightly, since I sure as hell don’t want to get stung.
“Is it a bee?” I freeze and ask.
Flynn looks at me and starts to laugh. “It’s not a bee,” he assures me.
I go back to swishing my hands around my face, while the screen door smacks against my butt. “What is it, then?” I ask. “Something is definitely still there.”
“Hold on a minute.” Flynn’s still smiling, shaking his head. “Would you stop waving your hands around everywhere?”
“Okay, sure.” I lower my arms and stand completely still.
“It’s not a bee or a bug,” he reiterates, nodding reassuringly. “It’s just a long strand of your hair that’s stuck on your cheek. It’s kind of poking you, uh, right about… here .”
He starts to reach out—I’m sure to push away the wayward, feels-like-a-bug strand—but then he remembers my issues.
“Anyway…” He drops his hand to his side, sighing. “The hair’s stuck to your cheek. The breeze was making it move. That’s why it felt like a bug.”
Reaching up to my face, I ask. “Where is it, exactly? I can’t feel anything now.” I touch different places on my face and ask, “Here? Here?”
Flynn tries to point to the spot. “A little lower and to the right,” he says.
“Um…”
“Ah, fuck it.”
He reaches out, and I drop my hands to my sides. I can do this, I can do this .
Then again, maybe I can’t.
Just as Flynn’s hand is about to make contact with my cheek, I involuntarily flinch.
He freezes, hand suspended in the air. “Jaynie…?”
It’s a question. Should he stop, or do I want him to keep going?
Our eyes meet, and all the things Flynn doesn’t outright state are in those depths of gray. He wants to try again. He’s just waiting for permission.
Taking a deep breath, I give it to him. “Go ahead, Flynn. Touch me. I’ll be okay.”
I don’t know if what I’m so bravely stating will bear out to be true, but I sure as heck plan to try. I refuse to allow the monster who made me this way to win.
Quietly, he asks, “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes.”
And that’s all he needs to hear. Flynn brushes over with my cheek with his finger, lightly, just to see how I handle it.
Not great, as it turns out.
I gasp, and he jerks away.
I don’t feel the usual panic, though. This feels different. Flynn’s warm skin pressed to my own, even if only for a brief second, felt electric. Maybe it did for him, too. He appears a little flustered, which is not like Flynn.
“Try it again,” I whisper.
He raises a brow. “Yeah?”
I nod. “Uh-huh.”
His fingers brush across my cheek once more, this time more slowly. I close my eyes, acclimating myself to his touch. I am okay. I feel his fingertips, warm and appealingly rough, as he lifts the elusive strand of hair from my damp skin. So carefully, so gently. Wow, this is what it feels like to be cared for. I need this. Oh, how I need this.
Without opening my eyes, I lean into Flynn’s lingering touch. He tucks more wayward hair behind my ear, pieces that weren’t even stuck to my cheek. He just wants to touch me. “Is this all right?” he whispers.
“Yes.”
I open my eyes, and he smiles at me. I smile back at him. He’s as excited by this development as I am. And, damn, it feels good . A million unsaid things are expressed as we gaze into each other’s eyes. Maybe not a million, but many, and all of them point to two things—I like Flynn, and he likes me. We are more than friends, more than pretend siblings.
Time freezes, and I revel in the magic of the moment. But alas, when he moves his fingers away from my face, the moment is
Wow, wow, wow . I almost faint on the spot. “Thank you,” I whisper.
I feel like we may have just had a little moment, but that warm and fuzzy feeling dissipates rapidly when a breeze blows and I detect what feels suspiciously like the little legs of a bug on my cheek.
“Oh, God, what’s on me, Flynn?” I smack at my face. Lightly, since I sure as hell don’t want to get stung.
“Is it a bee?” I freeze and ask.
Flynn looks at me and starts to laugh. “It’s not a bee,” he assures me.
I go back to swishing my hands around my face, while the screen door smacks against my butt. “What is it, then?” I ask. “Something is definitely still there.”
“Hold on a minute.” Flynn’s still smiling, shaking his head. “Would you stop waving your hands around everywhere?”
“Okay, sure.” I lower my arms and stand completely still.
“It’s not a bee or a bug,” he reiterates, nodding reassuringly. “It’s just a long strand of your hair that’s stuck on your cheek. It’s kind of poking you, uh, right about… here .”
He starts to reach out—I’m sure to push away the wayward, feels-like-a-bug strand—but then he remembers my issues.
“Anyway…” He drops his hand to his side, sighing. “The hair’s stuck to your cheek. The breeze was making it move. That’s why it felt like a bug.”
Reaching up to my face, I ask. “Where is it, exactly? I can’t feel anything now.” I touch different places on my face and ask, “Here? Here?”
Flynn tries to point to the spot. “A little lower and to the right,” he says.
“Um…”
“Ah, fuck it.”
He reaches out, and I drop my hands to my sides. I can do this, I can do this .
Then again, maybe I can’t.
Just as Flynn’s hand is about to make contact with my cheek, I involuntarily flinch.
He freezes, hand suspended in the air. “Jaynie…?”
It’s a question. Should he stop, or do I want him to keep going?
Our eyes meet, and all the things Flynn doesn’t outright state are in those depths of gray. He wants to try again. He’s just waiting for permission.
Taking a deep breath, I give it to him. “Go ahead, Flynn. Touch me. I’ll be okay.”
I don’t know if what I’m so bravely stating will bear out to be true, but I sure as heck plan to try. I refuse to allow the monster who made me this way to win.
Quietly, he asks, “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes.”
And that’s all he needs to hear. Flynn brushes over with my cheek with his finger, lightly, just to see how I handle it.
Not great, as it turns out.
I gasp, and he jerks away.
I don’t feel the usual panic, though. This feels different. Flynn’s warm skin pressed to my own, even if only for a brief second, felt electric. Maybe it did for him, too. He appears a little flustered, which is not like Flynn.
“Try it again,” I whisper.
He raises a brow. “Yeah?”
I nod. “Uh-huh.”
His fingers brush across my cheek once more, this time more slowly. I close my eyes, acclimating myself to his touch. I am okay. I feel his fingertips, warm and appealingly rough, as he lifts the elusive strand of hair from my damp skin. So carefully, so gently. Wow, this is what it feels like to be cared for. I need this. Oh, how I need this.
Without opening my eyes, I lean into Flynn’s lingering touch. He tucks more wayward hair behind my ear, pieces that weren’t even stuck to my cheek. He just wants to touch me. “Is this all right?” he whispers.
“Yes.”
I open my eyes, and he smiles at me. I smile back at him. He’s as excited by this development as I am. And, damn, it feels good . A million unsaid things are expressed as we gaze into each other’s eyes. Maybe not a million, but many, and all of them point to two things—I like Flynn, and he likes me. We are more than friends, more than pretend siblings.
Time freezes, and I revel in the magic of the moment. But alas, when he moves his fingers away from my face, the moment is
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