Page 12 of Wild Thing
A defined, muscular arm that can only be crafted from years of hard labor and disciplined training, reached over and leaned on the bar, slicing a divide between Ryan and I. Brax’s sun-kissed skin glistened from the rain, while his huge frame towered over me.
I needed to act cool.
Smell the flowers, cool the tea,I told myself. It was a trick my Mom taught me when I felt anxious. I'd never really stopped to consider whether it was bullshit or legit, but I'd always found it oddly comforting.
I looked up at him, giving him a slight smile. “Hi Brax.”
I'd never given him a nickname like he had for me. Although I was starting to think he would suit something monstrous. Had he always looked like a transformer? Had he always been this fucking huge?
His eyes danced with mine as we held each other’s stare.
“Don’t get up,” Brax said sarcastically as he leaned in for a short hug.Like old friends should.
It felt electrifying. Like his hands were filled with little zaps of lightning that shot through my body.
Breaking out of the hug, the surprise at spotting me was written all over his face. “It’s been a while Dylan. How are you?”
Thankfully, it was enough for Ryan to get the message. Behind Brax’s enormous frame, Ryan stood with his beer and signalled “bye” to me.Thank god.
Brax took his seat.
“Feels like a lifetime,” I replied, while I attempted to calculate how many years had gone by since we'd last seen each other.
Five. It had been five years. “I’m good.”
Bald-faced lie.
I was anything but good. My heart rate was through the roof. I feared I was seconds away from a panic attack.
Shit, shit, shit. Flowers, tea, drink it, cool it, smell it… what the fuck was the saying?
“How are you?” I asked, feigning conversation. I nervously fiddled with the stem of the wine glass. I didn’t really care how he was. I wasn’t even listening. My mind had eddied of all thoughts. His very presence almost sent me into orbit.
After all these years, how does he still have a chokehold on me?
He was the one I’d never gotten over, no matter how many men I’d gotten under.
The one who I compared every lover to—and the one that no one would ever live up to.
Silently, I begged my Apple Watch to ignore the chaos, praying it wouldn’t register the spike in my heart rate. I’d been through that before—once, at an auction for a house I’d designed. I was so nervous for my client that my watch alerted me to a dangerously high heart rate, as if the stress alone might kill me.
And itwasstress I was feeling. I wasn't prepared for this chance meeting. Not withhim.And especially not with him lookinglike that.
By traditional standards, Brax was what most people would refer to as manly. Muscly, but not in a steroid using, jacked way. He was legitimately fit, strong and clearly took care of himself.
And very well, by the looks.
Broad shoulders framed a ripped body that appeared as if it had been carved by God himself. Taller than the average man at six foot three, he cut a commanding figure as he continued talking to me.
I still had no idea what he was saying.
I was too busy staring into his eyes. I'd always been mesmerized by them. They were a blend of light and dark blues, peppered with tiny white flecks. Like whitecaps in the ocean during a storm. I used to be able to tell what mood he was in,simply by looking at the color of his eyes. They changed, you see. They were mood dependent. And no matter what light or dark blue they were, they always complimented his thick, dark hair and his structured facial features.
He was heavily tattooed and effortlessly cool.
Exactly my type.
And if my memory served me correctly, I was his.
