Page 21 of Fall For Me
Hannah
The bed dips, then Sean’s warm body presses against mine. Even though I’ve been awake for half an hour, debating on getting out of bed, I keep my eyes closed and pretend to be asleep. His arm slides beneath me, pulling me closer, chest to chest, then his fingers drift into my curls, combing through them with slow, absentminded intimacy.
In all honesty, after what I told him last night, I’m surprised he’s still here. Shocked even. What man wants a woman with the medical issues I have and no breasts? Especially him—a man who’s gorgeous, magnetic, and has a plethora of women turning over his sheets.
He traces a fingertip along my nose, and I bat at his hand. “Mmm. Stop it. I’m sleeping.”
“Lies. Time to get out of bed, faker. I have something big planned.”
I crack one eye open, and he grins at me with pearly whites. Groaning, I roll out of bed, turning away from him so he can’t see me.
“I can’t go with you. I need to hike the ground below the canyons to map out my flight.”
“We can hike after.” He walks out of the bedroom, leaving no room for argument.
I don’t want to go anywhere with him. Being trapped in his scent, listening to his voice, being confined in a vehicle with him . . . all of it sounds like the worst form of torture.
Standing in front of the mirror, I resign myself to the fact that I’m going with him anyway and debate wearing the prosthetics. It’s so hot in Utah right now, and I hadn’t planned on wearing them here. Especially after everyone bailed at the last minute. All the shifting and readjusting. And the sweat . . . God, the sweat. Nope. Screw it. I don’t want to be uncomfortable. Let him see me. Like some women use their bodies to draw men in, I’ll use mine to push him away. He’ll realize soon enough I’m not what he wants, and maybe he’ll leave me the hell alone.
His taste in women? Bombshells with tiny waists and model-like bodies untouched by scars. Women who aren’t built like me. A quick Google search of his name proves that point well enough.
I wash up, brush my teeth, then throw on a pair of shorts, a sports bra, and a tank top. After putting myself together, and by together, I mean one swipe of mascara and ChapStick, I follow him out the door, tossing my hair up into a ponytail along the way. The dark sky blankets us as we approach the lifted, red Jeep parked in the driveway, void of its top and doors. A Jeep is so fitting for the landscape of this trip. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.
I throw my backpack into the back, then climb into the passenger seat next to Sean. He leans over to buckle my seatbelt; his eyes pinning me to the spot.
“You’re fucking beautiful.”
My breath stutters, and I look away, barely managing a quiet, “Thank you,” before asking, “Why do you always buckle me in?”
“To make sure you’re safe.”
“I learned to buckle my seatbelt when I was like five,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Sean lifts a brow, a smirk forming on his perfect face with mischief dancing in his eyes. Averting my gaze, I focus on the little compartmentin the dashboard, pushing the memory of the first time I ever rolled my eyes at him out of my mind as he pulls out onto the road.
His thumb taps against the steering wheel in time with the beat of the music playing over the stereo, drawing my attention back to him. My eyes roam from the corded muscles in his forearm adorned in tattoos as he drives one-handed to his handsome face. I follow the line of his straight nose down to his full lips, across his chiseled jaw. The laugh line, peeking through the jet-black stubble, never made sense to me because the man hardly ever cracked a smile. My mind begins to wander to the way the scruff on his face used to feel between my thighs.
My eyes flit down to his light blue t-shirt stretching tight across his broad chest and shoulders, knowing every ripped muscle underneath that fabric is defined by years of workouts and punishment on the ice and how they flex when he shifts over me or drives into me. The mental image shoots a little ball of energy straight to my core. He has a body built of a god. Gorgeous in a way that has you trying not to stare yet finding yourself doing it anyway. That’s where the danger with him lies. No matter how angry he’d make me, one look at him used to make me forget why I was mad in the first place; he’s that beautiful. But I’m learning very quickly that what’s on the outside means absolutely nothing.
“When you said map your flight, what did you mean?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Well, in short, the territory out here is unknown to me. I need to profile the jump. Collect information on the distance from the cliff to the ground, how long I’ll have to open up my chute, the angles of the boulders that I’ll need to miss?—”
“Why are you doing this?” he asks, cutting me off.
“What?”
“Why are you doing this crazy shit? Wingsuit flying? Throwing yourself off cliffs? It’s reckless and stupid. So, tell me the reason, so maybe I can understand.”
“I want to face my fear of dying. Some people call it defying death. I’m just here to give it a big middle finger. Mostly, I want to live everymoment like it’s my last. We don’t ever know what tomorrow will bring.”
He’s quiet for a few minutes. His steel jaw works back and forth as if he’s chewing on the words before he finally says, “I’m jumping with you.”
“Listen, wingsuit flying takes hours upon hours of skydiving and training. You can’t just buy a wingsuit, jump, and expect to live to tell the tale. But if you want to tandem base jump with a guide, you can take Aiden’s slot.”
Irritation flits across his expression, but he doesn’t say anything, and I’m left wondering what he’s put out about as we drive in thick silence the rest of the way. When we pull into a gravel parking lot and Sean throws the Jeep into park, my jaw drops.
“No way! No freaking way! What?!” I squeal, hopping out of the Jeep and bouncing on the balls of my feet like a kid on Christmas morning as I stare at the massive hot air balloon.
