Page 94 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

Because he’s there too.

Oh, holy shit.

I swipe both palms at my face, dragging and smearing makeup as I go, but I still don’t care.

He’s there.

He’s…

Here.

I stagger to my feet, tossing aside the red-bottomed stilts.

And he’s still here. Lighting up the studio’s darkness with the resplendence of his full, warm smile. Filling the air with his rich, indulgent chuckle. Conquering every scrap of my awareness with his perfect, potent presence.

But is he?

This can’t be real…can it?

My senses don’t care. My mind explodes with how real he seems. My heartbeat triples with how real he feels. My every instinct is seared from the golden brilliance of his gaze.

Damn it.

The confident, arrogant, persistent man is already haunting me with his hotness.

Fucker.

Beautiful, incredible ghost man…

Who makes the crowd part as he moves forward.

Who takes my breath away with his strong, measured stride.

Wait.

He parts the crowd?

Because they see him too?

Because…they…feel him?

Because…

I don’t waste time with another moment of stupid theories or useless what-ifs.

I don’t waste time. Because time sure as hell isn’t going to waste me again. Or him. Especially him.

I run, forgetting about the cameras tracking me, the gasps surrounding me, even the director yelling at someone to get more light on me. It’s all background noise and worthless chaos. It’s as insignificant as the insecurities that have stopped me from believing in him. From believing in us.

I crash against him with a painful cry.

I grab his hair with painful twists.

I smash my lips to his with painful force.

And yet, none of the pain is enough. I want all the agony this man will bring me. And all the ecstasy too. All the regrets of his yesterdays, and all the hopes of his tomorrows—

But most of all, every drop of the joy of now. Of having him here. Of having him real.