Page 4 of Whispered Promises

Electricity shot through me as our eyes met, and she smiled at me.

I’m not a sappy man, but I know she’s it. The one, or whatever bullshit people call it. Don’t know how or why.

But I know.

It’s there in my gut, writhing to claim her. As long as she claims me too.

Max and Bry are talking around me, but it’s muted because I can’t fucking focus on anything except her. It’s not unusual for my thoughts to be consumed by her. Fuck, I’ve been watching her since she first started at the gym a few months ago. She’d crept in, looking lost and small, but she’d still held so much presence.

Enough that others noticed it too. Filthy fuckers.

It would’ve been bearable if they’d just watched; I’d hate it, but I could deal. Then some had approached her, as if they had the right to her words and smiles. She’d dismissed them, though, every single one. So I’ve waited, absorbing every piece of her I can. Some days she’s lighter, her body freer, her head moving along with whatever music plays in her headphones. Other days, the tension in her has my skin prickling. Those days I hate. I hate that I can’t take her stress away.

The way I’ve watched her could probably be considered obsessive. To me, it’s knowledge. I’m fucking learning what I can to know what she needs from me.

An image of her from behind, her thighs seductively wrapped in skin-tight leggings, slips into my mind as she confidently climbs onto the treadmill and starts her walk.

My imagination moves on to her post-workout, with a light sheen of sweat coating her skin. What I’d fucking give to be able to lick it off her, see how she tastes. Consume every fucking drop.

My mind is still reeling from today. We actually talked, and I watched her lips move around each word she gave me. Then I gave her my number.

Will she message me? Fuck, I should’ve asked for her number too.

Something small whizzes and smacks me on the cheekbone.

Scowling, I look up and see Max grinning too widely, his hand poised to throw another tiny missile at me.

“Fuck off. Stop throwing Maltesers at me, shithead.” My words punch out, more in frustration than anger, as I grab the offending chocolate-covered ball.

He’s like the annoying little brother I never had. Probably wouldn’t have wanted either; it would’ve meant yet another person my mother would've loved more than me.

The familiar jealousy simmers.

It feels different as an adult now, though. Now he’s part of my family. People who have chosen me, even with my gruff, roughed-up personality, for whatever unknown reason. It’s what I assume unconditional love is supposed to be. We’ve all got our baggage and traumas, or however else you want to name it. So we cling on to each other, have built our own family; whether it’s healthy or not, I don’t give enough of a shit to question it.

I have their backs, and they have mine. That’s all that matters to me.

“Then stop being stuck in your head. What’s even going on up there? You keep staring at your phone. What are you waiting for? Is it a sexy blonde?”

I roll my eyes, knowing he won't drop it.

“Oh, I know, a redhead?”

My hand launches the Malteser back at him. He rears up and catches it in his mouth, then pumps his arms triumphantly.

Fucking overeager baby seal.

“You’re annoying,” I huff, glancing down at my phone one last time before pocketing it in hopes that he’ll drop it. I’m not ready to voice my feelings for Rosy, even if a twinge of guilt niggles.

I might not be the most talkative of the four of us, but I don’t do secrets either. Don’t have things to hide.

Except this.

“Bro, that hit me right in the heart.” He clutches his chest; but with his trademark grin still plastered on his face, he’s not fooling anyone. At twenty-seven, he’s the youngest of the group. With his energy and enthusiasm, people usually guess our age as being further apart.

But that’s Max. He’s got the enthusiasm, energy, and appetite of a golden retriever.

“Bullshit,” I retort, keeping my tone even and holding in the small flicker of amusement.