Page 32 of Alaska Lights

Every bit of him matches every bit of him.

“I mean, that’s what they say,” I mumble under my breath, rifling through a million other facts that are dying to spew from me.

“Interesting.” He turns to look at me, our gazes locking.

We stare at one another, the air buzzing with tension. His eyes drop to my lips, his eyes seeming a brighter red than before. I want to ask about his contacts, but I don’t want to seem rude.

“Are you not cold? Here. Take this back. You aren’t wearing a shirt.” I start to take off his coat when his hand on my shoulder stops me.

I tighten my lips together to stop the moan from slipping free. One touch from him and I’m ready to melt.

“No. I’m fine. I’m used to this weather. I’m not cold at all. I promise.”

“Are you sure?” I find that odd. It’s a cool night. Anyone who doesn’t wear a jacket is concerning.

“I’m sure, Helios. Trust me.”

Trust him.

Is it weird that I barely know him, and I’d trust him with my life?

I mirror his stance, staring out into the beautiful pastures of his ranch. Horses graze in the rain; a beautiful grey one stands alone, tail flicking as he enjoys the storm.

I point to him. “What’s his name?”

“That’s my horse, Mustache Man.”

“Mustache Man?” I mean to chuckle, but I fucking giggle like a schoolgirl and bump his shoulder.

Am I…am I flirting? I think…I think I might be.

Stealing the small touch eases this build-up of anxiety in my stomach. I can’t explain it, but I almost feel like I’m meant to be here with Alaska.

“Where did that name come from?” I ask, stopping myself from trying to touch him again.

“You can’t see it from here, but he has something that resembles a mustache on his lip. Soren’s horse’s name is Bango Bucko.” He leans closer to me, our shoulders touching again, and I hold my breath, my eyes drifting down his muscular arm to his finger to see where he is pointing. “It’s hard to see him from here since he is standing in the shelter, but that’s him.”

“Where in the world did Bango Bucko come from?”

“Soren,” he answers in a plain tone as if that explains everything.

His arm drops to his side, and his hands flatten on the rail. I glance down, our pinkies millimeters away from touching.

What is he doing to me?

“Did you know the term cowboy was used for workers who took care of the livestock?”

Alaska smirks, tilting his head at me, his eyes still invoking a thousand questions inside me.

“I actually did know that.”

I blush, looking away. “Sorry about that. I tend to spew facts when I’m nervous.”

“You’re nervous?” He turns to me, his entire body angling in my direction, which has me become more unstable on the inside. “Why?”

“I don’t know. New place. New people. That sort of thing,” I lie, shrugging, not wanting to admit that he is the one who makes me nervous.

His nostrils flare as if he can scent that I’m lying, which is impossible.