We both laughed like fools, wrestling around on the soft, green grass. It felt good to let go. I didn’t care who was watching or what they thought of a nearly thirty-eight year old getting cozy with a much younger man. Well, technically he didn’t seem that much younger now, but if they knew I’d been his juvie counselor when he was only seventeen, they might look down their noses at me. Well, let them look. At the moment, I felt as free as a bird. Chris King brought out a happiness in me that I hadn’t felt in quite some time. I relished it.
Our giggles diminished, and we panted as we caught our breaths. I realized that I was still lying on top of Chris… and he wasn’t letting go. My hands were spread on the ground on either side of his head. My hair fell down around his face, framing it. Our faces were only inches from each other, staring. I relished the warmth of his body against mine—the robust, manly feeling of his strength beneath me. He closed his eyes, and that sexy half grin spread across his face.
“I forgot what this felt like,” he whispered.
“What what felt like?” I asked, gulping as I tucked a long strand of hair behind my ear.
“Freedom. Happiness. Being myself.” He opened his eyes and stared at me.
I rolled off of him as his arm relaxed on the ground, perpendicular to our bodies. Using his bicep as a pillow, I stared up at the clouds above us. “I keep forgetting that you live the life of a rock star. This weekend is just as much a getaway for you as it is for me.”
“Yeah, exactly…” his voice trailed. “Come Monday, I won’t be just Chris any more. I will go back to being Chris, the lead singer of Fifth Wheel, every fangirl’s wildest fantasy, every media outlet’s hottest story, and every venue’s biggest money maker. Honestly, it’s fucking exhausting.”
“I can only imagine…” I said, watching a runner pace herself as she jogged by us.
I saw something else out of the corner of my eye, but tried to ignore it. Paparazzi. They were everywhere. Thankfully, none had attacked us yet like the news media always portrayed, but they were still there, hiding, snapping pictures like the greedy jackasses that they were. “Don’t you get tired of being watched?”
Chris sighed and looked in the direction of the camera man crouched behind the tree. “All the time,” he said, defeated. “It’s the only thing about this lifestyle I fucking hate.” Chris curled his arm around me as if to shield me from the nosey camera man. “I don’t want to drag you into this. Let’s go.” Rising up, he pulled me off the ground. “Ignore them. They’ll try to get you to talk, but don’t make eye contact. Just keep walking.”
Okay, now he’s just freaking me out.
The look on my face must have given me away because he followed up with, “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
He was right. We walked right past the guy as he spouted questions, following us for a few yards. When neither of us satisfied the camera man with a spoken response, he gave up and retreated.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I said as we walked down the sidewalk, away from Central Park.
“Not this time,” Chris grumbled with a bit of sadness in his tone. I wondered what he meant. He squeezed my hand in his as if to say I had nothing to worry about. I let him intertwine his fingers with mine. My heart skipped a beat, and suddenly I was reminded of the time he flew in my office after Malik—the raging look in his eye that said he was there to protect me. As long as I was with him, I was safe. I would’ve let him hold my hand as long as he wanted, but it only lasted until we flagged down a cab.
As soon as he released my hand, I missed it—the warmth of his palm against mine. Without the feeling of his fingers laced with mine, something inside me felt… incomplete. Geez, Salem, he’s been back in your life all of five minutes and you already feel this strongly? Get a grip.
My inner Salem was right. Who was I to think that whatever this was between me and Chris would last? Or if it even existed at all? He’d held my hand for two minutes, so what? It meant nothing. Right? Why did this feel so wrong, and yet so perfect?
“Did you hear me?” Chris asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Huh?” I’d been too busy arguing with my inner thoughts.
“I asked if you prefer to eat sushi or New York pizza?” he said, thoughtfully brushing a wisp of hair off my face.
I pursed my lips, considering it. “Well, I can get sushi back home anytime. I’ve never had real New York pizza before.”
Chris smiled. His dimple creased, and my mind went wild—along with my very neglected hormones. Damn, he is sexy. Okay, stop, Salem. Stop it right now.