CHAPTER 20
Gabrielle
“I didn’t think I was going to make it,” I say, huffing and puffing, sweat running down my forehead from our morning beach run.
“You didn’t make it,” Tyson quips. “I carried you the rest of the way here on my back. What was that? About a mile?”
“Oh, whatever, Tyson,” I say, watching him chug a bottle of Crystal Geyser. “That was not a mile. That wasn’t even half of mile.”
I drink some water to help my breathing return to normal, but instead I end up losing more breath as I watch Tyson pull his sweat-soaked tank top over his head, revealing his cast-iron chest and abs that are so toned, so ripped, they look fake. His physique is mind-blowing.
“All I’m saying is, we’ve only been doing this every morning for the past three months, Bri. You should be used to this by now.”
“I...uh...um...” I literally force myself to look away from his abs. I don’t want to take my eyes off them, but I do. “I am used to it.”
“Then why are you out of breath?”
Because you took off your shirt.
That’s what I want to say. Instead, I respond, “Just thirsty.”
I drink more water and chuckle to myself.
He’s right...I should be accustomed to the morning run by now, but I’m not.
While I’m aware of the benefits of physical activities and know that running is good for exercising the body and relaxing the mind, the best thing about running in the morning along the shoreline, for me, is being next to him.
We’ve grown close over these last few months – extremely close.
I feel comfortable with him, even though we are just friends.
Roommates.
As I finish this bottle of water, I look across the center island in the kitchen and see him leaning against the counter, his arms crossed, legs crossed at the ankles, looking at me with a smirk on his face.
Yeah, he did carry me on his back for a few minutes, and while I tried to pretend I hadn’t felt an attachment to him as our sweat co-mingled under the rising of the morning sun, I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t feeling something for him. He’s good to me – how could I not?
“I’m surprised you came with me this morning, though. I thought exercise and sweat made your hair frizz up.”
He’s referring to my natural hair that I’d recently had flat-ironed. My straight, flowy strands fall to bra strap length. This was my first time having it straightened. I had no idea how a simple change in my hair could change my appearance. I look like a different woman.
I say, “Yeah, it does, but oh well.”
I massage my scalp, feeling around to see if the hair at the roots is reverting back to its natural state, and it is, although it’s not noticeable. “Yep, it’s already frizzing at the roots.”
“Let me see,” he says, walking over to the barstool where I’m sitting.
He drowns his hands in my hair, and I feel his fingertips massage my scalp.
“Hmm...I don’t feel anything but a big head,” he quips, then grins while sitting on the barstool next to me.
I laugh and get up from my seat. “Oh, really? Let me see what you’re working with.”
I massage his head because his hair is cut so low, there’s no hair for me to immerse my fingers in.
“Yeah, just as I suspected–an even bigger head,” I say, sliding my hands from his head to the sides of his face while watching him display that amazing smile that I love.
As I look at him, I ponder how he could be so handsome and yet still remain humble.
He knows how to treat people, especially a damaged soul like me. For that, I’m thankful.
“You okay?” he asks, probably because I’m still standing here. My hands are on his face, and I’m lost – somewhere in fantasy land where it’s possible that a man like him could be remotely interested in a woman like me.
“Bri, are you okay?”
I nod. Unable to stop myself from doing what I’ve been dreaming of for the last few weeks, I move my head closer to him, my lips closer to his lips until they touch. The moment they do, I jump like a static charge has jolted me back to reality.
“Oh, gosh. I’m sorry,” I say, then run upstairs, embarrassed.
I sit on my bed and cover my face with my hands.
What was I thinking? Just because Tyson was nice to me didn’t mean he wanted me.
It just meant he was nice – a million times nicer than Dilvan.
Now, I feel silly for kissing him, even though our lips barely touched.
The knock at the door has my heart pounding, Mind racing. I don’t have the wherewithal to get up from this bed.
“Bri.”
The sound of his voice makes me close my eyes. I feel my stomach quivering. How could I be so stupid?
“Gabrielle, may I come in?” he asks after knocking again.
I don’t know what to do, so I do nothing.
I freeze. For a moment, I can’t think. Then I realize I shouldn’t be this afraid to face Tyson after an innocent, barely-there kiss.
It’s not like he’s going to hurt me. I trust him.
He’s proven himself. What do I have to be afraid of?
All I have to do is apologize again and brush it off like it never happened.
So, I stand up from the bed, finger-comb my hair behind my ears and open the door.
Tyson is standing there, shirtless, the way I left him, and there’s a fire in his eyes – a hunger I haven’t seen in them before.
“Why’d you run away?” he asks, stepping into the room.
With each step he takes forward, I take one backward. “I’m sorry, Tyson. I didn’t mean to kiss you.”
“Yes, you did,” he states, taking another step.
“I know, but, I–I’m sorry. It just happened so fast and–”
“Why do you keep apologizing to me?”
I take a step back. “Because it’s the right thing to do in this instance.”
“It’s not.”
When I cannot take any more steps back, because my legs are up against the side of the bed, I feel Tyson’s hands against my face.
I close my eyes at the warmth of them and begin to wonder if he feels what I feel – like we are in sync in a much greater way than this friendship we’ve shared over the last few months.
There’s something special between us, something so ethereal that I feel like we’ve crossed over into unknown relationship territory.
“Gabrielle, if you want to kiss me, you should just do it.”
“Uh…” I open my mouth to speak, but my words stay hidden.
“Look at me,” he tells me. “Look me in my eyes.”
I look up at him, and I swear my body becomes a ball of wax. I’m completely under his control. My legs are so weak, I don’t think they’re going to hold up much longer.
“Gabrielle?”
“Yes?”
“Kiss me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I don’t know how. I’ve—” I close my eyes to process my thoughts and say, “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
That must come as a shock to him being that he knows I was with Dilvan, but he doesn’t make me feel embarrassed by it.
Instead, he angles my face up to his, then lowers to meet my mouth with his lips.
I gasp when they touch mine – when I feel the same energy in his touch that I feel in my heart.
My heart is pounding in my chest when his hand settles behind my head.
I say, “Tyson, I don’t know how.”
“I’ll show you,” he says, pushing his lips to mine again, but this time, he slowly takes my top lip between his, then the bottom and alternates that way.
When my mouth opens a little, it’s our tongues that are touching – dueling and tangling together.
He opens his mouth wider and takes my tongue into his mouth, kissing me thoroughly.
Mindfully.
And it feels amazing.
Instead of putting up my guard and keeping it up, I slowly lower it so I can relax into him as he claims ownership of my mouth in a way no man has. I feel his hands as they move from my hair to my neck as he applies gentle pressure while holding me steady, deepening the kiss.
My body aches with desire. The way he holds me while he drives his tongue down my throat makes goosebumps tatter my skin.
He groans.
The way he kisses me makes me feel like I’m the only thing in the world that matters to him. He kisses me like this has been on his mind forever and finally he got to fulfill his desire to take my mouth like it’s his own.
I started this interaction between us.
And he’s finishing it.
He stops, looks at me, and quickly goes in for another taste, savoring my mouth like it’s one of his tasty desserts.
I’m lost in his attention. In the urgency of his touch.
My first kiss is one that will forever leave a deep impression on me.
I never knew kissing felt so real. So good.
So intimate. His hot tongue, wet lips–even the way his beard tickles my skin ravages me–makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.
He pulls away again and licks his lips while he stares at me as if he wants more.
I’m breathing heavily, desperate for his touch, yet not knowing if I can handle it.
“I should probably let you get ready to go.”
“Yes. Probably.”
“I’ll see you downstairs.”
“Yeah. Downstairs.”
I’m having heart palpitations. Maybe that’s why I can’t find my voice at the moment. So as I watch him walk away and close my bedroom door, I smile while I touch the sides of my face. Did that just happen?