27. Evie #2
Every ounce of frustration that has been bubbling beneath my skin explodes as I lunge for him. I place my hands on his shoulders and push with all my might. His head drops beneath the surface, except his hands quickly wrap around my waist and pull me down with him.
Submerging beneath the water, my hands still on Matteo’s shoulder, he slides his hands from my waist until they rest along my lower hips, holding me to his body.
Everything disappears for a moment and all I’m left with is him and me.
Just the two of us, away from the consequences of the world above.
The tether that is always alive and burning tugs.
Matteo pulls me even closer, flushing our bodies together until I don’t know where he ends and I begin. I shiver nevertheless, my body igniting in a way it never has.
Nothing has ever felt so perfect.
For a second, just a moment in time, my thoughts drift to where they used to when I was younger, when I was a hormone-filled teenager desperately seeking any time I could with my brother’s best friend.
When all I ever dreamed of was Matteo turning around and kissing me.
Back then, I thought of what I can’t help but think in this moment.
Are we made for each other? Do we fit so perfectly and move like water because we’re the missing half to each other’s soul?
Are we destined in the stars?
Perhaps the stars don’t want me to know the answer because Matteo drags us both to the surface, popping our perfect, quiet bubble. As I come up gasping, blinking furiously at him, Matteo’s eyes seem to melt as he keeps my body flush with his.
My breathing remains labored, slow and deep as I try to force my heart to calm.
For the first time in my life, I take a play from my ex’s book and lie.
I tell myself that Matteo isn’t staring into my eyes with something akin to love because he wants to kiss me, that his hands on my waist don’t feel like heaven, that his eyes aren’t hooding and his lips certainly aren’t parting, that I’m not craving to be touched for once.
But that doesn’t happen.
None of it does.
Because my body isn’t listening.
My lips mirror his and part. My breath hitches and, despite screaming at myself to stop, I lean forward, my breasts firmly pushed against his chest. My hands, still on his wet shoulders, snake upward, slowly trailing along the length of his neck.
The second my thumb brushes his jawline, he sucks in a hiss of air, his eyes closing as a low sound leaves him.
The warmth of his breath brushes across my parted lips. My head tilts, his lowering. We’re an inch apart and all I want is him.
Always him.
“Dove,” he breathes.
“Yes?”
“Are you—”
A snap of a branch behind me has Matteo’s eyes widening. He suddenly spins me behind him, placing me at his back as he whispers, “Don’t make a sound.”
It doesn’t take me long to realize why he’s now standing as tall as he can, why his hand is quivering as he holds me in a death grip. He doesn’t mean it but his grasp begins to hurt my wrist, but I don’t say anything. I can’t, not as I spot the bear across the creek, ambling along with three cubs.
“Shouldn’t we be as loud as we can?” I whisper, sucking in a gasp.
He shakes his head slowly, never taking his eyes off the bears. He lowers himself in the water and I follow his lead until the water laps at my neck. He pries his hand off my wrist, only to wrap his arms behind him and around my stomach, pulling me flush against his back.
The bears continue on, completely unaware of our presence in the creek, and that’s when I see what Matteo must have—a well-worn path that veers off to the left.
We’re vulnerable in the water, can’t move as quickly if need be. If they follow the path, they’ll be gone in a minute.
It’s the longest sixty seconds of my life. I don’t breathe, don’t dare to, and Matteo doesn’t move an inch either. The only thing telling me he’s still alive and breathing is the pulse point in his neck.
Fear is an odd thing, one that shows up differently in each individual. For me, I freeze and turn to stone.
I never feel anything in those moments—not fear, not pain, not pleasure. If something makes me freeze, I feel nothing. It’s as if my body completely shuts down.
And I certainly shut down in this moment.
It isn’t until Matteo finally breathes out a sigh of relief and turns toward me, his gaze searching my face, that I realize I’ve checked out.
“We should go in case they come back. I thought that was a human-made path.”
Nodding, I don’t put up any resistance as he helps me out of the water.
I’m so out of it that one moment we’re getting out of the creek, Matteo shivering slightly, and in the next, I’m sitting on the tailgate of his truck with a towel wrapped around me, my feet dangling as I swing them back and forth.
Matteo is standing in front of me, a towel draped over his shoulders.
His lips thin, a worried smile if I’ve ever seen one. “Welcome back.”
Blinking, I start to feel the sensations of my body. Begin to feel how cold the water really was, the dirt between my toes, the goosebumps lining my skin, and surprisingly, the longing in my chest for this man.
My voice hitches. “That was scary.”
He nods slowly, eyes not leaving mine. “Been a while since I’ve seen you like that.”
My brows furrow. “Like what?”
“Floating,” he supplies.
“Ah.” I blink, trying to clear the mental fog. It always takes longer for the clouds to disappear afterward. Like moving through quicksand, everything is slow, sluggish, and thick.
“Come on, I’ll take us home,” Matteo says gently.
“Okay.”
He moves forward, offering his hand to help me from the truck bed. It isn’t long until we’re back in the cab, the tire successfully out of the mud, and on the road with the heater blasting to warm up our chilled bones.
The ride is a silent one, Matteo trying to spark up a conversation here and there, but despite coming back down, I can’t string together a sentence to save my life. He knows that, though. It’s why, halfway back to the apartment, his hand lands on my thigh, palm up.
I take it without pause and tell myself one more lie: He doesn’t want to hold my hand because we nearly kissed. Matteo is just doing what he always does—comforting me as I find my way back to my body.
It isn’t until he nods at the film camera sitting between us on the middle console and asks, “When are you going to develop the photos?” that I feel myself come back.
My humor, apparently, the first thing to work again because I hear myself tease, “Dying to see the shirtless pictures I took of you?”
He flashes me a quick smirk before returning his gaze to the road. “You took shirtless pictures of me?”
I huff out a laugh. “Hard not to when you spent the entire hike half undressed.”
“Figured I should give you something good to capture.”
“Because the stunning view wasn’t enough?”
He brings his pointer finger and thumb together. “Needed a little oomph.”
I prop my feet up on the seat, resting my head on the window as I try to get comfortable. “So cocky,” I mumble to myself.
Matteo, for once, doesn’t let the conversation die.
“Why do you love photography so much?”
Shrugging, I look down at the camera I bought myself yesterday, the one that is entirely all mine with no bad memories attached to it. A camera only I have touched. “Photos don’t lie. No one can warp the reality captured by the lens.”
I feel Matteo’s gaze on the side of my face like a hot brand. Through thick lashes, I watch him back, seeing a muscle tick in his jaw before he refocuses on the road, his grip tightening on the wheel.
“Do you think people warp things?”
The question startles my mind enough that I just sit there for a moment, blinking, trying to back track to what we were talking about.
“People can lie and twist things until your mind is so scrambled you don’t know which way is up or down.
But a photo never lies, never changes. It captures exactly what occurred, no ifs, ands, or buts.
” I study my new camera. “Memories will fade and your mind can trick you, but photographs are forever.”
“You like transparency.”
“I like honesty.”
Matteo looks from me to the road. “Was Carter someone who warped your memories?”
“All the time,” I answer honestly.
Matteo falls quiet for a moment, the only sound the low hum of the radio and the tires on the asphalt. Until he asks gently, “What was it like?”