He blinked a couple of times as he looked down at me, as if he’d forgotten what I looked like. “What’s wrong?” I asked again, this time pushing away from his chest. “Yes, you are,” he said, his words muffled. He breathed heavily against my head and held me tighter before finally letting go.
“I’m not going to slither out of your arms, you know?” I said jokingly against his chest. He didn’t respond-just pulled me into his arms and held me in a tight hug. I stepped out of the car, closing the door behind me. From the look in his eyes, I knew something was wrong. I gasped and sat up straight, looking out to find Jensen standing there with a confused look on his face. THE LOUD KNOCK on my car window snapped me out of my reverie.
His chuckle warmed me all over, and when his expression turned serious as he searched my face, I felt a shiver spike through me. “Afraid you can’t keep up with me?” I asked. “And lose track of my muse? I don’t think so Road Runner,” he said, smiling, as he flapped his notebook in the air.
“You can go,” I whispered when the girls were out of earshot. “I’d rather stay right here,” he said, finally, not taking his light brown eyes away from me. He was still looking at me, and my heart felt like it was having a seizure. “You want to come drink with us? We’re going to play a game,” one of them said. His eyes left my face for a second, just to acknowledge them with a nod, but he looked right back at me. “Hey Jensen,” a group of girls said as they walked by. What mattered was that he looked good-better than good-and I was ogling. His face was closely shaved, and his hair was mussed, from the wind or his motorcycle helmet, there was no telling. He was wearing dark jeans, boots, and a white shirt that read, “I am.” You couldn’t see the tattoos I knew he had because of the quarter sleeves of his shirt, and I was dying to pull them up to see if he’d added any new ones.
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