Chasing Peace by Gloria Foxx Page A

over my head
and quickly toweling my hair. All my clothes are in the living room, but
thankfully I have a robe on the back of the bathroom door. I pull it on before
tying my wet hair back in a messy knot. My jeans are wet and my bra clammy, but
I can’t take off any more while Boston is here.
    I stop short the second I step back into the living room.
Boston is toweling his hair dry, the towel hanging over his head and face, but
that’s not what stops me. His jacket and shirt are gone. My eyes cascade down
his body, much like the rain that went before. I found his belt undone and the
top button on his jeans unbuttoned.
    My head spins as I drink him in, his chest sculpted, abs
mushrooming across his belly. With his jeans slouched low on his hips, I can’t
help but trace that vee of muscle that disappears below his open belt.
    As my eyes roam back up toward his face, they catch on
something on his bicep. It’s a raven, wings flaring, talons grabbing hold and I’ve
seen it before. I find myself fighting through the dizziness, fending off a
shiver. This is not supposed to happen. I had a plan to focus on school and
avoid guys, remain self contained. Then the first thing I do is make a friend
and meet a guy who’s attractive and fascinating and hard to resist.
    I don’t make a sound until Boston lowers the towel, his eyes
finding mine like a ship seeking a beacon of light.
    “Would you put on a shirt,” I squawk, in a voice not my own.
    “It’s too wet.”
    My clammy bra warms in the span of one breath. I’m trapped
by uncertainty as his gaze clings to mine, reaching inside me and looking for
answers. I’m ready to give up on my convictions, ready to take a chance, yet
not nearly ready enough. “You can’t be here. You have to leave.” My words come
in a whisper.
    I’m not even sure Boston hears me. He looks away, seemingly
lost for a moment until his eyes find his jacket on the back of my desk chair.
Pulling it loose by the collar, he slips it over his hands, arms, shoulders.
The raven disappears and he’s mostly covered. The hint of his chest and belly
are even more mysterious in the shadows behind the jacket. His belt hangs loose
and is nearly hidden, obvious only if I look.
    He must have seen the struggle in my gaze. “It’s okay
Sterling. I’m leaving now,” but he steps in my direction instead, his eyes
connecting to me with amazing tensile strength that I don’t bother to test.
    I don’t cower. I’m afraid of myself, of the choices I might
make. I’m not afraid of Boston, although right now my greatest wish is that he
scared me silly. Life would be so much easier then.
    He stops in front of me, his hand resting lightly at my jaw,
thumb stroking my cheek and fingers lingering just below my ear. I’m a
jellyfish under his touch, drifting and pulsing and beautiful, lit up by some
mysterious internal light.
    “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, pulling his hand away.
    “Wh.… What?” I slam back to reality, the cold and sucking
dampness of jeans that I couldn’t bear to remove, the tattered grimness of my
apartment and the warmth coming from Boston, from his eyes, his skin, the
feather of breath that ruffles my hair.
    “I’ll see you at work tomorrow”
    Oh ... yeah ... right, tomorrow’s Friday. My thoughts are
scattered, but I manage to squeak out a response. “Yeah. Tomorrow.” He’s too
close. I can feel his body, steamy from the rain, scorching me and lighting a
fire within me that threatens to burst through my skin at any moment. I want to
reach out and touch him, feel his skin, taste him.
    “Bye Sterling.”
    He’s gone, slipping out the door without a sound.
    I grab an oversized tee from the dresser next to my desk. I’d
moved my belongings to the living room, sleeping here now and avoiding the
bedroom at all costs. I pull off my still damp jeans and bra, leaving both on the
floor for a moment while I yank the dry tee over my head. Thinking to hang the
wet clothing over the back