To Catch a Falling Star by L. Duarte Page A

the cold tile floor.
    I grab and wet a few sheets of paper towels and hand them to him.
    “Thanks,” he croaks.
    “Are you feeling better?”
    “Hmm-hmm.”
    “What did you eat today?” I ask, sitting next to him. My heart is still pounding hard and fast.
    “I didn’t,” he says unapologetic. “Let’s go back?”
    “There is no way you are going back. We’re leaving so you can have a meal.”
    He wipes the slime of his face and tosses the towels in a wastebasket. He rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes. We silently wait and our heart rates start decreasing.
    “Sorry for ruining your workout,” he says after a minute.
    “Nah, it’s okay. Maybe, it wasn’t such a good idea to bring you here.”
    He opens his eyes and gazes my way. His eyes are blood red and his shaggy hair clings to his forehead. But I see something I hadn’t yet seen in him. Fire.
    “Mel, I haven’t felt this alive in years.” His scorching gaze holds me captive.
    I try to break free, but I cannot. After what seems too long, he looks away and sets me free.
    “Thank you,” he says.
    “Anytime.”
    He stands up. He reaches down to me and I momentarily hesitate before I accept. His hands are calloused, but extremely warm and strong. Emotions, which had deserted me years before, flood to my chest.
    “Thanks. I’ll give you some privacy.” I quickly exit the bathroom, which had suddenly become too claustrophobic.
    As I wait for Tarry, my heartbeat is at a new speed unrelated to the workout. I question my sanity. Why do I have the feeling that thousands of butterflies are fluttering inside my stomach?
    Tarry comes out of the bathroom with his hair and face wet. God, he looks sexy. Like rock god sexy. Hypnotized, I see the droplets of water running down his neck. He grabs the hem of his cotton shirt and uses it to wipe his face. Again, I’m enthralled by his tattoos. I’ve seen them many times in magazines where he appears naked from the waist up with his supermodel girlfriend. Then there was that day at the barn. But, the sight of the tattoos so close to my fingers does unbidden things to my insides. The thousands of butterflies turn into a million. His eyes catch my gaze and I feel my face turn crimson. I wrench my eyes away.
    “Ready to go?” I ask.
    “Yeah.” His lips turn into a slight smile. He noticed my gawk, the bastard.
    Under the scrutiny of other members, we stride along the back of Lucas’s workout. I grab the gloves and stick them in my gym bag. Quickly we head for the door.
    “Fifty push-ups,” Lucas orders to the class before following us.
    “Hey, man, how’re you feeling?”
    “I’m all right, but Miss Bossy Pants wants to shove some food in me.” Tarry rolls his eyes my way.
    “Sounds like a smart idea. Hope to see you again, though,” Lucas says.
    “Yeah, sure. I’ll call you,” Tarry says.
    “Bye, Mel.” Lucas kisses me.
    We leave the building. My burning cheeks welcome the cool evening breeze. Sparse stars twinkle in the violet-blue sky.
    “Are you okay to drive?” I ask.
    “Sure, I’m good you know. Quit worrying. I have enough folks worrying with Portia, Will, and Nillie. It feels like I’m a breakable porcelain doll.” He fans out.
    I stop in front of the passenger door and look at him over the hood of the car. A smile stretches across my face.
    “What?” He scowls.
    “You just spoke a full sentence without me coaxing it out of you.” I open the door and slide in. When he settles on the driver seat, I add, “My therapist ego is a bit bruised, since you never spoke so much in your treatments. However, it is good to hear you say something other than an apathetic answer.”
    “Well, tell your ego to get a grip. I can muster a few sentences here and there.”
    “Do you like soup? There is a hole-in-the-wall place right down the street that serves a kick-ass soup.”
    “For such a prude, you use the word ass quite a bit.”
    “On second thought, I think I prefer my