Heart Bones - Colleen Hoover Page 0,37
his bottom lip moves when he speaks that steals my focus.
Samson’s gaze returns to my face, but he’s not looking at my eyes. I notice him glance at my mouth and then look away again. He swims out a little farther.
The water is already up to my neck. I’m having to use my arms to keep myself in an area where I can touch.
“Sara said you’ve been sick the last few days,” he says.
“I haven’t been feeling well, but it’s more of an emotional illness than a physical one.”
“You homesick?”
I shake my head. “No. Definitely not homesick.” He’s in an uncharacteristically talkative mood, it seems. I take advantage of that. “Where do you go every day? What do you do besides help out old ladies for free?”
“I just try to be invisible,” he says.
“What does that mean?”
Samson looks away from me, over to the full moon balancing right above the edge of the water. “It’s a long explanation. I don’t really feel like long explanations right now.”
Not surprising. He seems to want to stay in the shallow end when it comes to conversations.
“I can’t figure you out,” I say.
His expression doesn’t change at all, but his voice has a tinge of amusement to it when he says, “I didn’t think you wanted to.”
“That’s because I thought I had you figured out. But I already told you I was wrong. You’re layered.”
“Layered?” he repeats. “Like an onion or a cake?”
“Definitely an onion. Your layers are the kind a person has to peel back.”
“Is that what you’re trying to do?”
I shrug. “I have nothing else to do. Maybe I’ll spend my summer peeling back all your layers until you finally answer a question.”
“I answered one. I told you about my necklace.”
I nod. “That’s true, you did give me that.”
“Do you think you’re easy to read?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“You aren’t.”
“Are you trying?”
He holds my stare for a moment. “If you are.”
That response makes my knees feel like anchors. “I have a feeling we won’t get far with each other,” I say. “I like keeping my secrets. I get the feeling you do too.”
He nods. “You won’t get past my first layer, I can promise you that.”
Something tells me I will. “Why are you so private? Is your family famous or something?”
“Or something,” he says.
He keeps moving closer to me. It makes me think this attraction might be mutual. That’s hard for me to wrap my mind around. That a guy as good-looking and rich as him would find me interesting in any way.
It reminds me of how I felt the first time Dakota kissed me. Which is why I back away from Samson. I don’t want him to say or do anything that might make me feel the way Dakota made me feel right after our first kiss.
I never want to feel that again, but I can’t help but wonder if things would be different with Samson. What would he say after we kiss? Would he be as heartless as Dakota was?
We’ve somehow turned now and my back is toward the beach. It’s like we’re moving, but so slowly it isn’t noticeable. There are drops of water on Samson’s bottom lip and I can’t stop staring at them.
Our knees brush again. This time I don’t move away, but the connection only lasts for a second. I feel somewhat deflated when it passes.
I wonder what he feels. Probably not as confused about what he wants as I am.
“What’s your reason for being secretive?” he asks.
I think about that for a moment. “I guess I’ve never had anyone I wanted to tell anything to.”
There’s an understanding in his eyes. He says, “Same,” but it’s almost a whisper. He sinks under the water and disappears. I hear him come up for air behind me a few seconds later. I spin around and he’s even closer to me now. Our legs are definitely touching, but neither of us pulls away.
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this—like my blood is zipping through my veins. My interactions with guys have always left me wanting more space between the guy and me. I’m not used to wishing there was no space between me and another person.
“Ask me some questions,” he says. “I probably won’t answer most of them, but I want to know what you want to know about me.”
“Probably more than you’ll give me.”
“Try me.”
“Are you an only child?”
He nods.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“Where did you grow up?”
He shakes his head, refusing to answer that one.
“That wasn’t even an