Breaking South (Turner Artist Rocker #3) - Alyson Santos Page 0,3
stream of frustration. Dimensions—complicated is my kryptonite. And his eyes. Up close, a girl doesn’t stand a chance against those dark thick lashes and hint of laid-back amusement. A small dimple appears in his left cheek when he smiles, and his brows are so perfect they almost look sculpted. His whole face really, but there’s no way the man I saw in the weight room gives a second thought to his appearance. In my refined and polished world, Oliver’s effortless appeal might be the most infectious thing about him. He walked out of the shower like this; my routine takes an entire morning.
I take his hand, returning my own well-trained smile.
“Great to meet you as well,” I say, lifting my gaze to his. He’s a good foot taller, so it’s no easy feat.
Our fingers linger in a strange connection, and our smiles falter for the briefest of seconds. He lets go first, tucking his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.
“It’s so nice of you to visit us here. I’m sure you’re very busy,” he says. I try not to notice how his t-shirt stretches over his chest when he stands in that position, again highlighting the toned body beneath it.
“It’s my pleasure. I’m just glad you’re not getting yelled at for once,” I tease. Tease? I did, didn’t I. Well, that’s a first.
His return laugh coaxes my smile into genuine.
Our eyes remain locked in that same strange bond, a spark shooting through me as he searches. What is wrong with me? I glimpsed his secret and now I want more. Professional curiosity, that’s what it is. Must be. A desire to pick his brain about how he survives the endless glare of a lying spotlight. No, my hungry gaze has nothing to do with the way he’s staring into me now. Like maybe I’m a puzzle he wants to solve as well. I’m used to being looked at, but not in.
I clear my throat and tear my gaze away. Hadley’s waiting with a pensive expression when I focus on her, and I shudder at how well she reads me. The Trojan’s community relations director calls us to attention to review the plan, and I do my best to avoid Oliver’s dangerous gaze for the rest of the meeting. Focus, that’s what I need right now. Heaven knows my brain is already filled to capacity with distractions.
But there’s no avoiding his presence throughout the rest of the meeting. He’s a force I feel even when I’m not looking… all because I saw something I wasn’t supposed to.
On the ice, equilibrium returns. I’m much more confident once cameras are flashing and a fixed smile is enough to satisfy those around me. That’s all anyone wants from me anyway. A moment. A speck of time they can display as a trophy in their real lives to their real friends. Me, I’m an accessory. A commodity who grins and waves and flashes green eyes no one knows reflect bits of brown in the sun.
“No way! You have three hamsters?”
I glance over at Oliver’s laugh. It’s magnetic to me somehow. How his face becomes the sound. I can’t look away. He’s crouched beside one of the children and looks genuinely happy to be there. The little boy is enamored, that much is clear. Maybe I would be too if that laugh and bright stare were directed at me.
“Yep!” the little boy says, holding up his hand. “Jim.” He ticks off one finger. “Steve. And Winston.”
“Oh man. Do you feed them and help take care of them?”
The boy nods his bald head vigorously. “Mommy says I can be a vetry-narian when I grow up.”
“Oh yeah? For sure you can,” Oliver says. He plucks a jersey from the stack on his shoulder and checks the name. “Richards?” he asks, verifying the boy’s last name. The child nods, and Oliver stretches the jersey out in front of his little body. “What do you think? You want to be an honorary Trojan?”
“Yes, please!” the boy says, bouncing on his toes.
Oliver grins and helps fit the jersey over his head. Cameras assault the sweet exchange from all angles, but Oliver doesn’t seem to notice. He certainly doesn’t let it affect his interaction with the Richards boy. They’re an oasis, a brush of authenticity and peace in this fabricated scene. Oliver made it real. Deep longing wells within me to join their island, but I’d only break it. My own interactions with the kids made great photos but little