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“Shit, is that her?” he asks, noticing I’m in a trance.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Did you plan this?”
He doesn’t glance at me, but keeps his eyes forward.
“Don’t follow me,” I state, not wanting to be hovered over.
I spot an empty bench behind me and sit. Then I pull the notebook from my pocket, along with my pen, and sketch the scene. Seeing her in a crowd of people is undoubtedly my highlight, but I don't focus solely on her, making sure to take in the entire scene.
I add in the Frisbee players, the branches of the trees that sway in the breeze, and the long wisps of clouds that float above the surrounding buildings. It's almost like aWhere's Waldo?inspired scene, but if I were to name it, it would be calledWhere's the Woman Who Nearly Stopped Time?I glance at the edge of the page, spotting her in my drawing, and smile. There she is.
The odds of seeing her today are astronomical. Some might even call it fate. Her long hair blows in the wind and whatever she’s reading has her smiling. When she looks up again, her gaze is zeroed in on me. I keep my head down, but my eyes are on her. Seconds later, she brings her eyes back to whatever she’s reading.
I should get in the limo and pretend I didn’t see her. The man I was before she crashed into me head-on would. But she’s caught my attentiontwice. That doesn’t happen.
5
LEXI
Carlee was right about me needing to touch grass today. I promised her I’d relax while she was at work. Plus, I haven’t had a Saturday off since I moved back to the city.
I reach over and run my fingers through the short green blades, so now I can say Iliterallytouched the grass. The sun shines bright and I love how warm it is on my skin. As I continue reading, a shadow covers the cream pages of my book. It’s not the clouds. It’s a person.
I glance at the designer dress shoes and my eyes trail up the black slacks. I continue up the stark white button-up and the tattooed arms and see thatsmirk.
Fuck.
He removes his glasses, revealing his blue eyes, and I scowl.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I whisper.
He lifts the Yankees hat from his head and runs his fingers through his messy hair before replacing it.
“Hello, Alexis.” My name falls from his mouth in a deep gruff.
I don’t like being called that, but at least he remembered it.
He shoves his hands into his pockets and towers over me like a Greek god, glancing at my book—Fifty Shades of Grey. It’s acomfort read, the first novel that introduced me to the world of cliterature. It’s my version of doomscrolling.
A devilish smirk plays on his pouty lips. “Billionaire kink?”
I nearly choke. He’s thelastman on Earth I want to see right now. “Are youstalkingme?”
“Sadly, no.”
He sits beside me on the ground and I sit up and scoot over, creating space between us. I’m still buzzing where his hands touched me yesterday. After he checks his watch, he leans back onto his elbows, smelling like mahogany and sweet peppermints.
“Good, because if you were, I’d tell you to wear a mask next time,” I mutter. “Makes it hotter because this billionaire thing is overdone.”
He holds back a smile and successfully pulls it off. Men like him don’t get to where they are without being a master at the game though. Charismatic, charming,attractive;but I won’t get sucked into him. I can’t.
With those eyes and lips, this man is the type who breaks hearts for sport. I’m already broken enough.
The silence draws on.
I’m not over what happened yesterday.