Page 5 of Afterglow (Ottawa Regents #3)
Is This Heaven?
Fletcher
June
Treating myself to a stop at my favorite bookstore on the way back home from a run doesn’t cure me of the constant tinnitus of Behraz’s name in my head.
Black Squirrel Books on Bank St. is my newest haunt.
Their shelves are always stocked, the espresso bar is brilliant, plus, the girl behind the counter, Belle, always has the best book recs.
And sometimes they have these carrot cake doughnuts that have me questioning my loyalty to SuzyQ.
Nah, that’d never happen. That place gives me a reason to live.
I walk away with three of her suggestions and an iced latte, but can’t resist swinging past SuzyQ for one of their classics, a D’OHnut. It’s vanilla, dipped entirely in a glaze, covered in sprinkles and tastes like summer.
One large sip washes down the crumbs and I frown at the caloric intake, knowing I’ll pay for it when we begin training later in the summer. My mind replays a conversation with Wade from the day before.
“You gonna be okay without us until dry land training?”
“I’m a grown-up.” I made a sarcastic face at him through the screen. “So, yes.”
“Hey, I’m just checking. This is the first year in a long time you’re not going home, Landon and Indi are gone, and we’re leaving tomorrow morning.”
“Your point?”
“Dude, you have no other friends.”
Ouch. True, but still, ouch.
“And?”
“Unless you count your cock.”
“Shut up.”
“Like, what are you gonna do for the next two months by yourself? There’s only so many hours of the day you can jerk off.”
My expression went flat, middle finger slowly appearing in front of the phone camera. “I’m gonna get a shit ton of reading done.”
“Oh, good. So, you’ll be reading and jerking off.”
“I’m gonna hang up now.”
“Wait—speaking of…”
“I overheard Gabe talking to Indi about Bea. She’s staying in Ottawa for the summer.”
I knew that. Because I’m a weirdo stalker who scrolls through her social media any chance I get.
“Oh, right.” I shrugged it off. “I think I saw her at Akhila’s first birthday party or something.”
And in every wet dream I’ve had for the past six years.
“You saw her, alright. You were practically drooling. Now all you have to do is get over yourself and talk to her.”
“Yeah, okay.”
He wasn’t convinced. “Come on, dude. You’ve had a hard-on for her for years.”
I ignored him.
“This is your lucky summer. I can feel it.”
Luck? Who’s she?
“Sure, bud. Whatever you say.”
“Alright, well, don’t be mad when she ends up with someone else.”
My teeth grated together. I felt sick to my stomach. Every time I saw other men talk to her, make her laugh, touch her, dance with her, I thought my head would explode from jealousy. I had no right to be, but it didn’t matter.
Wade must’ve noticed the red crawling up my cheeks.
“Ugh, fine. Be that way. Sor-ry if I wanna see my friend happily getting laid.”
“Pervert,” I deflected, “you’d enjoy seeing that wouldn’t you?”
His hands lifted in an exasperated shrug. “I’m only a man.”
“Oh-kay…anyway, I’ve got to be going now. Y’know, these books aren’t going to read themselves. Have fun in Florida. Don’t touch the dinosaurs.”
“You’re welcome to join anytime. We can go hit a few golf balls…”
No, thank you. The last time the team went down to his place in Fort Lauderdale, I got burned to a crisp. My skin peeled for weeks.
“I’ll let you know.”
A text notification flashes on screen, pulling me back to the moment.
Twinny
You don’t have to listen to Parker, you know
Twinny
You can still come home
Me
I know, Mills
Me
I just don’t feel like it right now
Twinny
Valid
Twinny
Seriously, come whenever. We miss you.
Me
Thanks
I wander down the footpath through the speckled shade from old trees lining the waterfront. My slow pace has dog walkers, joggers, and cyclists passing me every couple of minutes.
The breeze off the canal makes it feel cooler than it is, and I shiver, sweaty t-shirt still damp from the short 5k run.
A bike bell rings in the distance, contrasting with the rustle of the brown paper bag holding the newest additions to my book collection and the crackle of ice in my coffee. In the distance, a Behraz-shaped figure whizzes along the path.
Nah, it can’t be. She doesn’t even live over here.
I wait at the pedestrian crossing even though there are no cars. The red DON’T WALK sign taunts me. Come on, come on. No one’s on the road. Just cross. Be a man. No one ever died because they jaywalked. A few moments go by.
Fuck it.
One cautious step onto the street and a car honks as it drives by at full speed, and I return to the curb.
Jesus. Where did that come from? I glance to the right.
Then the left. Okay, now there’s really no one.
Once more, I look to the right to make sure, before stepping down to the white stripes on the road.
Tring-tring!
The next few seconds draw out in slow motion. A shrill scream. Impact. The collision knocks the air from my lungs, but the freefall that follows feels like it’s happening to someone else. At least until the back of my head hits the pavement.
When my eyes reopen, there’s a blurry shower of rose petals and paper.
Is this Heaven?
The throbbing in my ears drowns out any other noise, and I gasp, each breath further out of reach.
And then there is contact. I focus on the face hovering over me. Creamy skin. A beauty spot topping her left cheek.
Behraz.
Oh, God. This is Heaven. She’s an angel.
Flushed, cherubic cheeks, head haloed by the sun.
The soft ends of her hair tickle my face.
And those eyes— her big, dark, gorgeous brown eyes —they warm with concern.
Warm like a much-needed sunny day in spring before the midsummer rays get too hot for my pale skin.
Speaking of hot, what’s on my chest? Her hands? Fuck , they’re on my chest. She’s touching me, her small, delicate hands unable to cover my pecs. Fuck, she’s touching me all over, fuck . If I’m not dead already, this is what will kill me.
Every panicked sweep of her hands feels better than the last. My hands reach for her wrists, so tiny and warm, gripping them as if begging for her to stop, though I don’t want her to.
Oh no, no, no. My dick stirs as my vision darkens. I’m gonna pass out.
Please, God. Don’t let me pass out in front of Behraz Irani with a boner.
Pain and anguish tug at whatever thread I’m holding onto, and my throat lets out a whimper.
The stripes of her shirt disappear in the lines of light stealing my vision. Bea’s rosy face pinholes into darkness, and suddenly, there’s no more pain.