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THIRTY-EIGHT

Swimming Pool - Diggy Graves

In strides the most beautiful man I’ve laid eyes on. He looks rushed, looking at the ground, making his wavy chestnut hair fall into his eyes. His eyes are rimmed in freckles all the way up his cheekbones.

Freckles I’ve seen before.

The man looks up right as I realize who this is with horrifying clarity.

This is the cop. The one who is after Ronan.

The man and I lock gazes, his honey-colored eyes holding mine captive for a second before darting around the space. The space with blood. The space with a body.

I see him try to process it for a single second before my fight or flight kicks in, and I’m on top of him. I know only one of us gets to leave this bathroom alive today. I shove the man back into the wall, and he hits it with a thud. He’s slower to react than I am, and he’s also shorter than me. I wind my fist back and hit him in the temple. The man groans, but it’s clear he’s had combat training. He immediately closes the gap between us, plastering as close to me as he can. It’s harder for me to get any power in my hits with him this close, but I try, reaching back and trying to dislodge him so I can go for my gun without him grabbing it.

As I’m wrapping my hand around his face so I can crank his neck back, I’m hit with the most powerful smell. It makes me freeze, and suddenly, I’m a teen again, burned by the summer sun, with the most beautiful boy in my arms.

Sunscreen.

Dakota smells like sunscreen.