Breaking the Rules (Pushing the Limits 1.50)
The pterodactyls that only he can create lift their wings and soar in my stomach. I love those words out his mouth. Almost as much as I love his hands on my body and the way his eyes devour me. Almost as much as I love him.
He kisses my lips and before I can repeat the same to him, he’s off the bed. “I’ve got to roll. The last Malt and Burger jacked up my hours in the system, and they want me to go into a local one and fix it.”
I sit up on the bed and bite the inside of my lip to keep from throwing a fit like a toddler. “How long?”
“An hour. Maybe longer.” Noah places one of the room keys on the dresser next to the television. “By the way, I want to take you out to dinner in Denver to celebrate. Someplace nice.”
“Celebrate what?”
“For when you blow those pretentious assholes away with your paintings.”
I smile, amazed by the roses, by his faith in me and by the fact that he’s absolutely fantastic. “Thanks.”
Noah gently pulls one of the curls. “Damn, baby, don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to kiss you.”
But I do want him to kiss me. Instead, I shove at his wall of a chest, and he winks at me before he grabs the keys to the car and walks out the door. The air conditioner kicks off, and I lean against the headboard, staring at Noah’s roses on the bedside table. I pick one up, inhale the sweet scent and wonder, when it comes to it, why I’m waiting.
Noah
Time sheets from two weeks ago hang on the overpinned bulletin board, and balls of wadded paper overflow from the trash. I’m not feeling that this Malt and Burger is organized. In the cramped back office, I reenter my time from last week then roll back my chair to give space for the manager to approve it.
“The guy at the store down south said you’re a great worker. That you’re fast and keep your grill clean.” The manager, Jim, according to his name tag, wears pants that are too long and not in the girl-catching way.
I nod at his statement. I’m good at what I do, but being a fry cook isn’t my die-hard aspiration for a career. My goal’s to be a man that Echo will be proud to walk down the street with. What I am now won’t be enough to keep her for life.
He leans over, and his tie hits the screen. “Want to take a few shifts here?”
“Not staying in Colorado Springs long enough. Thinking about heading to Vail. Any stores there?”
“Yeah. I know the manager there and could give him a call if you want.” Jim minimizes the screen.
Personal recs make getting in easier. “I need to check an email to see if Vail is an option.” I motion at the screen with my chin. “Mind if I use this?”
“Go ahead.”
One of his employees calls his name, and the two have a conversation at the door of his office. With a few clicks I’m into my personal email account, and my gut coils like a damn snake. Carrie sent the email.
I run my hand over my head then hover the cursor over her name. This could change everything.
Echo
There’s nothing like the rush of being chased by the great Noah Hutchins.
Yesterday, we stayed the night in a hotel room. Tonight, we’re at a campground outside Colorado Springs, but I don’t mind it. Especially since the two of us have left behind the problems we ran into in Alamosa and have returned to complete and utter freedom.
The bark of the huge tree I hide behind is rough on my back, and I slowly slide against it as I chance a glance behind me. The fading evening light dances in the thick forest and reveals the green on the trees and the dirt of the ground, but what I see deceives me. If only by sense, I know Noah is close.
Twice he has almost caught me and twice I’ve eluded his grasp. Both times, if Noah wanted, he could have trapped me, but like me, he loves this game.
It’s like I’ve merged into my namesake: the true Echo, the wood nymph my mother loved in stories. But I’m Echo before the nightmare that created her myth—a girl I’ve never understood before this summer, a girl that Noah helped bring to life. I’m playful, and I’m free.
Two words no one would have ever associated with me.
A twig snaps, and I jerk back behind the trunk. My pulse speeds up as I fold into myself. A few feet in front of me is a clearing full of wildflowers—white, yellow and purple. My fingers twitch. For two months, I’ve stopped and drawn anything I craved for as long as I’ve desired. I’m spoiled, and while the field before me is beauty that deserves to be immortalized on paper, there’s a game that I plan on winning.