by Alice Raine
His blue baseball cap and wraparound sunglasses were swimming in front of my hazy vision like a mirage, which was definitely not a good sign. Letting out a low wheeze I winced and rubbed at my chest with the heel of my hand in an attempt to soothe the constricted muscles around my lungs.
‘If you’re winded you need to allow your diaphragm to expand properly. Here, let me help you stand.’ His low, husky tone seemed vaguely familiar, and for some reason sent shivers dancing down my spine.
As I sat on the floor gasping desperately for breath and picking tiny, gritty stones out of my palms, I felt my panic returning as he suddenly held out a hand to help me up. I did not touch men, and I didn’t let them touch me either. Regardless of my sprawled position on the floor, this guy was not going to be an exception to my strictly-enforced rule.
God, this was embarrassing. I couldn’t believe I’d fallen so awkwardly. Reluctantly looking at his outstretched arm I shook my head. ‘I’ll be fine, thank you,’ I grumbled wheezily as I began to try and clamber to my feet.
Unfortunately, no sooner had the soles of my feet landed back on the ground than I started to sway and stagger until I felt him gently slipping his hand to my lower back to steady me as I stumbled about like a drunken idiot.
As innocent and well-intended as it may have been, his touch almost caused me to choke on the limited oxygen I was managing to pull into my lungs. Electricity seemed to fizzle across my skin, stabbing me like a thousand pinpricks and sending terror shooting straight to my brain.
I wanted to vomit. Not from the fall, or my winded condition, but from the sudden contact of his hand on my back. My body simultaneously managed to feel frozen and horribly over-sensitised. As much as I wanted to move, I couldn’t get my leaden legs to function, and then as a true indication of my descending panic, my vision started to go patchy. I needed to get away before I passed out, which judging from my spinning head, wasn’t far off.
The five points where his fingers were touching me were now burning sparks singeing my skin, making it crawl unpleasantly as it once again reminded me all too bitterly of the one man I’d known who could cause such a visceral reaction in me. Greg – my fucktard of an ex; the one who had chased me until I’d had to crawl away from him on bloodied hands and knees. Right from the start of our relationship he’d always liked to place his hand possessively on my back in the exact spot that this man’s fingers were currently settled. Needless to say, being touched on my back was now a pretty major trigger.
A huge shudder of fear racked my body and I jerked my head backwards sharply as my eyes shot to the jogger again, my heartbeat skyrocketing in my veins as my dark, terrifying memories flooded back to the surface. Seeing brown hair and broad shoulders, not Greg’s wiry frame and blond mop, I almost fell to the floor again in relief.
He’s not Greg.
Trying to tamp down the panic that had wrapped me in its icy vice, my right hand groped for the elastic bands on my left wrist and began to rhythmically ping them – this was my technique for controlling my anxiety – the sharp snap on my skin helping to bring my brain back from the brink of meltdown.
‘You look really pale. Maybe you should sit down for a minute,’ the stranger suggested, using his palm on my back to turn me towards a nearby bench. I let out a small hissed breath at his continued touch, but followed his advice and stepped to the bench before practically falling onto it as the man took a seat beside me.
Pulling out my second ear bud to remove the disorientating beat of the music, I straightened myself a little more and steadied my thoughts to try and restore my confidence.
Eventually managing to get a grip on my spiralling emotions, I slid along the bench to the furthest end so I was as far away from him as possible. It wasn’t much distance, probably only a foot, but it made me feel infinitely more reassured. As if sensing my discomfort, his hand also dropped away from me and rested on the bench beside his thigh.
With his distracting touch gone I finally felt my chest expand properly and I sucked in several refreshing lungfuls of air while giving the elastic bands another quick, reassuring pluck.
Glancing across, I saw his eyebrows dipping behind his shades in a frown as if he was trying to work out my skittish behaviour. He’d be a while; even I couldn’t work myself out sometimes. Lowering my head I stared at the ground, wishing he would just go and also wishing I’d never bothered to leave the hostel this morning. This had hardly turned out to be the refreshing start to the day I’d needed.
Taking in another fortifying breath, I felt steadier and decided to finally give this guy a proper look. The first thing I noticed was that his head was dipped, and even with him wearing a hat and shades it was obvious he was giving my wrist – and elastic bands – a peculiar look. Damn it. I hated being looked at like that. Clenching my hands into fists I stopped with the plucking and forced them to lie still in my lap.
From his light cotton running shorts and fitted blue T-shirt it seemed apparent that he had also been out for an early morning jog, before his collision with me had so rudely ended both of our fitness fixes, not to mention having very nearly sent me spiralling into a full meltdown in the middle of the park.
Edgily allowing my gaze to further assess him, I noted that his broad shoulders seemed to be attached to a toned body, with tanned, strong arms. He had incredibly muscular thighs lightly covered with soft brown hair that drew my gaze for several seconds longer than was probably polite. I’d never seen legs quite so … well, I wasn’t exactly sure what it was I thought about them, but they were making my stomach tumble slightly and for some reason I couldn’t seem to be able to look away.
Swallowing loudly, I finally tore my gaze away from his almost mesmerising muscles and let my eyes drift up towards the safer territory of his face. It turned out this wasn’t much safer, because even with the top half of his head hidden under a low hat and sunglasses, I noticed that he had an angular, very manly, very bearded chin, and a lovely, slightly lopsided, half-smile, which he was now dazzling me with. It was a shame about the beard, really, because with a body like his and his cute smile, I suspected that the face hidden underneath all that shaggy fur would have been quite attractive too.
‘Hi. Feeling better?’ he enquired, and I nodded in response as a smile began to curve the corners of my lips and my gaze lingered on the full, appealing mouth I could see behind his beard. Frowning, I suddenly tensed, jerked my shoulders back, and looked away from him towards the gravel trail beyond. What the heck was wrong with me? I didn’t ogle men, ever. In fact, I hadn’t dated once since Greg. He’d put me off for life.
Narrowing my eyes behind my shades, I licked my lips and felt a trickle of unease settle in my belly at the strange reaction I was having to this guy.
He continued to sit quietly, allowing me the time I needed, and after several seconds of contemplation the only reason I could come up with for my odd reaction was self-consciousness, because from all I could see I had just run headfirst into what appeared to be a rather handsome man. I might not date, but I wasn’t blind. This guy was clearly well built and good-looking, and my pulse quickened as horrendous embarrassment washed over me.
Shakily swallowing, I ran a hand through my sweaty hair and quickly decided that it was time to make a hasty exit before I could embarrass myself any further.
‘I'm OK now …’ My voice sounded far from normal, all high and tremulous, probably caused by my diaphragm still trying to recover from my fall, or perhaps nerves from my odd reaction to him. ‘Bye … th … thanks …’ I managed to say shakily.
Although why I was thanking the man who had just run me down I had no flipping idea. Rolling my eyes at my stupidity, I pushed myself up and turned on wobbly legs but as I began to walk carefully away I heard him click his tongue impatiently behind me.
‘Wait, you're bleeding. Hang on, I'll have a look at it.’ Reluctantly I turned back and saw he was indicating my right arm. Pushing my sunglasses up onto the top of my head, I glanced down and
saw a trickle of blood running from a small gash on my elbow, and belatedly felt it sting. It wasn’t anything too serious and could easily wait until I got back to the hostel, but before I could protest and get on my way, the stranger had risen from the bench and approached me.
Whipping off his cap and sunglasses he proceeded to wipe the sheen of sweat from his head and then took hold of my arm as he crouched down to get a better look.
Staring in horror at where his hand was now holding my arm, I felt my entire body tense again as black traces of fear began to seep back into my consciousness at the edge of my vision. For fuck’s sake, I’d only just got my previous panic attack under control. I could seriously do without all of this constant touching.
Breathe. I ordered myself calmly. Breathe. But I couldn’t, and any semblance of calmness shattered as panic began to engulf me. Annoyingly, because he was holding on to my right arm I couldn’t even use my stress-relieving elastic bands to ease the situation.
I tried to tug my arm away from him, almost desperate to ping the little strip of elastic, but he held on and looked up at me curiously.
A gasping, panicked wheeze left my lungs, and I watched in astonishment as he slid one finger under the thin lace of elastic on my wrist and gave it the tiniest tweak for me. My skin flared with the snap, which was just enough to bring me back to earth and out of my anxious daze.
How bizarre. My mouth opened in shock at that surprise move, but just like that, I found I could breathe again. It was almost as if he had sensed my need for it. But how could he possibly know?
‘You OK?’ he asked softly, his tone ridiculously reassuring and causing me to nod at him jerkily. Perhaps it was his soothing tone or his strange ability to read my need, but for some reason I realised that the touch of this man didn’t scare me any more, not half as much as I’d expected, anyway. It was almost … soothing, as if he’d managed to connect to my inner demons and push them away for a while.
As he continued to hold my arm I struggled to deal with this new phenomenon. I didn’t do bodily contact, so how could I be allowing this and beginning to enjoy it?
Annoyance was easier to deal with than the mix of other emotions like curiosity, confusion, and attraction which were now swirling in my chest, so instead of giving in to the strange new sensations I focused myself on his presumptuous behaviour and felt my hackles rise. How dare he just assume I was fine with him grabbing on to me, and how dare he ping my elastic band? That was my nervous habit to indulge – not his!
Wincing, I realised I was letting my fears rule me again and being hugely over-sensitive. This guy certainly didn’t seem to be a threat. From his actions and words so far, he was clearly only trying to help me, but like an irritating rash, my past experiences were still haunting me.
Calming my fluctuating nerves, I licked my dry lips and looked back to his face, wondering despairingly if there would ever be a day when my past didn’t make interactions with men so bloody terrifying. Probably not. Sighing heavily, I blinked at my miserable prediction.
‘Are you sure you’re OK? You didn’t bang your head when you fell did you? You seemed to zone out there for a second,’ he asked again, still crouched by my side with concern obvious on his face.
As I saw the curious lift in his eyebrows I fully realised the extent of everything he must have witnessed over the last few minutes: elastic band plucking, tense body spasms, jerky breathing … God, the list of my crazy quirks was almost endless. I must have come across as such a wierdo.
I pasted a small smile on my face, determined to act like a normal human being for once, and nodded. ‘I’m fine, thank you. I didn’t bump my head, and this is just a small cut. I’ll survive,’ I answered feebly, completely avoiding his mention of me zoning out.
His eyes narrowed, but thankfully he didn’t push it, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
It was rare for me to look men in the eye, but nothing about this encounter had so far been run of the mill, so I allowed myself a closer inspection. Now that I could see his features without the cap and glasses I took in his brown eyes and sweat-spiked hair. Drawing in a long, quiet breath, I blinked rapidly before gasping. Surely not … Suddenly everything seemed to happen in a strange dreamlike fashion. Even through his exercise-induced sweat and bushy beard, I knew who he was, and as the clarity of recognition hit me I found my legs rapidly turning to a consistency similar to jelly and threatening to give way. Again.
With eyes now as wide as saucers I looked at his hunched form to double-check my initial suspicions. As my eyes roved over his features and registered that I was indeed correct, I felt myself wavering on leaden feet as a further wave of dizziness swept over me. Fearing I might be about to fall over again, I had to reach out and support myself on his firm shoulder, which went against all my self-imposed rules about initiating contact with men, but was a necessity if I wished to avoid a second liaison with the tarmac.
There was literally no way I couldn’t hold on to him. I felt so dizzy that I really might fall over if I let go. Once again, touching him made my skin prickle, this time not with fear but some other bizarre reaction that I couldn’t quite place. I ignored it best I could, trying to push the strange sensation aside with a firm shake of my head as I dealt with the other peculiar reality currently on my mind – there was no doubt about it, the man who had knocked me down and was now kneeling at my side performing impromptu first aid on me was none other than Jack Felton, my current celeb crush and the guy I’d fondly watched on the television earlier this morning.
Holy shit balls.
When I’d first arrived in LA I’d read in a gossip magazine that Jack had been spotted running in this park, and that knowledge might have slightly swayed my choice in jogging spot, but only because it had been exciting to imagine using the same running trails as him. I’d never in a million years thought I’d actually see him. Or get run down by him. This park was huge, over four and a half acres of wooded tracks, so to be honest, I was still struggling with the unbelievable odds as I sat there gawking up at him.
‘It … it's you …’ I mumbled, unable to control myself as my mouth finally caught up with my brain. I tilted my head to the side to properly look at him. That was why his voice sounded familiar, because it was.
At my belated recognition, an amused expression spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes and making my heart beat just a little faster behind my ribs.
This was at once both utterly exhilarating and completely mortifying, because before me was Jack Felton (admittedly a heavily bearded version) which was so surreal and exciting that I could barely comprehend it. But on the other side of things, that meant that this rather successful film star and general all-round heartthrob had just witnessed me lying on the floor with my legs splayed and grunting like a hippopotamus in heat.
As a blush seared my cheeks, it vaguely occurred to me how amusing Allie would find this when I told her. She knew I had a bit of a soft spot for Jack, but talk about random coincidences! First her getting snowed in with Sean Phillips, and now me getting practically slam dunked by Jack Felton. Two run-ins with Hollywood hunks in less than four months. Who would have placed money on that? Not me, that was for sure. What a small, crazy world.
Looking disbelievingly at him again while simultaneously registering his alarmingly warm brown eyes, I replayed my unladylike fall and subsequent panic attacks and internally cringed. Crap, crap, crap.
Ignoring my humiliated look he gave me a casual shrug. ‘Yeah, sorry to disappoint you. They were going to send George Clooney to knock you over, but instead you got me.’ Actually, if I was offered a choice between Jack Felton and George Clooney, I'd pick Jack every single time.
The way he brushed off my earlier nerves and was joking to put me at ease was incredibly sweet, but then he smiled up at me as he began to examine my cut and I found myself almost unable to breathe. God, that smile. My stomach performed an enormous flip just from the sight of it.
‘I’m surpri
sed you recognised me with this monstrosity,’ he commented as he almost lovingly stroked his beard. Unaware of the impact his incredible smile had had on me, he flashed me another one and went back to tending to my arm as he continued to speak. ‘It’s for an episode of the show. Thankfully I can cut it off soon, bloody thing is so itchy.’
The presence of the beard had totally thrown me. His character in Fire Lab was always clean shaven, so I’d never seen him with one before. I wasn’t usually a fan of beards, but I had to say, this one looked pretty good. Or perhaps that was just down to my fondness for the man displaying it …
‘Well, it's your lucky day. I'm wearing new trainers today so have these with me in case of blisters,’ he explained as he pulled two plasters from his shorts pocket with another of those heart-stopping half smiles that he was evidently rather good at.
This was so strange on so many levels. For one thing, he was famous, but instead of being on a television he was standing in front of me large as life. Secondly, he was touching me. Not only was I allowing it, but it wasn’t freaking me out, and finally my body was reacting to a man in ways that I hadn’t experienced for a long time. A very, very long time.
Talk about messing with my head.
Trying to shake off the peculiar feelings swirling in my stomach, I swallowed and dragged up my usual sensible side with significant difficulty. ‘Ah, always prepared? You must have been in the Scouts,’ I quipped lightly, relieved that I at least sounded calmer than my thundering heart and churning stomach indicated.
‘Actually, Scouts was on the same night as drama club and I chose to go to the latter … much to the disappointment of my father,’ Jack commented casually before glancing up at me. ‘My dad was quite old-fashioned. He believed that Scouts was for boys and drama was for girls, and thought that by choosing drama club I was attempting to discreetly tell him I was gay.’
