Touch Spin-off: Scars

I wake up gasping. A hand rests on my throat, and I yelp, only to realize it’s my own.

Gulping in breaths of fresh air, I untwist my sweaty limbs from my sheets, and stand. I’m met with a wall of windows looking out towards the ocean. The stretches of white sand help to slow my racing heart.

They replace the image of Manhattan that lurks beneath my eyelids.

“Girl, get a grip.”

My voice carries around the small cottage, and suddenly the normally cozy place feels suffocating.

Appraising my PJs—loose striped shorts, and an old cotton t-shirt—I deem them acceptable. I slip on a pair of slippers before stepping outside.

The cool ocean air calms my racing nerves, and I close my door behind me, leaving it unlocked. Living amongst coworkers, and some of my closest friends means forgoing certain formalities. For instance, locking my door, or putting on proper clothes for that matter.

While I normally love living among the luxury villas where I work as a house manager, this morning it is somewhat oppressive. I need privacy to clear my head.

Glancing towards the skyline, I guess that it’s somewhere around six o’clock. Just the time for a peaceful morning swim. I make my way around the back of my cottage towards the mercifully empty beach.

The warm sand glides between my toes as I kick off my slippers and slide out of my shorts. No one is around to watch as I reach down. Stretching out my limbs, I relish the subtle burn that the movement incites. Racing towards the water, I dive between the peaceful waves.

A swim is exactly what I needed, and yet even the lull of the water fails to erase the lingering memory of my dream. The memory of Dereck.

Six months, and thousands of miles haven’t been enough to get my ex out of my head. Even after everything he put me through. Even after countless tear-filled nights, and bruises that linger long after fading from sight, a piece of my heart longs for his familiar warmth.

It longs for the ease of being Dereck Blackstone’s girlfriend.

I hate that part of me.

He even ruined sex for me. Thus, I find myself single, surrounded by cute surfers and tourists, and more sexually frustrated than ever.

Stepping out of the ocean, I walk back to where I abandoned my clothes, and gather them into my arms. A cool breeze reminds me of just how bare I am. I jog the remaining steps into my cottage to change.

“Shit, why aren’t you working?”

I jiggle the handle of the coffee maker to no avail.

The small staff kitchen is home to the one coffee maker that is shared between all of the company’s employees. Honestly, it’s a wonder it’s lasted so long.

The Sea Salt Cafe makes better coffee anyway. Grabbing my bag, I head outside and jump on my bike. I’d planned on getting straight to work, but coffee always comes first.

Five minutes later, I park my bike out in front of the local coffee shop, and join the line of locals waiting for their morning fix. The smell of roasting coffee beans revitalizes me. I relax into the familiar bustle of the place, almost missing the buzz of my phone.

“Hey Lee!”

The bright sound of my best friend Adele’s voice comes through my phone. I snort at the familiar nickname.

“I’m in desperate need of some girl time, where are you? I want details about your big event!”

“Please tell me you haven’t been calling it that… I don’t want to set expectations too high. It’s just a low-key night—cocktails and matchmaking—that’s it.”

“Sure,” she responds unconvinced.

I’m about to respond when I hear a disgruntled cough from behind. I realize I’ve reached the front of the line.

“Shoot Del, I have to go, I’ll be back soon with coffee.”

“Umm hi can I have…,” I trail off, rapidly scanning the board for anything that looks familiar. I come up empty.

“You know, if you’d been paying attention, rather than gossiping, you would know what to order and you wouldn’t be holding up the line right now.”

I tune out the voice behind me, and order two of some random drinks.

My momentary confidence wavers as an impatient tapping sounds from the speaker behind me.

“Look, I’ve ordered. I’ll be out of your way in just a sec,” I respond somewhat more testily than intended.

When the tapping continues undeterred, I whirl around to face the person head on.

Or at least I try to.

I trip over the laces of my newly thrifted booties, and end up face to chest instead. Large hands grip my waist firmly. They hold me still and I’m saved from the embarrassment of falling flat on my face.

Pressed into the warm shirt, smelling faintly of cedar, I consider not pulling away. At this point I don’t know which would be more humbling.

Shaking away that uncalled for thought, I place my hands on the wide chest in front of me. I push back.

Or I at least start to.

“I’m so sorry about that—”

The vision ahead stops me in my tracks.

Leaning my head back, I meet the most striking pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. Hooded and a shocking shade of dark blue, they seem to pierce deep into my soul.

I stutter out an apology.

The man watches back unimpressed.

When he finally breaks eye contact and runs a lazy glance down my body, I release a breath that I didn’t realize I’d been holding. He grabs both my wrists in one hand, and drops them from his chest, forcing me to stumble backwards.

The distance gives me an opportunity to size him up. Ogle him, more like it.

And his body. His body is equally as beautiful. The outline of taut muscles show through his thin tee shirt as he shifts his weight. And those arms—I gulp despite myself.

“Watch where you’re going.”

“Watch where I’m going? You’re the one distracting me!”

“Oh so you think I’m distracting?”

“What,” I splutter, “that’s not what I said. You’re twisting my words.”

“Ok, and you’re throwing yourself at me. Actions are harder to twist than words.”

My mouth hangs open, and I feel a blush spreading across my cheeks at his words.

Suddenly I’m acutely aware of my body’s reaction to him. He’s not wrong, I am distracted by him.

His hands lay loose by his sides, yet I still feel the imprint of them around my waist, softly yet powerfully holding me in place.

I wonder what they would feel like roaming the rest of my body.

A smug grin spreads across his insufferably handsome face, almost as if he can sense my traitorous thoughts.

I turn on my heel and walk away.

“Forgetting something?”

I freeze, just now remembering the overpriced drinks cooling on the counter under my name. Marching back to the front of the line, I thank the bored barista, and turn tail. Dignity be damned.