Watching him read brought to mind one of the social media accounts I followed online called Hot Dudes Reading. If this man’s photo had been posted, he’d break a record with his “like” score.
I’d do all right myself, if I were placed unexpectantly on a similar (though not existent) site, like Hot Chicks Reading. I usually wore my long, dark wavy hair in a slicked-back ponytail. My face was pretty and oval-shaped, with high cheekbones less defined than his, and a set of full lips I didn’t need collagen to fill. Though with my odds, I probably wasn’t his type.
So I should’ve turned my attention away, but I couldn’t stop myself. The reader’s delight etched on his face captivated me. He’d pause for a few moments before turning each page, an action I called “savoring the passage.” I did this regularly myself and watching him do it with Hitchhiker’s was downright fascinating.
My pulse raced as I reached in my bag and touched my phone. What if I took a photo of him and posted it on Hot Dudes Reading? I was tempted, though I’d be mortified if he caught me.
And then, as if he read my guilty conscience, he lifted his head and looked directly at me.
I shuddered. Wow.
The impact made my knees go weak, but I still couldn’t tear my gaze away from him, and I had gone well past a fleeting glance. I hadn’t time to fix my expression and I just knew my face was all lit up like I was interested in him. It wasn’t something I usually do, because it meant putting myself out there for a response. Or as Newton’s third law said, “For every action, there is an equal or opposite reaction.” By my action, I had opened myself up to a reaction from this man, including none at all, which would be the worst outcome.
Whatever his reaction was, I missed it, because the train doors opened at the next stop. I’d been so busy gawking at the stranger that I hadn’t noticed the train slowing. Now the rush of people boarding pushed me out of my spot. I ended up with nothing to hold on to except the top metal bar, which meant getting on my toes to clutch it over the people standing in front of me, if they’d let me.
I wobbled on my feet once the train got going, with nothing to stop me from falling. My eyes darted frantically to the faces of the passengers nearby, searching for an opening to cross into their worlds for help. I got only blank faces in return.
The train moved fast.
My hands shot forward as my legs buckled into the other commuters. Apologies spilled out of me as I struggled with my arms out and my legs bent like a surfer on a board, trying desperately not to fall and take several passengers down with me.
Then a hand firmly clasped my elbow and held me upright.
I jerked and lifted my head to thank my hero, and it was none other than the hot guy.
He stood over six feet and easily reached the top bar, which he used to keep both of us balanced. His eyes were the color of beckoning Caribbean waters, blue-green and beguiling in their allure, with sun shadows of gold around his irises. They were unusual, gorgeous and stood out against his tanned skin.
An image of him as an explorer popped into my head. Dressed in a billowing white shirt and fitted jodhpurs, he’d run through a crowded market, searching for me. I didn’t have many seafaring romances in my personal arsenal to draw from, but it didn’t stop me from indulging those musings.
When he’d finally catch up, I would glance at him and find his stare back at me to be an unwavering force. Bold. Direct. Born of self-assurance. Oh, yes, this man wouldn’t hesitate. He’d grab me, hold me by my ass, and kiss me passionately.
Hiding my grin with my free hand, I stole a glance at his lips. They were full and sexy. His kisses would be boundless, fervent, bruising…I coughed to cover the burst of heat in my face once I realized my thoughts had gone too far. All this guy had done was help a stranger in distress, and here I was, invading his personal space and ogling him. I had to say something.
“Thanks … Thank you very much,” I stammered, immediately sorry for sounding so breathless.
I inhaled sharply through my nostrils, trying not to further embarrass myself with a sexy hitch to my next breath. My restraint was rewarded with a whiff of his cologne, a citrus-wood mix that smelled heavenly.
As for my PATH train hero, he was rock steady.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
I liked the sound of his voice, deep with a melodic tone. His eyes studied my face, the shape of my neck, then dropped ever so casually down my front before lifting to meet mine again. The tip of his tongue traced an inner portion of his lip as his gaze intensified.
I watched his smile form, and my pulse accelerated.
He looked even more striking when he smiled.
To his credit, he tried to keep a gentlemanly distance, but the train’s speed was about as fast as my racing pulse, and with the crowd packed in, it was difficult not to bump against his chest. My eyes fell lower down his front, the same way his had done. When I peered up, I found him still staring.
“You make it a habit of rescuing strange damsels in distress?” I asked.
“No, but I don’t believe we’re strangers. Do we know each other?”
Did he know me? Had we crossed paths before? If so, why didn’t I remember him?
“I highly doubt it.” I wouldn’t have easily forgotten a man who looked or carried himself as this one did. I cleared my throat, out of practice in terms of interacting with an attractive member of the opposite sex.
He peered above my head as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. Then he looked at me again, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. “Are you a part of Cleo’s Ensemble? I believe I’ve seen you perform classical music somewhere.”
I immediately lowered my gaze as my stomach flipped over. I wasn’t ready to revisit this world. “No. That’s not me.” Again, I cleared my throat to cover the tremor in my voice.
“But you play music?” he pressed.
This time I held his gaze. “I did, a long time ago.”
He leaned his face close to mine, the gesture somehow demanding my full attention. “What do you play?”
I pressed my lips together. My eyes darted over the crowd, searching for another space, but I saw nothing.
“Violin,” I finally answered.
His face transformed in recognition. “I must have seen you at Juilliard.”
Every muscle inside me tensed. This man knew me and was from that part of my life. The part I didn’t visit under any circumstance, not even with a hot stranger on a train.
A hardness crept into my voice as I stared him in the eye once more. “I was only there two years…I didn’t graduate.” I turned and looked out the window. By now, we were in the tunnel.
“Maybe so, but I believe I’ve seen you there.” He leaned closer and dropped the level of his voice a little. “I’m Paul Crane.” His name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I was too busy worrying if he knew anything else about me.
“Aubrey Irving.”
“Aubrey Irving,” he repeated and nodded in agreement. “I’ve seen you play the violin. You’re good. I never forget a good performance.”
It sounded like he thought I should marvel at his compliment. Arrogance? Maybe, though he didn’t give off a smug vibe. He had more of an air of importance, like he was a Somebody.