second dive Jasmin miller

7

  "Noah?"

  That voice.

  That damn voice that torments me, even in my dreams.

  I wait for a heartbeat before I turn around—just to immediately wish I hadn't. Because Chloe’s in only a workout T-shirt and shorts.

  Both are tight. So very tight.

  Just like my balls all of a sudden.

  I hate them. Loathe them.

  Of course, my body has to betray me when it comes to the one woman that’s on our shit list.

  "Sorry, I'm a mess. I just got done working out." She brushes her hands over her hair, trying to calm the flyaways. Unsuccessfully so.

  "You work out? Voluntarily?"

  Her mouth twitches before a chuckle escapes. "Yeah. Every day, actually. Who would’ve thought, right?"

  Something feels off about her voice, her smile never fully reaching her eyes, but what do I know? She's clearly not the same person she was ten years ago, and why should she be? Neither am I.

  "Right." I try not to flinch when I hear the bite in my voice.

  She hasn't done anything—at least not since she came back—but I can't seem to let go of my past anger. How can I still feel so . . . much after all this time?

  It’s suffocating.

  My muscles clench, trying to erase some of the tension in my body. My hands form into fists by my side, almost crushing the book in my hand. Wait a second. The book.

  With almost stiff movements, I lift my hand and wave the book in front of me like I’ve lost my mind. Which might be a pretty solid representation of my current state of confusion.

  Chloe slaps a hand over her mouth, her already red face turning a shade darker. But this time, it’s not from working out. Nope. If I had to guess, my money would be on the half-naked guy on the book cover. And the ripped bodice. Let’s not forget about that little detail.

  “Whoops. That must have fallen out of my bag in your car.” The words are muffled since she still hasn’t taken her hand off her mouth.

  “Uh-huh. Must have.” My eyes track her every move as her gaze flitters between the book in my hand, my face, and the ground.

  Why can’t I look away? Why do I still feel the same pull that was like second nature to me all those years ago? I always thought it had something to do with being in love. Something extra mushy you tell yourself only happens because you’re a teenager and your hormones are out of fucking control.

  I can’t say I’ve dated a ton over the years—at least no lasting relationships—but I’ve not once come close to feeling any sort of pull to any of the other women. Not the way I did with Chloe.

  And here we are. The devil from my past gets thrown back into my life in more than just one way and zap, that intense feeling is back.

  But this time, it feels almost cruel. Bitter. With an underlying thrill to it, which marks another notch on my way to officially becoming a masochist.

  And who needs that?

  Being around her clearly screws with my brain.

  Her hand stretches out toward me, palm up, and I stare at it like the idiot I am.

  “I’m so sorry about leaving that behind.”

  Oh, she wants the book. Of course.

  She takes it from me and almost drops it when I pull my hand away too quickly. Anything to try and avoid touching her.