After months of therapy, Garrett Delko is still struggling to cope with his brother's suicide. The only time he finds peace is on the pitching mound and with a mysterious girl he's been obsessed with since the first week of college. One night, he se...
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Shock paralyzed Arianne. It was him. Her brooding, yet misguided savior from the bridge. Never in a million years did she think he'd show up in front of her again. Certainly not with her sprawled on the floor like a baby doe, all limbs, and no coordination. Usually, she had more grace but the stack of flyers she'd been juggling toppled over and took her with it.
"Are you okay?" he asked from the doorway. His voice was exactly as she remembered—smooth and creamy like melted marshmallows over hot chocolate. Even when he'd been vibrating with anger, his velvety cadence had hypnotized her.
Pushing up her glasses, she tipped her head back and did a double take. When they met on that night on the bridge, all she could see were the harsh shadows cutting into his chiseled features. He appeared too hard and severe to be considered gorgeous, but now in the light, she could see everything had she missed. He had sea foam green eyes framed by fluttery lashes and lips with a perfect cupid's bow. His nose had a light dusting of freckles contrasted by rich tawny skin that spoke of mixed ethnicity. Dear god, the man was a diamond, cut and polished and ready to be put on display.
"What are you doing here?" She felt flustered, unbalanced. She hadn't felt this way since...shit. She'd rather poke a hot iron in her eye than think about her ex, Chance. Luckily, he didn't seem offended. If anything, he appeared equally as shocked.
"I'm taking a class. Meditation," he said.
He was here for her? No, not her. Her class. "I'm the instructor."
Disbelief replaced his shock. "You're kidding me. You run the class?"
She raised a brow. "Is that a problem?"
"It's just....it's meditation."
Disappointment struck. It wasn't the first time some dickhead thought they were too good for meditation, but she thought he'd be different especially after everything he'd been through. When he first dived in after her, she assumed he was some asshole with a God complex, but then she saw the fear lurking under the surface. That's when she realized his anger wasn't about her, but about whoever died by suicide. She could see it was sucking him dry like a parasite. It was a shame because when he smiled, she caught a glimpse of him, the real him, and it was as pure as it was captivating. No one should have that snuffed out especially by something as awful as death. But it seemed no matter the tragedy, judgmental assholes were still judgmental assholes.
"I can't believe it," he murmured, shaking his head. She didn't know what his problem was, but he was starting to piss her off. "This has to be a joke."
Bristling, Arianne stood. Her father taught her it was always better to argue eye to eye. Not that Arianne and her brooding savior were the same height. He had at least a foot over her, but then again, most people did. She blamed her vertical impairment on her dad and his Chinese roots. All the women on his side were under five foot five inches, and Arianne was no exception. Her mom's side of the family, all blonde and blue-eyed, were giants in comparison. They were well over six feet, and that included the females.
