A Fine Mess (Over the Top #2) - Kelly Siskind Page 0,1

us. Sawyer tips forward, into me, and grips my waist to keep from falling. The man apologizes and Sawyer replies, but I don’t hear a thing. I may be wearing a thick pea coat, but I sense each of his fingers—his thumb on my back, his large hand curling around my waist, his index finger touching my ribs. I inhale deeply, and I swear his grip tightens. I’m on my feet, no chance of falling, but he doesn’t let go.

“Back to the pros and cons,” he says, his voice deep and heavy in my ear. The rest of his playful menu descriptions barely register.

My life these days is nothing but stacks of pros and cons. Lists upon lists of breakup woe. It’s time I end things with Kevin, but letting go of him is like letting go of everything I’ve ever known: my best friend, my neighbor who chased me around our joined yards tossing dirt at my head. My first kiss. My rock when my grandmother passed. My security when I was away from home for the first time.

Then there’s Sawyer.

His lips are by my ear, his hands spanning my waist as he helps me decide what to order, and I’m hazy, almost weightless from his proximity. As though I’m air and he’s light and we’re lost in space. The way he takes advantage of moments like this, touching me, talking close, I wonder if he feels it, too.

But I’m not available.

“So, what will it be?” he asks.

“Sorry, what?”

He pauses, drops his hands, and steps to the side. No air. No light. Only confusion. “What will it be?” he repeats. “The offensive blue cheese wrap, or the Greek chicken one with the olives and feta?”

Just like that he flips us back to friends, coworkers, as though I imagined the heat between us. “I’ll get the blue cheese one.”

As he heads to the counter, he says, “If you’re nice, I’ll let you have a bite of mine when you realize you made the wrong choice.”

I almost laugh. Almost. He has no clue how badly I want that bite. A lick. A taste. And if he doesn’t feel the same, it will cut deep. But this choice is bigger than my interest in Sawyer. Staying in a loveless relationship isn’t fair to Kevin. To me. We haven’t touched each other intimately in a year. We don’t cuddle anymore. No stolen kisses. No flirtatious games. We’re roommates who are too comfortable to move on.

My blood rushes then, a tide of nerves flowing under my skin. The same sensation that resurfaces when I debate leaving Kevin. The need to find a store and buy something becomes all-consuming—to shop, spend, own, covering my unease with purchases, a pattern I try to avoid. But I can’t keep letting my issues control my life.

Sawyer turns with our food, and I ignore the warning signs. We remove our coats and sit at the counter. He takes the radish garnish from his plate and sticks it on mine. I give him my pickle.

After a few bites of his wrap, he says, “This is amazing. How bad is yours?”

I pick up a piece of fallen blue cheese and make a show of placing it on my tongue. “Delicious.”

“That’s nasty. But I’m glad my pros-and-cons exercise worked. When I go home and you get stuck making a decision, you should call me. I’ll talk you through it.”

That would be quite the conversation. “I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Sometimes.” He swallows another bite and shrugs. “When it comes to work, you’re a decisive champ. You play around with options until you nail an idea. But when we go out to lunch or you rent a movie—you know, the important, life-altering decisions—you freeze. That’s where I come in.”

That is where he comes in. Kevin often works late, and I use the time to sketch, sometimes brainstorming with Sawyer. If I plan to watch a movie afterward, we sit on the phone while I scroll through listings, laughing at the options, me unable to decide. His voice fills me with static. Electromagnetic interference. If he were one of the comic book characters he obsesses over, he’d be Captain Distracto.

Sawyer’s powers are even stronger in person. Since he and Kolton opened their newest Moondog location in Toronto—another coincidence, fate guiding my life—Sawyer flies down from Vancouver monthly to check on the place. We review my sketches, and I try on sample clothing while we swap ideas. I often zone out, wondering how his