Page 85 of The Right Sign
who i am
DARE
I was still trying to understand why I felt the things I did for Yaya when it happened.
The kiss.
I knew some things. A few things, actually.
That she was a vision, a timeless and unquestionable beauty. Full of passion and soul and intellect.
I knew that learning sign language was going to be paramount to turning this fake relationship into a real one.
I knew she would play her part well for the camera, even if her feelings for me are decidedly not romantic.
What I did not know, what I was completely unprepared for, was how… humbled, yes,humbledis the only word that comes close—I felt when her lips brushed mine.
It wasn’t a long kiss or a particularly passionate one.
Her lips were gentle as they touched my shocked mouth, her bottom lip making an upward and cupping motion that showed far more tenderness than expected.
I didn’t have time to kiss her back.
Frozen.
Dazed.
Awed.
Like a man who spent all his life studying the skies, suddenly given a chance to walk on the moon. When falling amongst the stars, well, there’s really no way to be anything but moved.
Yaya retreats and flashes a smile that clothing brands and makeup companies should be lining up for. Swinging one leg over the other, her eyes turn cool. Body language, all languid confidence. She seems to dismiss the kiss that rocked my world with every flap of those eyelids.
And yet, I’m the one sitting there with my body still turned to hers and my heart racing on national television.
“Richard,” the host laughingly waves her card in front of my face, “you still with us?”
Her male co-host makes a joke about how in love I am.
Yaya laughs.
“… Sullivan… businesses… family legacy…”
The hosts are talking.
The words fly over my head.
Patel keeps looking at me. I’m being prompted to say something witty and light-hearted, but the composure I pride myself on is gone, trapped somewhere in the back of my throat.
Yaya flips her hair over her shoulder and bats those pretty brown eyes at me.
Damned hypnotic.
She comes from sirens, I’m sure of it. I imagine her ancestors, part human-part fish, luring sailors to their untimely deaths. There’s some of it in her now. Some magic.
Yaya scoots closer to me and runs dark fingers down my arm in a move probably meant to be soothing, but it turns my blood to fire instead. Her eyebrows rise in inquiry. She squeezes my shoulder in a subtle but clear instruction.What are you doing? Get your head in the game.
I snap back to myself.