Love's Forbidden Flower Read Free

hold on me causes a muted gasp and I inhale his shower-fresh scent. A disappointment really, because his aroma is always best after his cologne has absorbed into him, creating his own apprehending musk.
    Wait. When did I notice that?
    My mind circles back to the thought of him in the shower. I've witnessed him in merely a towel countless times, but how he looks like a glistening marble statue that would make Michelangelo jealous of God's tinkering is suddenly ornamenting my thoughts. The full view must be breathtaking.
    “You know Lily, you have really turned into a lovely lady. When did that happen?”
    His lips call to me, making me confused and embarrassed. My glance shies away and notices his hand upon my knee. It then recasts onto his arresting eyes as he slides his arm around me, drawing me closer as we begin to embrace. My heart hammers as my body turns to molten lava.
    Disparagingly his eyes break their hold as he brings my head onto his shoulder, violating the tone of the moment but not the sentiment. I glimpse up at him and softly kiss his wounded cheek while he toys with my long chocolate brown locks. As his fingers trace my jawline, our foreheads gently meet.
    “Hey, is anyone going to feed me?” Dad yells from downstairs. The interruption is both a welcome relief and an intrusive disappointment.

Chapter 3
    Donovan and I often sit at the same table in the den while studying. For years this time has segued into rousing conversations, be they serious, heartfelt, or laced with ridiculous banter. But this time it feels weird. It's been a week since his accident, and our awkwardness is unnerving. Excuses to explain away my anxiety fail; someone messed with this chair, the room feels warm, or the lamp has been moved. Why am I using a pencil? Is my eraser smaller? Like a lot smaller than yesterday?
    Looking up, the reason for my discomfort becomes apparent. Donovan is staring at me like he needs to talk. I need to talk to him too, but I’m just as closed off. For the first time in our lives we dodge a pressing subject in an attempt to break the proverbial ice.
    “If you’re trying to figure out how to ask me to do your trig homework for you, the answer is no.” I swear when he goes off to college we'll be on video chat two hours each night just working on his math assignments.
    “I gave up on it a few minutes ago,” he says as my eyes roll back into my head. “I know! I’ll get back to it in a minute. Actually, I’m failing miserably at moving on to a sample college admission essay I need to write.”
    “What’s the topic?” Why am I buying into this? He's probably making up something ridiculous just to keep me on edge.
    “That’s the source of the writer’s block. The only guideline is that the essay be based on personal experience and the insight that it brings.”
    “So, what are you feeling insightful about?”
    “How if I screw this up Dad will probably send me to military school. Unless I was a girl. Then he’d tell me a C is a perfectly acceptable grade and buy me something pretty because a daughter can do no wrong.”
    “You're such as ass,” I say, resuming studies in minor annoyance.
    “Call ‘em as I see ‘em. But seriously, I’m stumped.”
    He really should know better than to hand me the open can of worms to dump on him. Maybe he is not dodging me after all. “How about the importance of communication and what happens when people fail at it?”
    “And tie it to world affairs?”
    “No. College admission essays are to be personal. You’re just like me. When you can’t communicate to your satisfaction you turn into a wreck. You can eventually handle anything as long as you know what you are up against. It's when you don’t get the information you need, or can’t express yourself, that you have a real problem.”
    “You make it sound so easy,” he says, his voice slightly cracking as his fingers grace his notebook.
    There’s not much more tension that can be tolerated