Fear of Falling

by his near nakedness. Blaine was gorgeous. Magnificent. The prototype of what a man would look like if fantasies were realities.
    “Oh, um, sorry I didn’t call…”
    “That’s ok,” he interjected, stepping towards me and bringing the dark ink adorning his body into focus. Intricate patterns and script kissed his fingers, arms, shoulders and torso. I had discovered more on his legs at the lake but never got the chance to study the designs. Now I was close enough to glimpse the reds, yellows, greens and blues that crawled up his left calf. Every piece was stunning and sophisticated.
    “Is that for me?” he asked, pointing towards the abandoned piece of paper tucked in the corner of his doorframe.
    “Uh, yeah. Figured it’d be better than leaving a note,” I shrugged.
    He reached past me and squatted down to retrieve the little origami frog, giving me a whiff of his sweat slicked skin. His scent, coupled with the trace of mint and spice that I had grown to crave, was masculine and erotic. It was exactly what I imagined his sweat to smell like, and I wanted to bathe in the tiny droplets.
    Blaine fingered the delicate paper and looked down at me with a half-grin. The heat from his body enveloped me, igniting fire in my belly. “Or you could’ve called me.”
    I worked to keep my tight-lipped smile even. “Some things need to be said in person.”
    He nodded, fishing out a key from the iPod armband that hugged his sculpted bicep. “Come on in.”
    Blaine’s house was immaculate, just as it was before. Seeing it again brought back memories of his hands and lips caressing me, his strong arms holding me, and the tender words he uttered after I awoke in the dark. The look on his face when he shared his past with me, the intense feeling of wanting to take away his pain—it all came crashing back.
    Blaine and I may have not known each other well, but we had grown close where it counted. He had witnessed my demons and revealed his own. Our connection wasn’t like the solidarity I shared with Dom or even Angel. But, something had bonded us, and I needed him in my life just the same.
    “I need to take a shower,” he said from behind me as I took in the shelving that held his shot glass collection. My eyes zeroed in on the two blank ones, the ones he claimed were the most significant to him.
    “That’s fine,” I breathed, feeling almost high from his scent.
    “You can stay down here and watch TV if you want.” He made his way to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, downing it in just a few gulps. “You want some wine?”
    “Sure.” A little liquid courage was just what I needed.
    After handing me a glass of chilled white wine, Blaine clicked on the TV. He still had the little paper frog between his fingers, holding it like it was a precious gem. I smiled inwardly. Who knew a tough guy with tattoos and piercings could be so quirky and sentimental? It made him that much more attractive.
    I surveyed the area once I was alone, sipping my wine as I looked at framed pictures of him and CJ, and even a few of Mick. I noticed several of a woman I knew was his mother. She shared the same sandy brown hair and warm brown eyes as Blaine. Of course, she was stunning, and her bright, beaming face brought a smile to my lips. When I stumbled upon a photo of her and a young Blaine, my breath caught. He looked so happy and innocent, the perfect picture of a young man with his whole life ahead of him. Even then, he was incredibly good-looking, and I imagined his mother having to beat the girls off with a stick.
    “Her name was Amelia,” his rich voice said behind me, a touch of southern drawl conjured up with the memory of his mom.
    “She was gorgeous,” I smiled at Blaine. He was dressed in low-slung cargo shorts and a sleeveless tee. The smell of his body wash filled my nostrils, bringing back memories of the suds all over my naked skin as I touched myself, imagining it to be his fingers. My face flamed, and I turned back to the photos. Shit. Leave it up to me to think about sex while talking about Blaine’s deceased mother. Class-y .
    “She was,” he nodded. “Most of the men in town would try to date her, but I wouldn’t have it. No man was good enough for her. So, I mastered the art of being a sneaky little shit, and making their lives hell.”
    “Not you, Blaine Jacobs! Look at that angelic face,” I chuckled, pointing to the younger version of the scary-beautiful man in front of me,