Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

Not that I expect more.
“I’m going to study sports medicine. I want to be an athletic
trainer, maybe for a college or the Olympic team or something.”
He grunts, which I take to be his confirmation that he heard
what I said but doesn’t plan on replying. Which is fine, because I
can keep on talking.
“I know I can’t run forever—even though I know there are always
old guys in the Boston Marathon and stuff like that—but I have
to make a living somehow. And this way I still get to be involved
in sports without worrying when my knees are going to give out
and—”
“We’re here.”
Lost in my one-sided conversation, I didn’t even realize we’d
crossed the lawn, passed the school, and made it to the front steps
of Damian’s house.
I do notice, however, that Griffin does not immediately drop me
on my behind and run away as fast as he can.
Maybe it’s the hero contract.
“Well, thanks,” I say, even though he didn’t help me purely out of
the goodness of his heart.
Still, he doesn’t put me down.
He does look at me, though, his bright blue eyes intent on
mine.
It is a frozen moment—I can’t move or speak or react at all.
Helpless in his arms, silence ringing in my ears, I notice for the
first time all the sensations. The feel of his heart pounding in his
chest. His radiating heat. His arms against the bare skin of my legs
and shoulder—
160