Thursday, February 14, 2013

Head Over Wheels - Indigo's pov

"I'm an author who never feels her book is entirely finished. My characters embed themselves into my brain and refuse to let go. They're constantly evolving, and it's difficult to keep up with their demands."

Indigo wrote his own way through Head Over Wheels. He started out somewhat subdued, but once I realized I couldn't restrain him, his personality and charm really took over and I had to set him free. He still has his quiet moments, because his emotions are bottled inside, but Jewelia is bringing everything to the surface, and it's all rushing to his head.

You may want to read Jewelia's point of view first, but either way, I'd like you to know how they both felt during their first meeting. Indigo below ... To read Jewelia's perspective of their meeting, click here.

Indigo's pov is an extra, and not part of the book which is told from Jewelia's perspective.

It's so hard for me to feel, so I bury things ... but ... Every time I look at her, the ache in my chest spreads throughout my entire being.

I'm standing in line at Kelly's by 7 a.m., unaware of the crowd building behind me because I'm focused on the day ahead, reviewing my mental checklist. I'll be in the lab all this week, shadowing some of the researchers,  picking brains so that I can stuff mine full of as much information as possible.  I'll be lecturing first year students also, so I'm gearing up for some involving interrogation.

It's a sunny morning. I'm squinting as I check behind me to see how many others are waiting, because the line ahead of me doesn't seem to be moving. If it takes much longer, I'll have to leave.  I'm casually counting heads as the front door flings open with the help of a shapely arm.  There she is, standing in an arc of light, looking like an angel.  The expression on her face tells me she's trying to decide whether or not to elbow her way through the crowd, or leave.  No ... please don't leave. Watching you is the highlight of my day.

It's not the first time I've seen her .. . but as usual, she catches me so off guard that I can't help but stare.  I try to close my jaw, but holy shit, she's something else. I get this crazy feeling in my stomach every time I see her. I haven't felt this way since I was fifteen and a senior cheerleader taught me about life in the field behind the high school.

The cafe is turning into a madhouse. Hoping she'll decide to stay, I bring my head around, take a quick inventory of the customers ahead of me, and yes, we are two less in line. Strange that I don't remember moving my feet, but I must have, because I'm closer to the counter.  My head swings right back to the door, hoping she's stepped inside, or is at least stalled in contemplation.  Yes!  She's still standing there. Her lost look morphs into annoyance. Her nose is in the air. This girl is too much. She makes me smile. I can imagine what she's thinking, because  she's got this arrogant look on her face like, hey, why are you all here? I need to get my coffee and hit the road.

I run my fingers through my hair which is in disarray, and chuckle, wondering if her morning has been as hectic as mine. Her hair is long and dark and pulled back into a messy braid that's flowing over one of her shoulders, contouring with her gorgeous chest. From where I stand , now and then I'm able to catch a glimpse of her eyes: pure, clear, honey. God they're captivating.  She's got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.  I wonder what it would be like to feel them trained on me.  The thought gives me a rush; my face feels warm. And her lips ... moist plump raspberry colored hearts.  I watch her beautiful lips purse, then pout,  then try to read her mind again. Her angelic features keep rearranging; it's impossible to know what's going on inside that beautiful head.

I fight the urge to lift my hand, signal her to join me in the line. Why not help out a fellow New Yorker? But then, she'd probably think I was the same as the rest of the guys who must hit on her on a daily basis. So I just stare, reminding myself even if I could find a way to meet her, what then? I have no time for a relationship, not even a casual one ... and this girl does not look like someone a guy would even think about having a fling with. There's more to her. So much more. I feel she could get right inside me, into my head, my heart, and the concept brings with it a dangerous sinking sensation.  I feel like I'm free falling, struggling with emotions that scream to surface whenever she's around.

Cut the crap right now, James. Where's your head at, man? Remember who you are ... where you're going. Remember the promises you've made ... your  commitments. So I do a hesitant about face because I'm not about to start something I can't finish ... also, I'm next in line. The barista is scowling as he waits for the guy before me to finish ordering. I try to collect myself, anxiously scanning the faces around me, hoping to catch sight of her. I'm fidgety, but my hands are stuffed deep in my pockets. Because of my thoughts, I'm feeling self conscious. So this is how she catches me, with this dumb look on my face.

I'm craning my neck, looking over heads, and there she is, in her own space, standing out in the crowd, this huge smile taking up every inch of that kissable mouth.  Is she looking at me?  I somehow manage to keep my mouth from dropping.  Has she read my mind from across the room? Holy shit. So we fall into this game of red light green light, our gazes grazing, holding, jerking away. I lose concept of time, of place, I'm only seeing those eyes, those sugary eyes boring right through mine.  How one look can trigger every nerve in my body is beyond me.

It's my turn to order, and the barista breaks the trance, but as I stumble with words, I can barely think because my mind's all over the place. I don't even  know her. How can she have this effect on me?  I thought this kind of thing only happened to characters in romance novels. I never figured I could ever be so lucky. Luck isn't something that comes my way often ... but something tells me everything could change ... today.

 I feel her again. From the corner of my eye, I see her, closing in on me and my legs actually feel like rubber. She's looking in my direction. Is she actually heading in my direction? Our eyes are locking. How long can I hold her gaze? She's  trying to stare me down with a look of ... curiosity? interest? Is she coming on to me? I can't help but look away, but only for a split second. When I look back, she's still staring, only now, she's even closer. I want to laugh at the attitude she carries with her. With determination, she glides right through the crowd as if no one else is there. Squeezing her gorgeous self between two women who turn and smirk with envy.

My heart is something I take for granted. I never feel it's beat, but now, as she closes in, it's tapping away inside my chest, reminding me that I'm really human. I'm a man, not a robot. I do have emotions. Holy shit do I have emotions. She's really getting to me. I feel it in every part of my body which begins to react wildly.  I take a deep breath to slow the pace of my heart that's about to start tripping. Suddenly she's right beside me. I manage a smile, but only half of my mouth is able to move. She smiles back, and her mouth is so sexy.  There is no need for words. She's lifting a brow; her eyes are dark, and sending out all kinds of irresistible signals.

We're not in a club. We're in a cafe for Godssake. I'm at a definite disadvantage. I am? Why? Because she's a gorgeous woman and I'm feeling warm beneath the collar of my shirt because of her gaze? Her nearness? The smell of her perfume? I inhale deeply. God, she's so sweet. I just want to reach out to her, take her in my arms, dance with her. All I want to do is hold her. Touch those beautiful lips with mine. I want to kiss her so bad.

My throat is tight but I'm able to find my voice. "Hey ..."  Then I realize my eyes are talking, not my mouth, so I try again. "Mocha latte?" Terrific, James. Couldn't you think of something better to say?  Something like, "Hey, beautiful, where've you been all my life?" or "How about a cup of coffee, babe? It's on me."  My insane thoughts broaden my smile, bring me back down to earth, because I realize how stupid I must look with this goofy grin stuck to my face.

I'm sinking into her, into those eyes, those lips, and the look on her face is growing more intense ... then all hell breaks loose. This sickening premonition washes over me. Something tells me to turn around.  God I don't want to. This beautiful girl who I've been noticing for at least a month is finally within reach. This incredible thing is going on between us ... like there's no one else around ... and this could be my chance. But something's cutting into my back and I have to switch gears for a split second. And then she's wedging her body between us. Fuck ... "Vanessa ...What are you doing here? "

When I swing around, beautiful is gone.  

"Great timing," I mumble to the blonde pressing her body against mine.

So, that's that. I leave Kelly's with latte in hand and scrambling thoughts, wondering if this moment could ever repeat itself. Wondering what her name is. What her story is. She looks about twenty. Maybe a college student? She doesn't dress like she's going to an office. She looks adorable in those little tight black pants, the stretchy kind girls like to wear. Stop it, James!


My life doesn't feel like my own anymore. I barely have time to think, no less socialize. I'm dedicated. Nothing is going to interfere with my burning desire to work with kids. I have obligations and I have commitments.

It's a warm spring morning.  A perfect day for riding. I'm up at 4:30 and ready to leave Westchester by 5 a.m. When I'm home in Manhattan, I normally work out and shower by 6. By 6:30 I'm dressed and out the door of my apartment, heading for Kelly's Cafe for my latte fix before checking in at the hospital. But today's Saturday, and I've spent the night at my parents' place in Briar Ridge.  I'm meeting Bill and together we'll ride to Central Park to take part in the bike-a-thon. We're riding for the kids today. Once a month we pick a cause, Cycle For Health, gathering as many donations as we can to sink into research, fight childhood illness. Kids shouldn't have to face things adults do, like hospitals, machines, medications, IV's. The thought breaks my heart. For a moment I'm back in their world, discarding my own needs, desires.

For as long as I can remember I've wanted to be a physician. I'll be starting my residency in NYU Medical center in August, so while I cram for my Step 2 exam, in the back of my mind I'm thinking this might be the last spring and summer of relaxation for a long time.

During the entire ride her face unfolds before my eyes. I see her in the sky, in the colorful blossoms decorating every flowering tree. I can't shake the impact of her indignant face when Vanessa appeared between us.  If I'd been able to stop Vanessa dead in her tracks, I would have. I'd never want to hurt this girl. She probably thinks I'm disinterested  ... taken.  She'll probably never look at me again. I couldn't blame her.  Still, I can't shake free of the sensations she aroused. I visualize her lips, so kissable, soft, caressable, as though they were made for someone like me to nibble on. Someone who would treat her like gold if given the opportunity.

As we're heading down the bike trail, Bill breaks into my thoughts. "Stop for a couple of egg sandwiches?"

"Sure. I haven't eaten yet. Head to the diner?"

After a quick breakfast, we're among the first in the park. We're not a half hour into the event when the chain on Bill's bike decides to cut loose. We pull off the trail, onto a grassy area where we begin to make the repair. My back is to the trail, but I hear the sounds of wheels passing by, crunching on the pebbled road. For some reason I turn and my mouth literally hangs open when I spot her and another girl at the side of the road. They're watching us, talking, laughing. I wonder if they're talking about Bill and me and my stomach clenches.

The next thing I know, she's heading my way, eyes in direct contact with mine. My immediate reaction is to turn left, then right, then without permission, my head swings around to check the area behind me. Maybe she's on her way to someone else? But she's staring straight into my eyes. My heart starts tripping again, but I manage to keep my lips steady and offer a grin as she approaches.

I have a feeling my eyes are saying things. I have no control over my expression, my emotions, my limbs. Get a grip, man, I scold myself. She's only a girl! No she's not! She's a beautiful young woman who's testing my resolve, more than likely without even realizing that she's driving me out of my mind. I'm burning up ... boiling inside, and I doubt it's from the sun. Don't start breaking a sweat ... Christ ... get a hold of yourself. You can't let her see what's she's doing to you, man.

"Hey there," my voice comes from somewhere deep inside. "Mocha latte, right?" I'm on autopilot. I try for light and cool. Can I pull this off? Her eyes are so captivating, if I attempt to hold our gaze, one of two things are gonna happen: I'll start shaking and make an ass of myself ... or I'll drop Bill's bike and pull her into my arms. Either way, I'll make an ass of myself. This is a catch twenty-two. I'm caught in the middle of a storm and there's no shelter in sight. This is the unbelievable effect this woman has on me.  It's scaring the shit out of me. I've never lacked self control in my life. I'm not sure if I like this, but it's nothing I can fight. Something about her is like the air I'm inhaling too quickly, every bit a need as a desire.

She's adorable, and so damn sexy that my mind trips as fast as the beat of my heart.  This is the chance I've been waiting for. Don't just stand here! Pour on the charm. So I turn to Bill in order to gather my thoughts, find the right way to approach the situation. She starts asking me questions about the bike, obviously trying to strike up a conversation.

I turn, stare into her eyes. She's so close and her perfume wafts with the breeze, drawing me further into her. I can't tear my eyes from her lips as she speaks. Standing before me, one leg straight the other bent at the knee, she's striking. Then she pulls this unexpected maneuver. She lifts the bottom of her shirt and shakes it free from her body, showing off some skin, and I catch a glimpse of the full cups of her bra. Holy Christ, what's she trying to do to me? It couldn't have been intentional. She must be as hot as me. No way. I'm feeling like an animal in heat. 

"Would you like a bottle of water? I have some ..." She motions to her bike and her friend, both leaning against an elm tree  near the road.

"Sure," I reply, finding her presence unnerving yet soothing as conversation flows.

We settle beside a stream, and the breeze is insistent; it keeps blowing her scent in my direction. She strikes these deliberate poses that could turn a monk on, tossing her hair, arching her back. All the while she's got this grin on her face. As if the body language isn't enough, she's taunting me with her sweet and sexy voice.

When she tells me her name is Jewelia, her voice fills my head like a song I want to play again and again. Even her name is beautiful. My chest is tight, and emptying of air so fast I'm getting lightheaded. Holding back a groan, I tell her my name is James but my friends call me Indigo, and when she repeats Indigo, she blows me away. I watch her tongue slip across her lips and then they curve, and she's got this way about her. Without talking, between her eyes and movements, the way she's pitching a hip, gesturing with her hands, she's shooting off this amazing energy.

I know I'll never recover from this encounter, and desperately want things to go further, develop a relationship, but I have my reservations. She'd consume me if I let her. I have to focus on my profession, my promises, my obligations. Is there room in my life for her?

So we've been sitting here at least a half hour, plucking grass, each  trying to out-charm the other.  I've learned a few things about her life, personal things I'd wondered about. I wasn't that far off, either. She's intelligent, alluring, breathtaking ... and she's hinting for me to ask her out. For as much as I want to, the words just won't come. The fist, twisting in my chest, is stopping me. I'm not taking the bait. I see the arrogance again, the indignation grip her face. Part of her charm is her feisty attitude. This girl doesn't take any guff from anyone. She's not afraid of anything. She seems open and honest, and I'm getting pulled in further and further by her qualities. Her looks might have attracted me, but damn, her inner beauty is every bit as paralyzing.

Bill and her friend are ready to leave, and my mind's racing. So I say the first thing that makes some kind of sense, to me anyway. "Maybe we'll run in to one another again. Bill and I ride most weekends, if time permits."  Damn, why did I say that? Her face drops. She looks pissed, then hardens. She shrugs and replies, "Mabes," with a careless voice that's like a blow to my gut, and the fist in  my gut twists so bad, I can hardly breathe. I don't want to keep pissing her off, but it seems I've developed this knack for throwing up roadblocks.

When she tosses her hair, turns to leave, my heart sinks. I feel like we're in a movie, and the camera is running in slow motion. Her friend is flagging her, and the next thing I know my hand is resting on her shoulder. I don't remember reaching out to touch her, but I am, and she feels so damn good. But she freezes beneath my touch, so my fingers tighten and I ease her around to face me. The way I'm feeling has to show in my eyes. If she can see it, see the real me, maybe she'll understand. The expectation on her face melts my heart.  She's got a fist inside my chest and it's loosening mine. If we stand here much longer, she'll own me, body and soul. I can't think of anything I'd like more.

"Jewel ..." Her name rushes with a burst of air from my lips. "I doubt we'd be able to hang together out there," I motion to the wheels spinning past us, "but Bill and I usually stop at Kelly's after riding." Those honey gold eyes of hers are vibrant as they caress my face, slowly, seductively.

Holy shit. She doesn't have to speak, or move. Just standing before me — the look on her face, the purse of her lips still molded with expectation  — is enough to push me over the edge.
She studies me for a moment, while a breath catches in my throat. I'm afraid I'm about to be blown off. Then she gets this funny look on her face.

"Race you back." She sounds breathless.

I can't stop my grin from spreading. "You're on."

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