Promise Me Forever: Manhattan Ruthless
: Chapter 20

We’ve been split into groups again for the afternoon activities, and the first one involves blindfolds and an obstacle course. It’s a lot more fun than I expected. One person has their eyes covered with a bandanna while the rest of the team provides verbal instructions to guide them over steps and around chairs. It’s pretty hilarious, especially when it becomes clear that some people still haven’t figured out their left from their right.

After that, we’re put in a circle and have to hold hands in different shapes, forming something called a human knot, and then we are put into revolving pairs to practice eye contact. That one is a lot harder and a lot more fun than it sounds, depending on who you’re paired with—sixty seconds can fly by or it can take forever. One of the girls I recognize from the mail room keeps sticking her pierced tongue out at me when none of the prison guards—sorry, facilitators—are watching, and it cracks me up every time. My final partner is Drake, and as he settles down across from me, both of us cross-legged on our bean bags, the thought of spending sixty seconds gazing into his eyes makes me so nervous I can’t speak.

“Just breathe,” he says quietly, obviously picking up on my reaction. “It’ll all be over before you know it.”

I nod, and the bell that tells us it’s time rings out. He’s sucking on his upper lip, and his gentle smile is uncertain. Is he as nervous as I am? Our eyes meet, and again that strange thing happens: the rest of the world just seems to drop away. It is me and it is him and it is us. Nothing else matters. Nothing else even exists.

Drake’s dark, shining eyes have always held power over me. They have a way of pulling me in and keeping me close. Being given permission to stare into them is an exhilarating experience, especially as we’re not allowed to talk. This is all about silent communication, about acknowledging the person opposite us and facing them without fear. Making ourselves vulnerable. I don’t need a training exercise for that—Drake always makes me feel vulnerable. But he also makes me feel alive, awake to the potential of the world, and aware of my body and mind in a way that is beyond confusing.

We sit, eyes locked, and I completely lose myself in him. Although we’re not physically touching, I feel the heat of the connection stretching between us, a live wire of sensation that threatens to overwhelm me. I can barely breathe by the end of it, and I wonder if he feels the same or if I’m being crazy. Am I deluded, or is his breathing coming a little faster too? What do I really see in his eyes, and what does he see in mine?

If I could send him a message, if I could cut through the white noise and tell him how I really feel, what would my eyes say to him? I want him so much that I ache with it. I respect him. I like him. I … I love him? Could that be true? Or is this merely infatuation?

No, I realize, the shock of it like a slap across the face. I love him. I really do. I’ve been trying to deny it, even to myself, but something about this silly corporate game has stripped away my defenses, and I can’t lie anymore. I love Drake James, even though he can never be mine.

We’re both still sitting cross-legged on the floor when the bell rings again. Tears sting my eyes, and he looks just as intense as I feel. “Drake …” I murmur, feeling the sweet torture of being so close to him and yet so far away.

“I know,” he says on a sigh.

I don’t have time to ask him what it is he knows because the world that didn’t exist a few seconds ago is now coming back to life around us. The next exercise begins. He smiles slowly at me as people start to move about, and it’s a smile that makes me bite my lower lip in anticipation. What exactly I’m anticipating, I have no idea.

He stands effortlessly and holds out his hand to help me up. I feel bewildered and bothered and completely bewitched, and the touch of his fingers on my palm isn’t helping. I pull away, because if I don’t, I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ll tug him down toward me, kiss him, hold him, let myself be swept away in those strong arms …

I’ll tell him that I love him. That I need him. That I’ve never felt like this about anyone.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” one of the instructors calls out. “Time to take a leap of faith.”

I back away from Drake and lose myself in the crush of bodies. The excited hubbub of chatter swallows me up, background noise that I don’t understand. Everything is too loud, too colorful, too much. It’s like the world has turned into a cartoon acid trip, and I’m trapped in the middle of it. I stagger backward, unaware where I’m going but knowing I need to get away from Drake. I need to be alone to think, to feel. To be safe.

I bump into a wall that turns out to be a person. One of the facilitators, a guy with a shaved head and kind blue eyes. He takes my hand and holds my arm up in the air. “Our first volunteer.” He looks down at my name badge. “Amelia Ryder, thank you for your trust.”

What on earth is happening? I’ve somehow wandered all the way to the far side of the room where a small set of portable stairs have been placed next to a table. The facilitator takes my silence as agreement and leads me toward the steps. They’re not terribly high, but they’re not nothing either. I shake my head, trying to find the words to tell him this was a mistake, but I’ve been struck mute. Everyone is cheering and clapping, and someone has started a chant of my name. “A-me-li-a!” they shout in time. “A-me-li-a!”

I find myself standing on the table, looking around with dazed eyes. The chanting is getting louder, my name being yelled faster and faster, accompanied by the heavy thudding bass line of people stomping their feet. I feel like a gladiator about to be thrown to the lions. How the hell did I end up here?

I see Drake among the crowd, his lips pressed into a thin line of concern. He isn’t chanting, he isn’t stomping. Our eyes lock, and my heart flutters helplessly in my chest. The facilitator takes hold of my shoulders and turns me around so I’m facing him. He nods at me, smiles, and whispers words of encouragement.

I suck in a deep breath. Hear my name being called. Remember how I felt when I was looking into Drake’s eyes.

I plunge backward. Falling, falling, falling … falling into his arms. The scent of his cologne teases my nostrils, the soft swoop of his hair tickling my skin as he holds me tight. “I’ve got you, Amelia,” he whispers into my ear. “I’ve got you.”