Realizing that I was still pointing my golden sword at him, I lowered my shaking arm and unsummoned the weapon. A tremendous urge to run into Michael's arms clawed at me, but my brain was at odds with my heart. I longed for his touch, for his kisses, for him; but all I could do was stare.
His hair was wet and his face looked freshly-rinsed. The smell of menthol shampoo that hung in the air told me that Michael had just come out of the shower. He was wearing a loose gray shirt and faded jeans. He was standing barefoot, his back against the wall. Running his fingers through his uncombed hair, he parted his lips to speak. "Are you alright, Kaylene?" he asked again and I realized I haven't answered his question earlier yet.
I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth. Michael was staring righ
