Fast-Tracked by Tracy Rozzlynn Read Free Book Online Page A

glanced at him, fearing what I would or wouldn’t see in his eyes.
    After dinner we walked through the gardens, occasionally commenting on the different plants we saw just to break the silence. Thanks to the greenhouses, even the plants that usually didn’t bloom until mid-summer were already a fantastic display of colors. I hadn’t been to the gardens since I was little, and I had forgotten just how incredible it was. The true purpose of the garden was scientific study, but the money it raised pandering to the public’s enjoyment made more than enough credits to support its research.
    The rose garden was hands down the most spectacular display of all. The perfume alone was overpowering in a delightful, intoxicating way. The plants ranged in size from tiny delicate miniature roses displayed in pots to huge bushes several feel round in diameter. Plus the climbing roses towered over us on trellises. Some of the roses were simple but elegant, only having a single layer of petals – most people wouldn’t have even known they were roses without having been told first. Other roses had large showy heads that looked heavy enough to fall off. But what I loved the best about all of the roses was the wide variety of color displayed, from the purest white to the deepest red and every color in between.
    As we exited the display, we spotted a vendor selling roses. Most of the girls squealed and begged for their boyfriends to buy them a red rose – a symbol of love.
    I never asked, but I didn’t have to. Byron spent what was probably the last of his remaining credits to buy me one of the roses – a beautiful yellow rose with just a blush of pink on the outermost petals, called Amber Flush. His choice showed just how well he knew me. The common red petals of the other girls’ roses just couldn’t compare. As he handed it to me, I smiled my thanks; I was still having difficulty forming words around him.
    By the time we finished our garden tour it was almost dusk, so we made our way to the lake in the center of the gardens. I had never been on a gondola ride, so I didn’t know what to expect. We handed over our ticket and stepped onto the flat bottom of our awaiting boat. Our attendant handed us both a glass of apple cider (we were too young for the champagne) and stood at the end of the boat holding a long pole that I soon realized was just for show. The traditional gondolas once used in Venice used the poles to push themselves along, but we were being gently pulled along an underwater track. At least the course of the track gave the appearance that we were haphazardly drifting through the beautiful flames that danced on the water.
    The flames themselves came from shallow black dishes that were anchored down in the water. In the center of the dish were several purple and blue ‘coal’ pieces. According to the brochure I read during our tram ride here, they were made from a specially prepared compound one of the garden’s scientists had invented. They burned at a cool temperature and would last throughout the night without dimming and without emitting any toxins into the environment. I thought that was pretty cool.
    But as we drifted through the flames, I didn’t think about how they were made or the environmental feat that they were. All I could focus on was how beautiful the flames were and how nice Byron’s thigh felt pressed against mine.
    I don’t know if it was accidental or intentional, but the fingers of Byron’s dangling hand kept brushing against mine. Each time our fingers met a wave of excitement shot through me in a blissful torment. Just when I knew I couldn’t endure another moment of the wonderful torture, he grabbed my hand in his and gave it a hopeful squeeze. The moment I squeezed back our relationship changed. That’s when we knew how we felt.
    We continued holding each other’s hand throughout the remainder of the ride. Occasionally one of us would run a finger up the other’s palm and send chills up