Be with Me (Wait for You #2)(2)

The farm needed more help than Jase could provide.

I blinked. “It’s . . . charming.”

Cam laughed. “That’s nice of you to say.”

My fingers tightened around the cup in defense. “It is.”

“Uh--huh.” He flipped his baseball cap around, shielding his eyes. Tufts of black hair poked out of the back rim.

I started to speak, but movement I saw out of the corner of my eye caught my attention.

Racing out from the side of the barn, a little boy seated in a miniature John Deere tractor hooted and hollered. His chubby arms were bone straight as his hands gripped the steering wheel. A mop of curly brown hair shone under the bright August sun. Pushing the tractor from behind was Jase, and even though I could barely hear him, I was sure that he was making engine noises. They bounced along the uneven gravel and ground. Jase laughed as his little brother shouted, “Faster! Go faster!”

Jase appeased his brother, pushing the tractor so it zigged and zagged to a stop in front of the truck as Jack squealed, clenching the steering wheel. Plumes of dust flew into the air.

And then Jase straightened.

Oh wow--wee.

My mouth dropped open. Nothing in this world could’ve made me look away from the splendor before me.

Jase was shirtless and his skin glistened with sweat. I wasn’t sure what ethnicity he had in his family background. There had to be something Spanish or Mediterranean, because he had a natural tan skin tone that remained that way all year--round.

As he walked around the tractor, his muscles did fascinating things—-rippling and tightening. His pecs were perfectly formed and his shoulders were broad. He had the kind of muscles one got from lifting bales of hay. Boy was ripped. His stomach muscles tensed with each step. He had a very distinctive six--pack. Totally touchable. His jeans hung indecently low—-low enough that I wondered if he had on anything underneath the faded denim.

It was the first time I ever saw the full extent of his tattoo. Ever since I’d known him, I’d caught glimpses of it peeking out from the collar on his left shoulder and from under a shirtsleeve. I never even knew what it was until now.

The tat was massive—-an endless knot shaded in deep black, starting at the base of his neck, looping and twisting over his left shoulder and halfway down his arm. At the bottom, two loops opposite each other reminded me of snakes curling up and facing each other.

It was a perfect fit for him.

A flush spread across my cheeks and traveled down my throat as I dragged my gaze back up, mouth dry as the desert.

Sinewy muscles in his arms flexed as he lifted Jack out of the driver’s seat, holding him into the air above his head. He spun around in a circle, laughing deeply as Jack shrieked and flailed.

Ovaries go boom.

As Cam opened the driver’s door, Jase sat Jack down on the ground and yelled at my brother, but I had no idea what he said. He straightened again, dropping his hands onto his hips. His eyes squinted as he stared into the truck.

Jase was absolutely gorgeous. You couldn’t say that about a lot of -people in real life. Maybe celebrities or rock stars, but it was rare to see someone as stunning as he was.

His hair, the color of rich russet, was a mess of waves falling into his face. His cheekbones were broad and well defined. Lips were full and could be quite expressive. A hint of stubble shaded the strong curve of his jaw. He didn’t have dimples like Cam or me, but when he did smile, he had one of the biggest, most beautiful smiles I’d ever seen on a guy.

He wasn’t smiling right now.

Oh no, he was staring into the truck, head cocked to the side.

Parched as I was, I took a sip of the sweet tea as I stared through the windshield, absolutely enthralled by all the baby--making potential on display before me. Not that I was in the way of making babies, but I could totally get behind some practice runs.

Cam made a face. “Dude, that’s his drink.”

“Sorry.” I flushed, lowering the cup. Not that it mattered. Wasn’t like Jase and I hadn’t swapped spit before.

On the other side of the windshield, Jase mouthed the word shit and spun around. Was he going to run away? Oh hell to the no. I had his sweet tea!

In a hurry, I unhooked my seat belt and pushed open the door. My foot slipped out of my flip--flop, and because Cam just had to have a redneck truck, one that was several feet off the ground, there was a huge difference between where I was and where the ground was.

I used to be graceful. Hell, I was a dancer—-a trained, damn good dancer and I had the kind of balance that would make gymnasts go green with envy, but that was before the torn ACL, before the fateful jump had put my hopes of becoming a professional dancer on hold. Everything—-my dreams, my goals, and my future—-had been paused, as if God hit a red button on the remote control of life.

And I was about to eat dirt in less than a second.

I reached out to catch the door but came up short. The foot that was going to touch the ground first was connected to my bum leg, and it wouldn’t hold my weight. I was going to crash and burn in front of Jase and end up with tea all over my head.

As I started to fall, I hoped I landed on my face, because at least then I wouldn’t have to see the look on his face.

Out of nowhere, two arms shot out and hands landed on my shoulders. One second I was horizontal, halfway out of the truck, and the next I was vertical. My feet dangled in the air for a second and then I was standing, clutching the cup of tea to my chest.