Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(67)

I released him, rolled onto my back, and looked up at the blue, blue sky.

I tried to picture it. Me being driven over the finish line by a helpful ambulance. No. Me limping and sobbing my way to the finish line. No. Scratch that. I rewound the tape. If I put in the work, if I paced myself and fueled myself properly, I didn’t have to limp and sob. I could finish strong.

“What do you see?” he asked, his voice husky. His hand snaking out to hold my ankle. I loved his touch.

I loved that I was still sleeping in his bed, but that wasn’t all we were doing anymore.

“I see me,” I said, bringing back the picture.

“Uh-huh. What are you doing?”

“I’m crossing the finish line—running, not on a gurney,” I added. “People are cheering. Someone has a piece of pizza for me.”

Jonah laughed softly.

“How do you feel?”

“Invincible,” I whispered.

“Then that’s how you’ll finish,” he promised.

The tips of my fingers brushed his as we floated side by side. Then his fingers were linking with mine. “You can do it, you know,” he said.

“I’m starting to think I can.”

“I tell you what,” he said, releasing my hand and sinking back into the water. “I’ll race you back to the dock.”

“That’s not even remotely fair.”

He raised a hand. “I’ll give you a head start. If you finish strong, you get to pick your reward.”

My reward? A make-out session with him in the water. An entire 12-pack of Mountain Dew. A whole day without training. More sex.

I grinned slowly.

“What kind of reward makes you smile like that?” he asked.

“I want to practice the Dirty Dancing lift with you in the water,” I insisted.

“I really wish I didn’t know what that was.” He sighed.

“But you do, and you will?” I pressed.

“Two attempts,” he offered.

“Two? It’s gonna take more than that. Five,” I countered.

He eyed me thoughtfully. “Five.” He nodded.

“Ready. Set. Go!” I dunked him and, with more enthusiasm than actual grace, swam like hell for the dock.

I cut through the water, remembering to pop my head up and breathe more often. It helped until I heard his approach behind me. Jonah did everything athletic well. And that included things that happened in the bedroom and the forest and the back seat of his car. The man was a prime physical specimen. And my body was on high alert as he pursued me through the water.

I’d been chased before. Had been terrified by it. But this kind of a chase brought out something exciting, something primal in me.

I felt it click. The effort. The training. The endless research on proper form. And suddenly I was a fish. Jonah was closing in, but the dock was in sight. I shut off my mind and let my body do what it had learned to do.

I was the water and the air. I was the sun warm on my back. As the dock speared up in front of me, I reached for it. And felt his hand close around my ankle. He yanked me backward, and I sucked in half a lung of lake water in protest.

“Hey!” I sputtered, trying to swipe my bangs out of my eyes and cough up the lake I’d inhaled.

“Sorry, Shelbs. I won fair and square,” he teased.

I fumed, splashing him in the face. “There was nothing fair and square about that! You cheated.”

“Damn right I did. Had to! You got fast. Real fast.”

I preened at the praise. “I did, didn’t I? It all just kicked in at the same time.”

“Maybe I should chase you the whole way through the triathlon,” he mused.

“I’d have a heart attack halfway through it,” I predicted. Though my heart sped up at the thought of Jonah chasing me again. “And since you cheated, I demand my prize.”

He feigned a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. But don’t knee me in the face.”

“Yay!”

“Hang on,” he said grabbing me when I tried to turn away from him. “Let’s get closer to shore. I need to be able to stand up.”

“Oh, right.” I plowed through the water toward land, escaping his hands and the heat they scorched me with.

“Okay,” he said, stopping me in the water. “You stay here.” He backed away from me several paces. “You ready?”

“I was born ready.”

He rolled his eyes. “Remember. No kicking me in the face,” he called as I started running—or slogging—through the water at him.

Kicking wasn’t a valid concern. Our first attempt had me kind of lunging at him. His hands slid under my arms and lifted me straight up.

“This doesn’t feel right,” he said under me.

“No, I’m supposed to be like horizontal. Our bodies should be perpendicular,” I deduced.

“Right. Okay. So come in faster this next time, and I’ll grab your waist,” he suggested, still grinning up at me.

“If you put me down, I will.” I expected him to toss me back into the water like a discarded fish. But instead, Jonah lowered me slowly into the water. Our slick bodies sliding against each other. Oh, I liked that. A lot. Too much.

He liked it, too, I noted with a satisfied smirk as I felt the prod of his erection.