Running Wild(Wild #3)(32)

I admire the way his clingy shirt stretches over his cut arms and the web of muscle across his back. Not until he shuts the stove door do I ask, “What are you doing in this tent?”

He groans as he flops back, his arms stretching over his head. “Fucking Hatchett.”

Of course. I should have known it had something to do with his nemesis. “What did he do?”

“What didn’t that idiot do? I was asleep in the mushers’ tent for maybe two hours when he came stumbling in with his shit and dropped his sleeping pad right beside me so he could be close to the stove. He stepped on me, twice. Don’t even try to tell me that was accidental because I caught his smile the second time.”

I wince. These mushers bank on their twenty-four-hour rest to catch up on much-needed sleep so they can make it to the finish line.

“And then he jammed the stove with so much wood, he turned the tent into an oven. I was sweating so bad, I thought I’d have to strip down.”

My gaze flitters over his torso. Yes, that would have been terrible. “Are you sure it was Harry who did that?” Because it sounds like someone else I know.

“Yeah, I watched the prick do it. I went outside to cool off. Both literally and figuratively, because I was ready to choke him—” His jaw ticks with tension. “I ran into Terry, and he sent me in here. I couldn’t see who was in the bag next to me. I didn’t know it was you.” He opens his mouth as if to say more, but no words come out.

Uncomfortable silence hangs in the tent. That mistaken kiss seems to have left both of us off-kilter.

I try to shake it off. “Did Harry say anything to you when he arrived at the checkpoint?”

“No.” After a moment, a slow smile spreads across Tyler’s handsome face, blossoming into a grin. “But he showed up just in time to see them hand me my gold and take a picture with my trophy, and he looked a little stiff.”

I chuckle. “He is very competitive and convinced he’s going to win this year.” But would Harry disrupt another musher’s much-needed sleep like that on purpose? Yes, now that I think about it, I wouldn’t put it past him, especially where Tyler is concerned.

What an asshole. It reeks of unsportsmanlike behavior, and yet it’s not blatant enough to get him kicked out of the Iditarod.

Tyler stands with a stretch. “I better get out there. The dogs have been sleeping for almost eight hours. They’ll be up again soon.”

I try not to stare as he dresses but fail miserably. I’ve only ever seen Tyler in bulky outer clothes but now, in his fitted base layer, with the fresh log aglow, its steady burn illuminating the tent, I have a prime view of his fit, athletic body.

And thanks to the snugness of his long woolen underwear, little is left to the imagination, both from the back and when he turns around.

I close my eyes and listen to him slipping on his ski pants. I don’t need these visuals burned into my brain while I’m still reeling from that kiss.

“You on duty soon?” he asks, drawing my eyes open again, just in time to see him tug his wool sweater over his head.

His question reminds me that I’m not here to make out with and ogle mushers. “Yeah. I should have been out there hours ago. Terry was supposed to come and get me.” I peel myself from my cozy sleeping bag and reach for my own ski pants.

“The last I saw him, he was heading into the hut.” Tyler’s attention drifts over my wool leggings and shirt, stalling on my chest for a brief second before he ducks his head to pull on his boots.

We finish dressing in awkward silence, like two people who woke up next to last night’s drunken mistake and are attempting a swift exit.

He pulls on his knit cap. “Will you do rounds of the teams again?”

“Yeah, I’ll check them out to see how they’re holding up.” If I can read Tyler at all, he’ll go straight to his dogs with nothing more than a quick stop to the outhouse—or a snowbank—to relieve himself. “Do you want me to grab you a coffee? I’m sure there’s a fresh pot brewing.” It’s a guarantee. Karen’s militant volunteer schedule requires it.

“That would be great. Black, please.” His hand is on the zipper to the door when he stops. “And about earlier … I didn’t mean for that to happen—”

“It’s fine. You were asleep. And … confused.” And I let it go farther than I should have—I enjoyed it way too much.

His head turns halfway toward me, showing off the rigid line of his tense jaw. “Yeah.”

I hesitate, unsure how to word this. “Is there anyone who would be upset if they heard about it?” A girlfriend, or wife, who will accuse me of trying to move in on her territory? I’ve had enough of that.

He opens his mouth but then falters on his answer. “No. There’s no one.”

A wave of relief hits me, followed quickly by a surge of anticipation. Regardless of who he might have been saying those words to, Tyler’s just confirmed he’s single.

He pauses. “What about you? Am I gonna have someone showing up at my house, threatening to beat my ass?” He studies me over his shoulder, his expression oddly somber for his words.

“No, no one like that.”

His gaze drifts over my bundled form before settling on my face. “Good.”

Good that there’s no one—that I’m single—or good that he won’t have to deal with an angry boyfriend?