Naked Love(29)

“Come on, Swarley.” She whistles.

“Shoes?” I stare at her rhinestone flip-flops.

“How long is the hike?” She tips her chin up.

“More than ten yards. Change your shoes. I’m not carrying you.”

“Pfft … I’m good. In spite of what you might think from the past two days, I’m not a damsel in distress. I can walk for miles in these. They are actually more comfortable than they look.”

I have a long list of thoughts and lingering first impressions of this woman, but something tells me taking her for a hike in flip-flops will not change a single one of them.

“I’m not carrying you.”

“I’m not deaf. I heard you the first time. I won’t need you to carry me. Sheesh …” She attaches Swarley’s leash, flipping and flopping her way to the start of the trail.

“This won’t end well …” I mumble, spending a little too much time staring at her sashaying ass. My dick gives me a stern warning.

*

“Jaaake?”

“Wait, buddy.” I whistle and Swarley stops. After pouring him some water in the lid of my canteen, I retreat in the direction of the whiney voice calling my name.

Avery cringes, easing onto an old tree stump.

“What is it?” Planting my hands on my hips, I glare down at her, daring her to say one fucking word about her feet.

“We’ve been walking for miles. How much farther do we have to go?”

“Another mile or so. Why?” My eyebrows lift.

Say it, Princess. I dare you.

“I’m …” Her lips curl between her teeth.

“You’re what?”

“Hungry and thirsty. I didn’t bring water with me.”

Her feet are streaked in red marks from rocks and brush scratching them, and I’m certain the area between her first and second toes has to be raw. But … she’s hungry and thirsty.

I nod, pulling a granola bar from the side pocket of my shorts.

She turns her nose up. “Why is it wrapped like that?”

I stare at the bar wrapped in parchment paper inside a plastic bag. “Like what?”

“Like you didn’t buy it from a store.”

“Because I made it.”

“Oh …” She takes it from me as if it contains a grenade missing its pin.

“Come on. Eat while you walk so we can get back to the tent before it gets dark.”

Giving me a tight grin, she stands. I don’t miss the flash of a grimace as her step falters.

“You good?”

“Fine.” Her shoulders pull backward. “Water?” She stares at the canteen in my right hand.

“Sure.” I hand it to her.

Avery twists it in one direction then the other. “What side did you drink out of?”

“Really? You’ve probably eaten pig assholes in the form of a hot dog, yet you’re worried about my germs?”

She glares at me.

I smirk. “Fine. I’ll pour some in the lid.”

Tiny, painful grunts sound behind me as I lead her down the hill toward Swarley.

“Wait! No. Dude …” Her nose scrunches as I start to pour water into the canteen lid. “Did you let Swarley drink out of that?”

“Yes. I gave water to your dog since you didn’t think to bring any. You’re welcome. So if you are truly thirsty, then you will have to make the tough decision.” I hold up the canteen in one hand and the water-filled lid in my other hand. “My germs or Swarley’s?”

Her gaze flits between my two hands.

“You know …” Extending out my hand with the lid, I withdraw one of her options. “I don’t want your pig-asshole germs, and he’s your dog, so if you want the water, you’ll have to drink it from the lid.” Tipping up the canteen, I take a long swig.

“I do not have pig-asshole germs!” She tries to snag the canteen from my hand, practically hugging my arm in the process. “Give me a drink.”

I turn in a circle, keeping the coveted prize above her head as she chases my hand like a dog after its tail.

“Give me a drink! Stop being such a big jerk!”

I stop.

She stumbles over my feet.

With my free arm, I catch her, holding her to my chest.

She pants, eyes wild with adrenaline and maybe a little fear. “Don’t hurt me,” she whispers.

I flinch. Has someone hurt her? Physically hurt her?

Searching her eyes, I look for the answer. I don’t see it.

“I might kill you, Avery. But I won’t hurt you.”

Her unblinking eyes widen.

I grin. “It will be quick and painless.” Releasing her from my chest, I hold up my three middle fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

After several long seconds, she blinks. I offer her the canteen.

Slowly shaking her head, she clears her throat. “Is it true you had opponents leave on stretchers after fighting you?”

Do I want the upper hand? Do I need it?

“Yes.” My toothy grin does nothing to bring color back to her face—except her lips. Whatever the hell she put on her lips still shimmers red.

Keeping her gaze locked to mine, she wraps her hand around the canteen, just above mine, and pulls it to her mouth.