Naked Love(30)

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

After draining the rest of it, she steps back, breathless, with a drop of water running down her chin. “Did you feel bad?”

“No. Well … maybe in the beginning. But I learned to let those emotions go.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “I didn’t jump those men in an alley and beat the shit out of them. It’s a sport. There are winners and losers. One of us was going to end up facedown. That’s just how it works.”

“Do you still do that?”

I shake my head while rubbing my thumb along her wet chin. Avery pulls back, rolling her lips together and feathering her fingers over the spot where my thumb touched her face.

“Can I be honest with you?” She bats her eyelashes.

Bats her eyelashes. What the …

“No. Swarley, let’s go.” Turning, I let Swarley lead the way down the hill.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.” Avery chases after us.

“I do.” I pick up my pace.

“Jake!”

“Nope.”

“But Jake—”

“Not happening.”

“My feet hurt!”

“Not happening.”

Her shoes skid against the lose rock behind me.

Flip flop flip flop.

“I’ll pay you!”

I stop, turning slowly. “How much?”

She hops on one foot while rubbing the other, then changes feet. “Twenty dollars.”

I grunt a laugh. “Twenty dollars? To carry you a mile? I bet you spent at least fifty dollars on those stupid shoes.”

She murmurs a quick response. I don’t hear it clearly, but I’m fairly certain she said, “Two hundred.”

“I’ll carry you half the way for one hundred dollars.”

Avery traps the corner of her lower lip between her teeth, nose wrinkled. “Twenty is my limit.”

“Your limit, huh? Don’t even get me started on my limits.” With a quick whistle, I bring Swarley back onto the trail.

“At the end of the day, don’t you want to be able to say that you helped someone?”

“Princess?” I keep walking. “Do you have a steering wheel stuck around your neck? No? Well, then I think I already did my helpful deed for the day. I will sleep just fine tonight.”

“Until you wake up dead!”

I chuckle. “Aw, yes … until that. There’s nothing worse than waking up dead.”

By the time we make it to the campsite, she’s fuming. “You are not a gentleman!”

I stack wood and paper into the pit and start a fire. She plops into one of the camping chairs and slips off her flip-flops. Then she rants.

And rants.

And rants.

Squatting down in front of her, I rest my hands on her bare thighs. She jumps, holding her breath.

Mission accomplished.

“I need some peace and quiet now. Can you do that? Can you just not talk for a bit?”

She frowns, her rage simmering into something resembling defeat. “Why didn’t you help me out? Why would my dad and Deedy let someone like you take me across the country?”

I squeeze her legs until her muscles flex beneath my touch. There’s no denying she has spectacular legs, but flirting is not my intention. Still …

Fucking spectacular legs.

“I did help you. I suggested you wear sensible hiking shoes. Why should I be an enabler to your lack of common sense, stubbornness, excessive vanity, or whatever weird, self-destructive, female fucked-upness you seem to have?”

Her chin dips, gaze focused on my hands. I expect to see her bottom lip start to quiver and tears fill her eyes.

“I’m not happy,” she whispers.

No tears.

No quivering lip.

There’s just this shell of a woman with emotionless words spoken in a numbing tone.

After a few moments of welcomed silence, I move my hands from her legs to her wrists on the arms of the chair. Easing my body back to standing, I lean over her, letting my face linger over the top of her head. For a few moments, I contemplate pressing my lips to her hair—a friendly kiss that says, “Me neither.”

But I don’t. Instead, I press my forehead to the top of her head and give her wrists a slight squeeze. Avery sucks in a shaky breath. I close my eyes.





CHAPTER NINE




Avery


Day Three

“Psst …”

I nudge Jake. He groans.

“Psst!”

He rolls away from me.

“Jake! I need the truck keys,” I whisper-yell.

Another groan.

My eyes flit between his bared torso turned away from me and his partially unzipped duffel bag at his feet. Jake has nice feet. I’m not sure I’ve ever thought this about a guy before. But—I move my phone’s flashlight an inch closer—yes indeed, he has nice feet. Not a single nasty callous, and his toenails are perfect.

Not fair. What the heck, God? Why would you give a guy such perfect feet? Jackass Jake must use an expensive foot cream.

I roll my eyes at myself. What is this? The beginning of a foot fetish? Therapy of some sort might be in my future. After one last inspection of his flawless feet, and maybe a nanosecond glance back up his bare torso—because why the hell not?—I inspect the contents of his bag.