Page 12 of Close to the Edge

But it’s nowhere near as bad as my self loathing right now.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” My teeth are chattering—more from shock than the cold.

Ash’s mouth turns down, and he looks so freaking sorry. Like he’d do anything, give anything, to make things different. His hands twitch underwater, like they want to reach for me.

It doesn’t help.

“Nothing happened, Tess.” His words are low, urgent, just for my ears. “We didn’t—nothing happened. Don’t kick yourself over this.”

Too late.

Because I started this. I swam over, and I touched him, and I pressed our bodies together. Yes, Ash groaned and clutched me close and ran his lips over my neck, but I’m the one who set things in motion. Me.

“We’re here!” Evie calls, her voice happy but winded as she rounds the rock face with my brother. She’s clutching the crook of Rowan’s elbow, leaning most of her weight against his side as he gazes down at her, love-struck. “Fuck me, this path is steep when you’re pregnant. Have you guys made your wishes?”

“Uh-huh,” I force out, plastering on a fake smile.

Doesn’t matter that it’s a lie. A couple of pennies can’t fix this mess.

Six

Ash

I’ve run miles while wearing a backpack filled with stones, fought in hand to hand combat, and stitched a knife wound in my side with only a nip of whiskey to numb the pain. So believe me when I say: there is no greater ordeal than swimming in the wishing pool with Tess and having to keep my distance.

Evie perches on the pool’s edge, her feet and shins dangling in the water, kicking and causing ripples as she chats away. Meanwhile Rowan wades to the middle, dunks his head, then makes a beeline back to his wife, reluctant to pass even a minute without their bodies touching in some way.

And the whole time, Tess is right there. Her tall, toned body is only covered by a few scraps of green fabric, while the cool water makes her skin extra silky. And I know that for a fact, because earlier she pressed against me so completely I felt every breath enter and leave her body, our stomachs brushing and limbs twining under the glassy surface.

An unsteady jolt from my heart makes me lean against the pool edge for balance. Evie cracks a joke and I laugh way too late.

Never felt anything so goddamn good in my life compared to Tess. And the urges that came over me when we were alone here—they were fucking primal.

Urges to pick Tess up and plaster her against the rocky pool’s edge, wrapping her long, strong legs around my waist. Urges to kiss and bite and slide her bikini to one side, then press forward into her slick heat. Urges to make her mine.

Those thoughts, those instincts, burned like lava in my blood. They cooked me from the inside out, so that even now, a fair while later, I’m still warming the water around me by several degrees.

Why didn’t I do it? Why didn’t I give in? The longer we stay in this pool, the harder it is to remember my own logic. Something about Rowan—about doing right by my buddy. It seemed so important earlier, so vital to remember, but since Tess has clammed up and shrunk into herself, barely nodding at the conversation, those reasons have faded in my mind.

There’s only Tess—and the way she felt against my body. The way she shivered as I nuzzled her neck.

Tess.

Is she okay? When she smiles at something Evie says, her expression looks plastic and forced. She won’t even glance in my direction, and that hollows me out too.

Tess.

Never meant to shame her or make her curl in on herself like that. Never meant to make her huddle against the side of the pool, looking faintly sick. When I reminded her about Rowan, I was trying to get myself in line, not judging her.

Lord knows Tess has had a rough time of things too. If anyone deserves some love and attention, it’s her.

“Not long now,” Evie’s saying, stroking her bump. And I know it’s a miracle of nature and all, a woman growing a child from scratch, but I can’t help thinking privately that it looks damn uncomfortable on such a small figure.

What would Tess look like pregnant? Would she carry the load more easily on her tall frame? Would she stroke her bump idly in the same way that Evie does, always wanting to keep some contact? Would she let someone rub her feet?

Longing burns in my chest, and for a moment, all I can do is stare out at the trees and swallow hard.

Not for me. Not for me.

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