Page 14 of Inseverable (Carolina Beach)

I reach up, mostly because I can’t help myself, and attempt to stroke it lightly. Thing is, we are running, so the stroke turns into more of a slap and I sort of ram my middle finger up his nose.

“Oh, gosh—sorry!” I say as we both stumble to a stop.

I shake my hand out and run into the water to rinse my finger even though I don’t think there’s anything on it. For a hot beach bum, Callahan is surprisingly well-kept. I glance over my shoulder as my fingers splash along the waves to find his narrow eyes locked on my . . . butt?

I grin and throw in a wiggle. “Like what you see?”

His head jerks to the side, and his jaw tightens. When he turns back to face me, that now familiar scowl is set firmly in place. “Did you just slap me?”

I skip back to his side, ignoring the heat behind his accusation. “Of course not. Why would I slap you?”

He regards me like I’m the stupid one. “You seriously need medication,” he tells me.

Okay, now he thinks I’m crazy. But that doesn’t stop me from smiling.

“Why are you smiling?” he asks, his tone clipped.

I step in a little closer, my grin softening. “I guess because in the last seven days we’ve run together, and in the two days I’ve seen you at Your Mother’s, this is the most you’ve ever talked to me.”

Sean was right. Friday night when my team and I returned to our favorite dive bar, Callahan barely acknowledged my presence. And the days we’ve run, he’s mostly said “Christ” when he’s seen me and “Jesus” when I’ve said something that annoyed him.

Such a nice religious boy that Callahan.

But every so often, I’d catch his eyes on me when he didn’t think I was looking, and the barest hint of a grin tugging at his lips when we ran. Those tiny flickers gave me hope that maybe I’m starting to reach him, and that smile I’m gunning for isn’t far beyond my reach.

At the bar, I’d grinned at his scowls, but had given him space. But today, maybe I need a little more. I inch up to him. “I didn’t mean to slap you, and I’m sorry if that’s what you think. I’d never disrespect you like that.”

“Then why were you touching me?” he bites out.

His choice of words cause me to tilt my head and make me wonder who if anyone is allowed to touch him. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” I explain, keeping my voice quiet. “I was trying to stroke your beard.”

His expression is stony and one I can’t quite figure out. I’m not sure if he believes me so I show him I mean what I say.

I lift my hand, ignoring the way his narrowing eyes watch me closely as my fingertips gently graze his jaw. I keep my motions light, barely making contact, and trying real hard not to let my fingers sweep upward and smooth the wavy strands of hair dangling along his brow.

The short, prickly hairs of his beard tickle my fingers and widen my smile. “There,” I whisper. “That’s all I wanted to do.”

His expression remains unreadable, and his mouth closed as my hand drifts away from his face to fall at my side. I motion down the beach. “Want to keep going?” I ask. “It’s still early yet.”

Instead of answering, he backs away and starts down the beach. In a few quick strides, I reach him, but only because he’s not moving very fast. This time, I keep the Flo Rida tunes in my head. It’s only when we reach the end of Magenta Groves Beach and turn around that he finally speaks.

His tone is tight, not quite angry, but not very friendly either. “Why did you touch me?” he asks.

It’s almost the same thing he asked me before. Almost. But there’s more to it this time for sure. “You trimmed your beard,” I respond.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, then do it again, trying to gather the courage to answer him honestly. “I wanted to see what it felt like,” I admit.

“What itfelt like?”

I can’t figure out if he’s angry or genuinely surprised soI respond the only way I know how—by cracking a joke, because that’s one thing I can pull off."If I had a beard, and I trimmed it, I’d let you touch it. In fact, I might even thank you for it.”

“You want me to thank you,” he says slowly.

“Only if you liked it,” I answer, laughing, because I know he justlovesthe way I laugh.

He doesn’t respond, forcing me to throw out the big guns. “Are you a virgin?”

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