Page 47 of Forever Then

“Is that a challenge?”

I laugh. “For you? No. But it is a fair warning that you might have to carry me over the finish line.”

“While you’re wearing that? Not a problem.”

The last quartermile to Devil’s Bridge is nearly straight uphill. Even with frequent breaks, the high elevation and hot sun on our backs has us both wheezing to catch our breath.

“How you doin’ there, QB?”

Connor’s death glare lands on me for only a moment before turning to the red dirt path ahead. The trail has widened, rocks and boulders forming a series of steps and plateaus—a staircase of sorts that goes up and up (and up) as far as we can see.

“I hate you.”

I flutter my lashes and quip, “Aw, do you mean it?”

He chuckles with a shake of his head as I remove my hair tie. Hair down, I flip over at the waist to collect it between my hands. With the mass of sweaty locks in my grip, I stand back up and weave the pieces through the elastic a few times, haphazardly pushing and tucking until it’s secure.

Hands on his hips, breaths steadied, I hold his gaze as I fidget with the position of my messy bun until it feels just right.

He grins.

I grin.

He winks.

I flap my hand toward my face and sigh, a mocking swoon.

“Yeah,” he swallows, “I definitely hate you.”

The way he looks at me doesn’t feel like hate.

With a burst of confidence, I stride toward him until we’re toe to toe. He studies my approach, but doesn’t move.

I steady myself on the rock beneath our feet with a hand on his shoulder. Reaching my arm through the crook of his, I grab the water bottle from the outside pocket of the backpack and duck my head to find his narrowed gaze on me like I’m a math equation he can’t quite solve.

You and me both, Connor.

I take a sip of water then offer it to him and he does the same. Unmoving, I pin my hands on my hips and never take my eyes off his. He bops the bottle on my nose before he holds it up between us.

I look at the bottle and back to him.

He does the same—challenging, daring—before we’re locked in another stare that carries enough heat to make this desert seem like child’s play.

This man’s had his hands all over me. He’s kissed me senseless against a stone wall. When we’re here, standing close enough to breathe each other’s air, his phantom touch feels all too real—like we’re back on that balcony—and my skin buzzes.

Slowly, I take the water bottle and reach my arm through his to secure it back in the bag. My chest barely grazes his, but he tilts his chin down when he feels it, naughty mischief glimmering in his blue eyes.

I lower my gaze to his mouth for a long moment as I step back, making certain he noticed, before I whisper, “Yeah, I hate you, too.”

Flirting with Connor is, at best, ill-advised considering our little case of unfinished business. Butdamnif it isn’t fun.

Chapter Twenty

I’VE GOT YOU

Connor

My legs feellike tissue paper and my lungs are on fire.

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