Page 25 of Crossroads
Maybe I should go drink some water and get out of this heat. Something is definitely wrong with me at the moment.
“I’m swimming. Of course I’m naked. I’m not swimming in clothes. That’s uncomfortable. You’re the one making it weird,” he says, determined and strong in his conviction.
I look at the water surrounding his trim waist and then flick my eyes up to his. “That water is filthy. I’m not going in there.”
“Seriously?” he asks, his annoyance clear. “Is it really about the water? Or are you just shy?”
I snort, rolling my eyes. “As someone who isn’t afraid to show his junk,”—my eyes lock on his—“I think you know the answer to that.”
I notice his tongue dart out, absently running along his bottom lip, and goddammit, my heart starts racing as I watch the quick motion. “Can you swim?”
“Yes. I just don’t swim where I can’t see into the water.”
Not to mention, I seem to have a sort of predicament in my jeans at the moment. One he would definitely realize if I decided to say fuck it and jump in with him. One I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be thrilled about.
I mean, maybe I saw lust in his eyes, and maybe I didn’t. I don’t really want to find out. Pushing his buttons is fun, but getting the shit beat out of me by some closeted country boy is not ideal.
Not that he’s actually closeted. I can’t figure him out, but there’s something under the surface. Maybe something hedoesn’t even see. It’s not my job to help him figure it out, and honestly, I may be in the same boat, judging by my body’s reaction to his.
“How long is this going to take?”
Jasper starts to swim around the water, his arm muscles flexing with each sure stroke. “If you’re really that anxious to get back to work, I’ll meet you in the barn in like five.”
He looks peaceful as he swims, and I find myself watching him before nodding my head—though not sure why since he’s definitely not watching me—and I head to the main barn to keep my mind busy.
Trying to occupy it with work instead of thinking about all that bare skin being kissed by the sun right now.
I really, really hate how much I’m regretting my decision to not go swimming with him.
But it’s not like anything would have happened anyway, right? We hate each other. That’s the way it should be. He probably would have wound up punching me in the face or something, so I shouldn’t regret the decision at all. It was the smart move. The safe move.
Though, those two particular things have never really been my thing before.
TEN
Why did I ask him to go swimming with me?I mean... it’s hot out. And Kelly really doesn’t care if I take the occasional dip in the pond. She’s even learned not to sneak up on me, after catching me coming out of the pond once.
It’s kind of comical how, when she is looking for me out here, she makes sure to approach the pond very loudly so I have time to cover myjunk.
I shake my head at that word—Emerson’s choice of vocabulary. Not mine. I’ve never called it that. But there was something about the way he was watching me that has me on edge.
I can’t explain it.
It’s like he wants to push my buttons but then talks himself out of it. It’s an exhausting back and forth I wish I could say I’m growing even more tired of—but I’m actually worried I’m just becoming more and more addicted.
It makes me feel alive at a time when I usually feel like I’m drowning.
I climb out of the pond and do my best to drip dry before pulling on most of my clothes. I leave the flannel overshirt off,tossing it in the Gator before driving up to the barn to find Emerson.
Stubborn as shit, pain in my ass Emerson—who I have to admit has stuck around far longer than I ever thought possible. And he’s actually busy doing his job at the moment, shoveling out the barn without too much complaint even in the hot sun.
I try not to watch him like he was watching me, but I fail. There’s something about the way he moves—it’s graceful, elegant almost, even just shoveling shit out of the barn. “Do you really know how to swim?” I ask, clearly startling him because he jumps before turning to me with a heated glare.
“I was on the swim team all four years in high school. Yes, I know how to swim.” He’s definitely on edge, his tone fierce.
I don’t know why I like that. This guy confuses me beyond belief, and it’s infuriating, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued by it too.
“You had a swim team?” I ask dumbly, grabbing a shovel and really uncertain why I’m even engaging in conversation. I know it’ll just lead to him pissing me off.
