Page 55 of Never Date A Player
“The lake.”
Definitely don’t like the sound of that. “Are you bringing me a wetsuit?”
“You’re kidding?”
“Not really.”
“No wetsuit. I’ll be there in twenty.”
Lewis pulls off the highway and down a road to the shore north of Zephyr Cove, a place called Cave Rock. Mist hangs over the lake, evidence the water is friggin’ freezing in the morning, and, well, pretty much any time of day. Alpine lakes are not known for their warmth.
“Why are we here so early?” I ask grumpily.
He looks over and smiles. “Not a morning person?”
I raise my eyebrows. “You’re just now noticing? Why? Are you a morning person?” Because if he says yes, I might have to call this entire whatever we have going on off.
“When I have to be. I don’t sleep much.” He exits the Jeep and grabs thick towels from the rear while I stumble out. Lewis takes in my sweatpants and sweatshirt, the hood pulled over my head. “You do have a swimsuit underneath all that, don’t you?”
I glare at him.
He grins. He’s in jeans and a sweatshirt, his hair ruffled as if from sleep.
In spite of my irritable mood, I have to admit he looks really cute first thing in the morning. And he brought me coffee, which saved his life. I cannot be held responsible for my actions when woken at ungodly hours.
Glancing up—way up—I take in the enormous cliff jutting proudly toward the lake like an Egyptian sphinx. Holes drilled through the center provide highway access. “What is Cave Rock?”
Lewis follows my gaze. “A sacred Washoe site.”
“Really?” I look again. The brittle, bricklike layering of stone that forms the cliff appears weathered and different from the rocks of the jetty below.
Lewis walks to the side of a boat ramp. He climbs across the boulders of the jetty and I stare. “You expecting me to follow you, or something?” I call.
He waves me forward. “Come on. I’ll tell you a story when you get out here.”
“Is that supposed to be some kind of incentive?” I take a few tentative steps, my flimsy Keds slipping dangerously. “’Cause it’s not working.”
He looks back and frowns. “Genevieve, the race is just over two weeks away. You are not ready. Scaling these stones and catching up to me is the first phase of your training today.”
The first phase?
I’m doing the weightlifting, the running, not to mention the gym and cascades torture, but I trust him if he says I’m not ready for the race. Mentally, I’m most definitely not ready. Physically, it’s debatable. I might finish the mudder with a decent time, considering my track conditioning—if I’m able to scale the walls, which is dubious. But the mudder doesn’t simply test physical endurance, it tests mental resilience.
We reach the end of the jetty and I sit on a flat stone, my legs dangling over the edge. They’re not sore for once, and though scaling the rocks took concentration, I don’t feel fatigued. The mist no longer lingers on the water, but that doesn’t equate to warmth below. The temperature outside is a cool sixty and rising, which means the water must also be in the sixties. Cold.
“So what’s this story you’re going to tell me?”
Lewis unzips his sweatshirt and lays it on top of the towels. He sinks onto a rock and props up a knee, leaning back on his elbow. My gaze strays to the smooth, ripped bicep peeking out of his T-shirt. Everything about Lewis is compelling—the way he moves, the things he says, his body.
When I look up he’s watching me. I should be embarrassed that he caught me checking him out, but I’m too startled by the matched look in his eyes. Longing.
For a moment, I think he’s going to reach over and kiss me, but his heated gaze cuts to the lake and he doesn’t say anything.
I stare at the water and try to figure out what just happened. Did I do something wrong? If he had kissed me, I wouldn’t have minded, no matter how tired and irritable I am.
A small duck suns itself on a stone separated from the rest of the boulders that form the jetty. This rock is smooth, the same color as Cave Rock—brown and weathered.
Lewis picks up a piece of loose gravel and weighs it in his hand. “As I mentioned, this place is sacred.” His expression is thoughtful, as if he’s considering how to continue. He throws the pebble without disturbing the sunbathing duck. Miniature ripples cut through the glassy water. “Healers used the cave as a place to commune with the spirits. Anyone else was unwelcome at Cave Rock.”
