Page 47 of Broken on the Mountain
"I'm serious. I'm not eighteen anymore. There's a limit." I shift against the pillow, wincing for effect. "I meant we could go for a hike. Or hit the farmers market. You know, vertical activities that involve clothing."
"Vertical activities." She's grinning now, fingers walking up my chest. "How romantic."
"All I'm saying is if we stay in this bed, I'm going to need medical intervention." I catch her wandering hand, press a kiss to her knuckles. "Plus, I want to show you off. Let the whole town see you wearing my flannel again."
"Your flannel is currently somewhere on the living room floor."
"I have others. One for every day of the week, in fact."
"Of course you do."
"So?" I tug her closer. "Farmers market? Or fresh air?"
She pretends to consider, those long lashes batting in a way that makes her look so pretty, I don't think she even needs to try.
"Well… do you think my boots know they're about to be famous?"
"A hike it is. But if they squeak, I'm tossing them off the mountain."
She moves up my body, propping her chin higher on my chest, eyes bright with mischief. "You know… you're awfully cocky for a man I just wrecked in the shower."
"Please. I'm brave, not stupid." I brush a strand of hair off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. "Now hydrate and let's go for a walk. Or I might just fold and snap my dick in half trying to ravage you again."
"You? Fold?" She pokes my ribs. "The guy who carried me piggyback for half a mile?"
"You were in danger of twisting an ankle. Now you've got fancy boots. Time to field-test them." I sit up, pulling her with me. She stumbles out of bed, her bare ass flashing right in my face, prime real estate for smacking. "Go, you good thing, go!"
I land a smack on her ass, and she yelps, clutching her butt cheeks as she skips down the hall, laughing so hard she nearly trips over her own feet.
"Chase Morrison, cut that out!"
"You love it," I call after her, grinning like an idiot.
"Maybe!" She disappears into the bathroom, still giggling. "But I'm locking the door this time!"
"Coward!"
Her laughter echoes back and I flop back against the pillows, chest warm with something dangerously close to happiness.
Eventually, I swing my legs off the bed, stretching until my spine cracks. "Guess I'll pack the snacks."
Ten minutes later, I've assembled what I'm calling the 'Keep Piper Happy Trail Kit.'
Which is basically a thermos of coffee, trail mix heavy on the chocolate chips, two apples that are only slightly bruised, and a pack of Betty's lemon cookies. I slip a mini pack of gummy bears into my jacket pocket, then grab Piper's favorite flannel from the back of the chair and stuff it into the daypack.
Piper emerges from the bedroom in those new boots, dark jeans that hug her in ways that should be illegal, and one of my old Stone River Mountain Rescue hoodies that swallows her whole.
She's pulled her hair into a messy-but-hot-as-fuck ponytail, and she looks like every fantasy I didn't know I had.
"Ready?" I ask, slinging the pack over my shoulder while reconsidering this idea altogether.
She does a little spin, modeling the boots. All I see is her stunning backside. "How do I look?"
"Like you're about to kick the mountain's ass."
"Damn right." She grabs my hand, tugging me toward the door. "Let's go, Morrison. Daylight's burning."
I lock up behind us, and the crisp mountain air hits like a blessing. The day outside is beautiful. Clear sky, pine-scent in the air, the distant sound of the creek running high from the midday snowmelt. Perfect.
