Page 25 of Surrender
“Hey, um, Gareth,” I croak like a moron as he dabs the sweat on his brow with his balled-up white T-shirt. Kind of gross. Kind of hot. Argh! Did he really need to run shirtless in November? It’s freaking England for crying out loud.
“We just finished,” Brandi states, hopping down the final step and accepting a friendly kiss on the cheek from Gareth. “I see you helped yourself to a water.”
He shrugs. “The back door was open.”
Moving toward me, he leans in to brush his lips against my cheek. It’s a seemingly platonic gesture, but like an idiot, I turn my head the wrong way at the last second and we nearly smack noses. The act has me stumbling in my heels, so my hands fly out to catch myself on his chest.
His naked chest.
His naked, sweaty chest.
I force an apologetic smile I don’t altogether feel. Gareth and I don’t kiss hello. We’ve never kissed hello. We didn’t even kiss the night we had sex! He’s being what the British callcheeky, and I’m the one who’s looking like a fool because of it.
Thankfully, the three of them begin talking soccer, so I can concentrate on breathing normally. This is why I’ve been avoiding Gareth. Because sex changes things. Because now I can’t look at him like a normal guy. Now he looks…different.
I steal another glance at him, trying to figure out what it is about him that’s so sexy. Other than the whole chiselled abs thing because, seriously, how are those even real?
He’s not classically handsome by any means. He’s not even adorable like Hobo. And he’s definitely the complete opposite of Callum’s privileged prep school boy appearance. Looking at Gareth’s features individually, he’s extremely flawed. He has a bump on the ridge of his nose; his teeth are slightly imperfect; and the scruff on his jaw is a patchy mess. Honestly, he’s what I’d call rogue.
But then there’s the dark smattering of hair on his chest. And the deep lines of his hips that disappear into his joggers. And the way he carries himself is something I can’t help but notice. It’s confident without being cocky. Couple that with his thick dark hair and he’s like a delicious, tall, dark, and handsome bad boy dessert that’s the perfect blend of crunchy and creamy. A real-life glistening gladiator.
“So, has Sloan helped you guys out?” he asks, directing his smouldering hazel eyes at me.
“Definitely!” Hobo replies jovially.
“She has some cool ideas,” Brandi states a bit more muted.
“That she does,” Gareth concedes and smiles knowingly at me.Have his lashes always been that long?
“I have a suit for you,” I bark out, suddenly desperate to give it to him now and not have to go back to his house. The sparks. The tension. The attraction. It’s all still there, and if we go back to his house and he smiles at me like that with those naughty eyes, I know what will happen.
“Brilliant,” he replies and begins moving down the hall toward the back of the house. “Bring it by when you’re done here.”
“You can just take it now,” I say to his retreating frame. “It’s just in my car…Where are you going?”
“I’m on a run.” He hooks his thumb toward the sliding glass door. “Hobo and I have a hiking trail between our properties.”
“It’s nicer than jogging out on the roads where the nosey buggers all try to take pictures,” Hobo adds. “Although, they don’t give a shit about me. It’s Mr. Award Winner that they care about these days.”
“Award winner?” I ask, swerving curious eyes at Gareth.
He pauses in the hallway and grips his neck with a sheepish grimace. “It’s nothing. I’ll see you soon, Sloan.”
Anxiety squeezes my insides. He looks way too good for me to be alone with. “Maybe I can just leave the suit here and you can pick it up later?”
“I guarantee I’ll beat you home and have time for a shower.” He winks and takes off like a shot out the back door.
My gaze stares wistfully at his back muscles, sliding and shifting beneath his skin as he hustles down the deck staircase and runs toward the rolling hills.
Why did he have to mention a shower? What am I supposed to do with that information? Was that an invitation or something? Oh my God, I’m so out of practice.
And so screwed.
A throat clearing beside me has my head snapping back to Hobo and Brandi. “So, do you have any other questions?”
It’s about thirty minutes later when I pull onto Gareth’s property. I may have parked on the gravel road and done some deep breathing exercises I learned in yoga. Not that it helped. Regardless, my palms needed time to dry off before I could grip the wheel safely.
It’s been a while since I’ve been back to Gareth’s home, and I can’t help but gawk longingly at it as I drive down the gravel lane. I’ve always marvelled over how modern it is. Most homes around here are old period estates like Hobo’s or Callum’s.
