Page 29 of Entangled

“Fine.” I grab the shirt from him, wanting to end this quickly so that I can keep my focus on the trail and not on his half-naked body next to me. “But don’t come crying to me when you’re dying from dehydration.”

I quickly swing my backpack around and shove his shirt inside unceremoniously while that dark, quiet laugh leaves him.

“I’ll be fine.”

I keep my mouth shut in a show of rare restraint, not wanting to prolong the conversation considering his current state of undress. The hike quickly becomes grueling after that, demanding all of our attention and not allowing for conversation, which suits me just fine considering I’m not quite sure what to do with him at this point. Most guys would have been happy to wake up and realize their one-night stand wasn’t going to hang around and ask for more. Even considering how epic the night had been. But my intuition knew it then just like he’s proved it now. Coop isn’t most guys… which is why I’d tried to avoid this situation in the first place.

We’re about two hours in when we reach a steep incline with high rocky boulders blocking the path and Coop wastes no time in stepping in front of me. I take advantage of the opportunity to look without him knowing it, allowing my gaze to devour his body as he lithely lifts himself up onto the first boulder. A tattoo marks his back that I never saw during our night together, considering that for most of the time, I either had my back to him or was, ahem, on my back.

He turns around, holding his hands out to me, and I take them without hesitation. My muscles burning too badly for me to be stubborn and put up a fight, whereas he looks like he’s hardly breaking a sweat. As we make our way up the boulders, him going first and then turning to pull me along, I’m able to piece together the free-flowing script that starts at the base of his neck and spans his entire back.

We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us, while

We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries

To thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile;

But let the world dream otherwise,

We wear the mask.

The words speak to me and I look at him consideringly as we make it to the top. It’s deep and dark and fucking impressive and I hate him just a little bit for it. It draws me to him even more than I already was and makes me think maybe we’re more alike than I realized. Because no one without damage would mark their body with something like that.

“See something you like?” He arches a brow at me as we walk side by side and I realize I’ve been staring at him.

“Your tattoo,” I tell him honestly, figuring it can’t hurt at this point.

“Ah.” He nods in understanding. “It’s Dunbar.”

“It’s beautiful.” I clear my throat awkwardly as nerves shoot through me at the confession and his lips quirk up in response.

“Not the typical reaction to that particular poem but I guess that’s par for the course with you.”

“Ha.” I scoff. “Thanks.”

“No tattoos for you?”

“Nope. Pretty sure you would have found them the other night if I had any.”

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