Page 55 of A Photo Finish
“Want to go on a hike with me tomorrow?”
“A hike?”
“Yeah. I’m ticking things off my bucket list. Time to take life by the horns again. Sasquatch Mountain is one of them. Billie is too scared to go with me.”
I raise one eyebrow, having a hard time imagining Billie Black fearing much.
“She thinks the Sasquatch might be real. You know, because of all the ‘sightings,’” Violet clarifies, holding one hand up to do air quotes.
My cheek tries to tug itself up a bit at the thought of finally having something to bug Billie about.
“I’ll go. I know the mountain well.”
“You do?” Her voice perks up at the prospect.
“Yeah. I know a good trail and lookout. I used to run it when I was trying to get fit for the military. Should only take a couple of hours.”
“Okay!” she says brightly, looking so happy I almost smile back at her before turning away.
“I’ll pick you up when I get back from work.” I wave over my shoulder, both wanting to stay near her and to get away from her as quickly as possible. I feel happy too, and it’s throwing me for a loop.
Maybe I didn’t run her off after all.
* * *
“You’re late.”
“Pfff.” Violet waves me off as she climbs into my truck after making me wait for fifteen minutes. She wasn’t even done working when I pulled up at her place. “It’s just a few minutes.”
I imagine myself trying to tell a superior that in training and cringe. “If you’re not early, you’re late.” And being late in the military can cost lives. Violet doesn’t live with these pressures, these memories.
She straps herself in and slaps her bare thighs with excitement, ignoring me entirely. “Let’s go!”
Of course, she had to wear those tight fucking shorts again. The ones that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. They hug every curve, including that tight, round ass I’m dying to put a handprint on. Something she probably wouldn’t like—I’m sure Hilary only pretended to. She did a lot of pretending, though. Until she didn’t. And her truths had cut like a knife. She’d left me with wounds I wouldn’t let heal. Wounds I pry open every morning when I look in the mirror and every night when I get ready for bed.
“I’m so excited!” Violet gushes as she looks over at me. Wearing that sports bra again too. This woman is a walking, talking memory. “You look hot.”
My arms stiffen on the wheel as we head down the road toward the nearby mountain.What?My eyes dart off the windshield in her direction just in time to see her go beet red and look all flustered.
“I mean your clothes! It’s warm out! The pants!” She’s scrambling to undo calling me hot, and I can’t help but laugh at how awkwardly she’s covering it up.
“Ugh.” She drops her head back on the seat and throws an arm over her eyes. “Every time you laugh, it’satme!”
I chuckle because it’s true. “Yeah, but I laugh with you more than I’ve laughed in years.”
Her arm drops, and her head rolls in my direction as she looks at me. Really looks at me, like she can see right in through all the shields I’ve erected. All the walls, all the protection, it all goes to shit around Violet, and I’m thinking that might be okay. Maybe she wouldn’t be disappointed if she found out I wasn’t whole.
“That might be the nicest compliment anyone has ever given me,” she says sincerely.
I just grunt back, not sure what to respond with. I’ve shocked myself into silence, and we drive the rest of the way just like that. In a companionable silence.
When we pull up and walk past the little wooden sign that says, “LOOKOUT THIS WAY,” the silence continues. I lift one arm, ushering her onto the narrow path ahead of me, something I almost instantly regret. Because all it gives me is a completely uninterrupted view of her ass in tight shorts, the bottom crease of each cheek taunting me with every step.
I’ve done this path a million times, but never with the added challenge of a raging hard-on.
“This is beautiful,” she says, slightly breathless with the strain of climbing straight uphill.
“It is,” I reply, mostly breathless from trying not to stare at her ass but figuring out that even her ankles turn me on. Everything about her is driving me to distraction. The way her calf muscles flex with each long stride. The way her ponytail sways as she walks. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about Violet. Wondering who she really was, what she was doing, if she’d ever read those messages, if she found someone else to chat with online—or maybe even a boyfriend in real life. But obsessing over her body this way is new to me.
