Page 10 of Jump

“Perhaps,” she faux sighs. “But I stop at my feet. I have standards, and pictures of my panties just isn’t on the right side of the line.”

“Plus, anarchy.” My smile grows larger as we move from tarred road to the gravel and rock path that runs the perimeter of the lake. “You need time for chaos and all that.”

“Well, of course.”

We travel from rock to soft grass, but after just one step, the pointy bits of Ana’s heels sink into the moist grass, and our progress comes to a sharp stop. Her eyes grow wide in momentary panic—how humiliating!—and I can see her trying to solve how she’ll recover from this moment.

Humored, I swap my hand wrapped around hers for offering my shoulder to stabilize herself on, then I lower into a crouch and freak her out a little more when I run my palm along her silky-smooth calf and down to the strap of her heel. “Step out,” I instruct in the quiet. Insects sleep, and owls keep silent. The lake remains still. So it’s just us, and a soft breeze whipping the very ends of her hair around. “You can walk on the grass in bare feet.”

“O-okay.” Her calf muscles fire up as she lifts one leg free of a sexy black heel, then she sets her bare foot down before lifting the other. Her nails are freshly painted, and when her foot touches the earth, her toes curl in until the movement makes me smile.

“Feel better?” I massage the back of her leg and glance up to find her hair dangling forward, and her eyes burning against mine. “I don’t get why chicks choose to wear these kinds of shoes.”

“Because of the patriarchy,” she answers instantly. “Something about looking good, despite our comfort.” Her hand remains on my shoulder, her fingers inching along my traps, stopping only when the pad of her thumb touches the space where my shoulder and neck meet. “Heels make me feel sexy. The pain doesn’t really kick in till tomorrow, anyway.”

“I think feet look way sexier like this.” I nod to her fresh pedicure, and the small smudge of paint just outside the lines. She did these herself, instead of seeking a pro. “Bare,” I clarify. “Comfortable. Heels mean we’re going out, but bare means we’re chilling the fuck out—and probably get to be naked the whole time.”

“Oh! MattLovesToes101? You’re my top subscriber? Oh geez, I should really thank you for your contributions to my monthly rent.”

“Ha-ha.” Though, a real laugh rolls along my throat, too. Snagging the strap of her heels, I push up to stand and make sure I’m way closer than polite strangers should be. “I’d become a subscriber if you sent me a link. It’s the chivalrous thing to do.”

“Chivalry, too?” Her lips quiver with a playful smile. “Where have you been my whole life?”

“I prefer tits, though.” I look straight down and enjoy my aerial view of hers. “Toes are toes. Some guys are into them, I guess. But if you’re offering, then I’m saying I’d rather see your tits.”

“And there you go, tossing that chivalry straight out the window.” Turning away and bunching her skirt in her hands, she starts toward the water to dip her toes in. “It’s kinda warm.” Peering over her shoulder, like a fucking siren luring a sailor to his death, she smirks until I drop her heels and follow.

For tonight only, I get to pretend my life isn’t on fire. Like I’m not grieving one woman, while thinking an awful lot about another. For as long as I’m Jump, I can want Ana, and I don’t have to feel guilty, like I’m somehow cheating on Ainsley.

We weren’t married.

We hadn’t even been together all that long.

But damn, she was the first woman to stop me in my tracks and make me want to settle down. She made monogamy sound like a fun adventure, and not a chore.

But before we had the chance to do anything about it and experience that journey together, she up and died on the job.

Careless. Cruel.

She left me here to deal with grief I have no clue how to process, and a lifetime of sitting on my hands and wondering where I should go next. I’ve been spinning my wheels ever since. Lost and unsure which way to turn.

Until tonight. When I saw a beautiful woman across a packed ballroom.

And somehow, despite my lack of finesse and shitty lines, we’re here, at the lake at night, all alone but for a couple of masks, and with zero accountability coming for us tomorrow.

Toeing my shoes off and peeling my socks away, I follow Ana all the way to the edge of the lake. I press my chest to her back and wrap one arm around her torso to rest my palm on her belly. Then I reach around with the other hand and slowly, carefully, nerve-rackingly, pinch the top of her mask between my fingers.

Her breath comes to a complete standstill as I slowly lift, and her lips jut forward, pouting as I reveal the small portion of her face the silk covers.

I drag the fabric away and reveal youthful, full cheeks, pink from nerves, and eyes that swim with emotion.

But fuck if my breath doesn’t stop, too.

“You’re so beautiful.” I study the thick smattering of freckles that sit below her eyes and color the tops of her cheeks, then I lick my dry lips when she turns in my arms and plasters her chest to mine.

Exhaling, her breath touches my jaw and sets my flesh on fire. But when she pushes up to her toes, fighting to regain the height she lost when she tossed her heels, I lower my face and clamor for air when our lips feather close.

Not touching.

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