Chapter 30
JADE
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HART STRUTS TOWARD the pond, slow and steady, kicking off his boots as he walks.
The sun melts in the distance, streaking the sky in peach and pink.
He stops at the edge of the pond.
What the hell is he thinking?
Bruised, bloody, planning to get half-naked, in pond water? Not peroxide, not bandages. A festering, germy swamp masquerading as a solution.
Brilliant.
Just brilliant.
Because he’s doing it for you.
I’m too emotionally drained even to consider the idea. He’s hot and cold. Thoughtful rather than an asshole.
I fold my arms tighter. I’m not getting out.
He can swim his little heart out and land in the doctor’s office with infections.
I don’t care.
I’m done caring.
My clothes squish and crack at the same time, half wet, half dried.
I’m disgusting.
His hand reaches for the back of his neck, fingers curling around the collar of his shirt.
Don’t do it.
The fabric comes up and over his head in one smooth pull, baring the lines of his back to the headlights shimmering over him. The shirt hits the grass.
My breath catches in my throat.
It shouldn’t. I shouldn’t feel attracted to him, but I am. No matter what I do, he’s always there.
His hands go to his waistband, and I should look away.
I don’t.
One tug, and the denim slides low on his hips. He steps out of the jeans and leaves them in a crumpled heap beside his boots.
Boxer briefs.
Black.
And entirely unfair.
I look away but then look right back. By that time, the briefs are gone, leaving his bare ass cheeks.
My heart stutters as I take in the full sight of him. Chiseled and unashamed. Every inch of him is a testament to the country life he has lived. Skin bronzed, not by leisure, but by labor. The muscles of his torso are defined by ranch work, not the vanity of a gym.
He walks into the pond like the sunset was made for him. The water laps at his ankles, then his calves, then his thighs. Ripples spread outward, distorting the reflection of the sky, as he wades deeper. The water clings to his skin, highlighting the muscles beneath.
I hold my breath when he submerges himself. When he breaks the surface, the water closes over his shoulders, leaving only the crown of his head visible.
And I sit here, arms crossed, and so damn sticky.
But I’m mad at him—furious.
How dare he throw his sleeping with someone at me? But the sex isn’t even what really bothers me. It’s the thought of him doing our bucket list with another woman.
I peel my sticky thighs off the seat and look down at my T-shirt, stained with slush and foam. My pants are practically fused to my skin, and the idea of not showering until we’ve set up the tent makes me want to cry. And I am not a crier. But damn it, I’m on the verge of tears.
Screw it.
I slam the truck door and start toward the pond. He turns when he hears me.
I don’t slow down. “Turn around.”
He blinks. “What?”
“I’m getting in. But you don’t get to watch the pre-show. Turn around.”
A slow grin tugs at his mouth, but thankfully, he turns. And thankfully, the truck’s light flickers off.
I strip fast.
Who am I kidding?
It’s a slow, disgusting ordeal, and once I start, I shed my bra and panties too. I toss everything in a pile beside his.
The air is cooler now, the sky shifting toward gold and rose.
The water is chilly, but amazing. I dunk under and tilt my head upward as I break the surface.
When I was a few feet from him, I say, “Okay. You can turn around now.”
When he faces me, it’s the first time I’ve really looked at him all day, and exhaustion etches into every line of his face.
“Is that better?”
I nod. “Yes. Plus a bonus infection for you.”
He chuckles. “I’ll live.”
I trail my arms through the water. “That’s what you keep saying.”
Like his life is just a continuous moment of surviving and not living. Of course, I don’t say that.
We float in the silence for a minute, water lapping at our shoulders.
“I’m sorry.” He catches a leaf floating between us and turns it slowly in his fingers.
I don’t say anything. Mostly because I don’t know what he’s sorry for, or if he even knows how long his list of apologies has gotten.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did.” His words skim the surface between us. “About doing the bucket list with someone else. I wouldn’t. Not ever.”
I rub my lips together, tasting the stale, metallic flavor of the water. “Who you’re with isn’t my business. Just like who I am with isn’t yours.”
“You’re right.”
“I am.”
His shoulders slump like he’s too tired to keep them upright. “I owe you an apology for last night, too. I was an asshole. I crossed a line. You don’t owe me anything, and it’s not my place to ask.”
“Or accuse.” I’m not going to let him get off easy.
“Can we blame it on the booze?”
I shake my head.
He chuckles, and a ripple of water slips into his mouth, and he lets it trickle out. “You ever get tired of this?” His voice carries over the water, low and rough, as if the words scrape on their way out.
I narrow my eyes. “Of swimming? Because you’re the one who dragged me in.”
A flash of teeth, not quite a smile. “No. Of us. The fighting. Doesn’t it ever feel like too much?”
My heart jerks.
He’s not supposed to say things like this.
He’s supposed to keep throwing barbs.
The answer is always. Every single second we’re together. Because all I want is the man who used his T-shirt to wipe the foam from my face. The one whose gentle hand cupped the back of my neck and drew me close to him with such care.
But I know that man was never meant for me.
“Why? You running out of insults?” My tone comes out sharper than I intend.
I’m good at fighting with him—hating him.
That’s safe.
He’s moving closer, whether on purpose or not. I kick back, but the water isn’t enough of a shield. His gaze pins me harder than his hands ever could.
“I’m running out of energy.” He scrubs his hand over his face. “Lately, it just feels like I’m drowning in the hate between us.”
His words hit me deep because I’m tired in the same way.
“We have been doing it forever,” I say.
“Maybe we don’t keep doing it.”
I nod. “We’re not kids anymore. Maybe it’s about time we outgrow this.”
There’s a hint of light in his eyes. “It almost sounds too simple.”
Nothing will ever be simple between us.
“I don’t hate you.” The words slip out before I can stop them, heavy and dangerous in the quiet with only the water lapping between us.
Hasn’t that always been my problem? Not hating him?
He edges closer, water slick on his shoulders, eyes dark and searching. “I don’t hate you, either.”
I don’t move away.
I should.
Lord knows, I should.
The air between us tightens, heavy as the water around my legs. I swear if he moves an inch nearer, I’ll combust right here in the pond.
His mouth curves, not in a smirk, not in a taunt—something else. Something softer.
“Then maybe we stop pretending we do.”
The fight in me fizzles, leaving me stripped down to nerves and heartbeats. “I can try that.”
“Don’t sound so horrified. I’m not saying we braid friendship bracelets.” He shrugs. “Although I am good at braiding friendship bracelets. My niece makes sure all her uncles are well versed in the craft.”
A laugh cracks out of me, startled, but real. The sound makes his expression ease, like he wasn’t sure he could make me laugh again.
“Maybe we just don’t try to slaughter each other every time we’re in the same space.”
We drift in silence, and for once, it doesn’t feel like we’re circling a battlefield, more like treading the same current.
Not enemies, but not yet anything else.
“I am sorry I made you think you weren’t more than a fleeting moment. It wasn’t my best moment. To make up for it—”
“You think you can make up for it?” Joking with him is better than the anger.
“I did get us lost on purpose.”
He thinks that’s a good thing?
“That was thoughtful of you. Thank you?” The water pulls me closer to him.
He shifts, and the water swells up against his chest before settling again. “Lost on a road trip. Number six.”
My heart flutters against my orders not to.
He exhales. “Add in the fire ants, and one of us was naked, just not the kink we’d planned.”
It’s almost as if he has the entire book memorized. I’m about to ask him when I hear a rustling in the grass.
We both turn toward the bank to our pile of clothes. But it’s moving and shuddering like something’s alive in it.
“What is that?” I whisper.
A masked face emerges from the pile. A raccoon. Its paws are deep in my jeans, tugging them as if it found a treasure chest.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I swim toward the bank. “Hey, get out of here!”
My feet touch the ground, and I stand. As the water comes down my front, the cool air nips my bare breasts.
I freeze as the weight of my nakedness hits me. I sink deeper in the water, my arms instinctively clutching my front. There’s no way I can go charging at a raccoon looking like this.
“Get off my clothes!” My yell is a little too shrill.
The raccoon snatches up my jeans and scampers back toward the trees. I look around, frantic, and that’s when I see them. A whole army of raccoons, emerging from the deep grass. They’re holding everything—my top, his pants, my underwear, my bra—all in their grubby paws.
“Oh, hell no.” I splash water at Hart. “Get over there and get our stuff.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“My lack of clothing.” The words come through gritted teeth. “There’s a whole damn family. All our stuff is gone.”
He holds back a grin as his eyes shift to the rapidly disappearing raccoons. Without a word, he splashes through the water. His wet body glistens in the moonlight. His muscles flex with each stride. And—oh Lord—I catch a fleeting glimpse of his ass cheeks before he disappears into the night.
My cheeks burn hotter, suddenly hyperaware of my own nakedness.
“Get them!” I shout, even though I’m pretty sure it’s too late.
His body is a naked blur as he runs, closing in on the long grass. His bare feet slap against the ground, and he storms into the grass.