Chapter 21
MYLES
Where I’ve taken Charlie is one of my favorite hikes. A six-mile loop that starts off along the river before veering uphill to circle back along a ridge that overlooks the water below. There’s even an incredible view of a waterfall at about the halfway mark.
“This is so amazing,” Charlie breathes, probably the tenth time he’s said it in the half hour since we started on the trail.
We’ve stopped off at a section of high bank looking over a rocky stretch that drops into a series of rapids almost like mini waterfalls.
Across the river, there’s a steep incline, and up the slope, among the darker green evergreens, brighter spring growth stands out on the scattered maples and alders.
“It’s one of the places I never stopped missing, no matter where I went,” I tell him, reaching around to tug my water bottle out of my pack.
“I can see why.” He glances back over his shoulder at me with a smile that stirs up that now familiar warmth at just how damn lucky I am to have this second chance at having him in my life again. “Are there other places like that that you’ve been? That you know you’ll never stop missing?”
“Not like here,” I admit, and for once, there’s no resentment or soul-sucking regret mixed up with that truth.
I should probably say something more. Tell him some more about some of my other favorite places I’ve seen, even if none of them come close to comparing to how I feel about these woods and this river. I’ve been way too quiet today.
Here I am, trying to make today something he’ll enjoy, and I’ve gone and gotten all up in my head with what I realized this morning. That’s got to be the source of this out of place self-consciousness that’s taking over everything I say and do.
Up until now at least, he’s been his usually chatty self, so the weight of my silence hasn’t been too heavy, but with him distracted by the view, I’m feeling it in every second that ticks by. Another completely out of nowhere thing, because silence with Charlie has never felt uncomfortable before.
Thank god he apparently isn’t feeling any of this as he stares back up the river to where it disappears behind a huge boulder covered with lush, dark moss.
I try to watch the rushing water too, to get myself to just freaking calm down and stop overthinking everything, but for some reason, it’s Charlie that my eyes keep drifting back to.
And like always when I look at him, weird things just won’t stop popping into my head.
Like always, except somehow, today seems worse than usual.
The air is cool today—typical for early April—especially where it’s coming up from the river, but the sun filtering through the trees has some decent warmth to it, and we’ve just gotten done with a good quarter mile up some pretty steep switchbacks, which got both of us working up a bit of a sweat.
About halfway up, Charlie paused to slip out of the fleece he’d started our hike in, leaving him in just this light green shirt that sort of hangs off his shoulder, along with a pair of jeans that I can’t stop looking down at.
Can jeans that tight really be comfortable for hiking? They do look kind of thin though, and softer than normal jeans, so maybe they stretch and move with—
Not my business.
It’s also not my business that that shirt he’s wearing isn’t really like anything I’ve ever seen on a man before, but it just looks so damn good on him.
It’s another one of those shirts of his that just barely grazes the top of his jeans.
Every once in a while, when he moves the right way, a slip of smooth, pale skin shows below the hem.
What’s different about this one though is that it’s sort of loose and almost floaty, with a wide neck that makes it slip off to one side.
For some reason, it’s taking me way more work than can possibly be normal to keep my eyes off that one slim, toned shoulder of his that’s peeking out of the wide neck right now.
He’s just so goddamn pretty.
And there’s that word again.
I feel so freaking weird thinking it about him nonstop.
Even if I am bi or whatever else I apparently might be, isn’t it still strange to think words like pretty, or for that matter, beautiful, about another man? Isn’t it supposed to be handsome or sexy or something like that?
Fuck, I don’t have any idea, but it seems like maybe I’m going to have to figure things like that out…
And anyway, even if there aren’t rules about what sort of words I’m supposed to think about men, isn’t pretty supposed to be shallower than words like beautiful or gorgeous?
There is nothing shallow about anything to do with Charlie, so why the hell is that the word I’m so fixated on?
It’s just that pretty feels softer somehow.
Lighter. Like the way Charlie’s hair felt when I brushed against it in the truck, and how smooth and creamy his skin is where he’s got those faint freckles scattered across his cheeks.
It’s bright, like the impossible to name green of his eyes and the way he smiles—
Oh fuck, I’m being so weird…
“You ready to keep going?” My voice is too low and sort of husky sounding, probably because I hadn’t realized I was even going to say anything until the question was on its way out of my mouth.
The thing is, I don’t want to go anywhere. Not really, but maybe getting moving will help switch off some of the weirdness bouncing around in my head. Or at least give me a chance to sort through it when I’m not at risk of getting caught up staring at him like I just did.
Pieces I’d never thought to even try to fit together are falling into place, but there are still some missing, and I still can’t make sense of exactly what the hell they all mean. Even if I’m starting to be able to make a pretty decent, frankly terrifying guess…
The last thing I need to do is make things even weirder though, which is exactly what I’m going to do if Charlie notices how up in my head I am, gawping at him like I’ve never seen anything like him before.
It's just that I haven’t…
“Do you mind if I just take a picture for Gemma first?” He’s already pulling out his phone, lining it up for a selfie. “I need to send her some proof that I actually went on a hike and didn’t get eaten up by bears.”
“Bears?” Even with all the edginess I can’t fight off, my lips twitch at the odd specificness of his motives.
“Don’t ask,” he rolls his eyes dramatically, using the screen of his phone like a mirror to rearrange his hair.
“Want me to take it for you?”
“How about you come over here and get in it with me instead?” He holds out an arm in clear invitation.
The way my heart pounds as I step toward him is nothing to what it does when he wraps that arm around my neck, leaning right in against me and tipping his head to the side so his hair brushes against my cheek.
What the hell is wrong with me? I slept in his lap, for god’s sake.
Just last week, I spent half the damn weekend snuggled up against him.
Loved every minute of it, because he’s Charlie and breaking down that barrier of space I’ve never wanted between us, even if it was only a temporary breakdown and under the pretext of sleep, felt so damn good.
Now here I am, freaking out about him putting his arm around me?
Under the now familiar scent of his cologne, there’s a faint hint of clean sweat in his hair, and before I can stop myself, I’m closing my eyes, sucking in a deep, long breath.
Something hot and tight prickles down my spine as my hand settles at the small of his back, where it’s far too easy to feel his warm skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. My fingers flex, and I only just stop them from moving a second time to explore the dip of his spine.
One of those missing puzzle pieces teases at the edge of my awareness.
“Smile,” he orders, bumping against me with his hip as he adjusts the camera angle.
There’s a huge part of me that wants to snatch the phone out of his hand the moment he snaps the picture.
No clue what kind of face I’m making, but something tells me there’s gotta be some sort of shellshocked look involved that might just give away a whole lot more than I’ve even really wrapped my head around.
“I’ll text it to you too, once I’ve got service.” He tucks the phone in his back pocket. How it can fit in there when those jeans are so damn tight…
For some reason, a whole lot of urgency to be the first on the trail seizes me, and without a word, I turn and lead the way back off the side trail we’d detoured onto.
It takes everything I’ve got to ignore the nagging thought in the back of my brain that just won’t shut up about the fact that my need to be in front may or may not be because I know on some deeper level than I’m willing to admit that walking behind him, with a view of him in those very tight jeans on clear display, might not be the best thing to do at the moment.
Usually, being out in the forest is all it takes for me to clear my head, but right now, I can hardly focus on what’s around us.
Hell, it’s all I can do to keep from tripping over the roots in the path and ending up on my face in the dirt.
Every bit of my attention’s pulled back behind me.
Even when I can’t see him, I can just feel Charlie’s nearness.
“You have that behavior management systems training week after next, right?”
Doesn’t matter how hyper-aware of him I am; Charlie’s voice makes me jump. Hopefully just not enough for him to have noticed. “Yeah. I leave that Wednesday night. At least it’s done on Friday, so I’ll still get the weekend.”
There’s no keeping the sullenness out of my voice, but can I really be blamed?
We have half the week off work, and instead of getting to spend it with—spend it however I want—I’ll be trekking my ass all the way to Central Washington for three days of positive behavior interventions and supports training.
Lucky. Me.
“Poor Myles. Do you want to borrow my car? It may be fussy—”