Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Tucker
If I had any clue that Gabby Owens was the straggler, I wouldn’t have sent Clyde and the rest of the group down the river ahead of me.
I would’ve insisted that they wait, despite the objections of the impatient Karen in the group.
I suspected Gabby was in Cinnamon Creek, but that doesn’t mean I was ready to face her.
And now, it’s just the two of us with no way out of this except on the river.
“Where’s everyone else?” Gabby asks, scanning the empty shore as I pretend not to scan her.
Her wetsuit is halfway on, pants only, the sleeves tied at her waist. The tight-fitted long-sleeve shirt matches the blue of her eyes, and hugs all her curves in such perfection I nearly forget where I am.
Her dark, rich hair is pulled back into a thick ponytail that catches on the breeze.
God, she’s even more beautiful than I remember.
“Tucker?” she asks, those deep blue eyes narrowing at me like icy daggers.
“They’re gone.”
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“No, sweetheart. This is what happens when you’re twenty minutes late—for launch time. The safety brief was half an hour ago.”
“There’re no rafts, Tucker.”
“Sure there are.” I point down the river, to the tiny orange dots way off in the distance just about to round a bend.
“There’s no rafts for us.”
“I know.”
Gabby looks flustered, which should make it easier to keep my walls up.
It’s better she stays irritated with me so I don’t do something fucking stupid, like fall for her all over again.
It sounds like the bridal party is only in town for the weekend.
She’ll be gone after that, and it might be another decade before I see her again.
I’d be a wise man to keep my guard up, but being around Gabby has never made that easy.
My gaze drops to her pinched lips, and suddenly I’m a teenager again, filled with yearning for my best friend.
I’ve fantasized about tasting those lips for more years than I care to admit.
Even now, the temptation to push her up against a tree and coax those lips apart until neither one of us can fucking breathe is overpowering.
“There’re no cars in the parking lot, either,” she points out.
“Still as observant as I ever,” I say, laying the sarcasm on extra thick.
“How am I getting back?” she demands.
“Same way as everyone else.” I point down the river.
Gabby’s eyes fall shut and she takes a deep inhale. I don’t mean to stare, but those fucking glorious tits, accentuated by her tight-fitting shirt, rise and fall with her breath. Tits I’d really love to have in my hands as she rides my cock—
“So we’re taking kayaks?” she guesses, posting hands on her hips again.
“We’re taking a kayak.”
“No.”
“I am not legally allowed to let you take your own kayak.” It’s a lie, of course. But the chances that she actually read the waiver she signed are slim. The next tour leaving in an hour will be filled with tourists in their own kayaks.
But there’s something deep in my gut that warns me to keep Gabriella Owens close.
I don’t understand it, but I trust it all the same.
That gut instinct has saved my ass more than once on the battlefield.
Considering the way we left things all those years ago, I suspect this run-in will be its own special warzone to navigate.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Surely we can work together for just a few hours,” I say, heading toward the kayak I prepped once the rafts took off.
“Just call Fred—”
“With what signal?”
“This is not happening,” she mutters, holding up her phone searching for bars she won’t find in these parts.
“Is it really so bad, being stuck here with me? We were friends once, you know.” Best friends.
“Until you joined the fucking military without telling me,” she fires back, climbing onto a boulder and stretching her phone as high as she can reach.
I want to tell her why I did it, but I’m not ready to relive the pain and humiliation I felt watching her kiss that fucking quarterback prick who was only using her to pass biology.
How many times did he have to let her down for her to see he didn’t care about her? That he didn’t even fucking like her?
“What?”
“Nothing,” I lie, crouching down and focusing on the kayak. “Let’s just get this over with so you can get back to the lodge.”
The sooner we’re off the river, the sooner I can get my fucking head on straight. If I’d had a heads up that Gabby was booking a tour today, I would’ve had time to prepare for the shock. My walls would be firmly in place instead of crumbling around me.
“You hate me that much?” Gabby asks, her sharp tone a little duller now.
I make the mistake of glancing up at her, those blue eyes making me forget time and space. I’ve always loved her, and I’m afraid I always will. It’s a blessing and a curse.
“I don’t hate you, Gabby.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she mutters. “You never even said goodbye.”
Familiar anger begins to bubble in my chest, the memory of her kissing Colby Johnson burned into my memory.
We have a long stretch ahead of us, and we both need to focus on the rapids.
Bringing up the past now will put us both at risk.
So I shove everything back down deep where it belongs and focus on the task at hand.
“We need to get going,” I say, dragging the front of the kayak into the water. “Get in.”
“I’m steering,” she insists, moving for the seat in the back.
“Not happening.” I catch her by the wrist, tugging her toward the front seat. But in her stubbornness, she struggles and ends up yanked against my chest. The flowery scent of her shampoo invades my senses. All these years later, and she still smells like cherry blossoms. Fuck me.
“Why do you get to steer?” she demands.
Her palm’s flat against my chest, the heat of her touch scalding since I’ve yet to zip up my jacket. Another inch, and we’d be breathing the same air. My gaze drops to her lips, and I’m reminded of the thousands of times I’ve dreamt of tasting them.
But she doesn’t seem fazed by the closeness.
“I know the river.” I feel so fucking tongue-tied that it’s a miracle the words leave my mouth at all.
“Fair,” she says, pushing off my chest and dropping into the front seat of the kayak as though unaffected.
Her nonchalance over the near moment frustrates me to no end. It’s just another reminder that she’s never seen me as anything but her very platonic friend. If I was a smart man, I’d accept the loss for what it is and move the fuck on.
But around Gabby Owens, I seem to be a special kind of stupid.