Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Defying the laws of vehicular physics, the resort’s activity shuttle wound down a dirt road that grew narrower with every hairpin turn.
“Last stop for river adventures, miss.” The shuttle driver pulled into a clearing alongside what I could only assume was the River Styx, where the damned, the doomed, and the dead were ferried off to hell. “Enjoy your float.”
“Enjoy my float?” As the shuttle started back down the road, I wondered if it was too late to chase it down and bribe the driver to shuttle me back to California. The only way I was ever going to enjoy any “float” was if it was accompanied by a margarita on a lazy river in Palm Springs.
I smoothed down my brand-new sea foam-colored Lululemon ensemble, a matching sports shirt and leggings combo that had looked perfect in the resort boutique mirror. Then made my way down to the river.
Clear water tumbled over smooth stones, creating a symphony of gurgles and splashes. Towering pines lined both banks, their branches swaying in the morning breeze. Patches of sunlight dappled the water’s surface. It was the kind of scene Instagram filters were made for.
“Looking good, Sports Illustrated.”
I nearly dropped my phone in the river as Diego came up behind me.
“Too bad no one’s going to see it.” He held up what appeared to be a black rubber S I’ll steer from the back.”
I glanced between the kayak and Noah, who was adjusting his life vest with sharp, irritated jerks. Great. Not only would I be trapped in a floating banana with Diego, but I’d also have Noah’s judgmental stare burning into my back the whole time.
Yeti flopped down on the riverbank, her tongue lolling out in what looked suspiciously like laughter.
“You wanted real Colorado, right?” Diego grinned. “Things are about to get real. Unless you’d rather ride with Noah.”
“No,” we both said at once.
As I attempted to slither into the unfashionable and clingy wetsuit, pulling it over the top of my easy-fitting and fashionable clothes, I saw Noah fastening a red life vest around Yeti’s chest. I pulled out my phone, knowing my followers would devour this content faster than I’d inhaled Noah’s huckleberry muffins.
“Yeti has her own life jacket? That’s adorable. ”
“Safety first,” Noah said, without looking up.
I zoomed in as Noah adjusted the straps with surprising gentleness, making sure they were secure but not too tight, and didn’t catch on her fur.
His rough, capable hands handled the dog with such care that I felt something squeeze inside my chest. It was another glimpse of an actual human being under the grumpy mountain man exterior.
“Yeti, can you smile for the camera?”
Yeti’s mouth dropped open in a happy dog grin, her head cocked and tongue lolling out to one side.
“Perfect!” I snapped several shots. “Such a natural. A much better model than some people.” I looked pointedly at Noah, who snorted in return.
“I hope that thing’s waterproof.”
“Why?” I turned back to Diego. “We’re not going to get wet, are we?”
Diego exchanged a look with Noah, and they both erupted into laughter, the sound echoing across the river. He pointed at my rubber suit. “You do realize they call it a wetsuit for a reason.”
“Here.” Noah stepped over and handed me a clear plastic bag with a seal and a latch on top. “Put it in there, and it’ll be fine.” His fingers brushed mine during the handoff, sending an electric jolt up my arm.
I considered pointing out that the plastic bag would affect the picture quality, but realized the only person who would care was me.
“Actually, you know what would work better?” Diego tapped his chin. “Noah should take your phone while he follows in the safety kayak. He’ll get the best angles of us from the water.”
I clutched my phone tighter against my chest. “What? No.” The thought of Noah handling my precious lifeline, and primary work tool, made my pulse skyrocket.
“Victoria wants authentic Colorado content, right? Can’t get more authentic than shooting from river-level. And that way, your followers get to see the real you. The authentic you.”
“Can’t exactly film while you’re paddling,” said Noah, surprisingly going along with the crazy idea.
“Why can’t Diego do it?”
“Diego needs to focus on steering,” Noah pointed out.
I bit my lip. They had a point. And the footage would be incredible, assuming my phone survived. And I survived. “Why don’t you just use your phone?” I asked Noah.
Noah dug in his pocket and pulled out what looked like a prehistoric flip phone, the kind used by cavemen right after they evolved from drawing dinosaurs on cave walls.
It was wrapped in a plastic baggie and sealed with a rubber band.
“You mean this?” It was hard to tell through the plastic, but it looked like duct tape might have been involved.
“Fine,” I said, stuffing my not-yet-paid-off iPhone into Noah’s outstretched hand. “Just remember, safety first.”
“Let’s talk hip control.” Diego planted his feet shoulder-width apart on the rocky shore.
“The key to not flipping is all in the hips.” Diego launched into what had to be the most mortifying safety demonstration of all time, swaying his hips back and forth like he was auditioning for Magic Mike: Colorado Edition.
Like something best performed on a stripper pole, wearing a crotchless g-string. Which, as you know, I had.
“You’ll want to feel the motion of the river,” Diego continued, rotating his pelvis in ways that would make Elvis blush. “Work with it, not against it.”
Mercifully, Diego stopped thrusting, then looked at me expectantly. “Now you try.”
“Me?”
“I need to make sure you’re not going to flip us.” Handing me the paddle, Diego said, “Don’t worry. No one’s judging you.”
Noah leaned leisurely against a pine tree, arms crossed over his broad chest. He was definitely judging me.
I tried to imitate Diego’s stance and movements, feeling like I was having some sort of neurological event rather than preparing for water sports. Every time I shook, Diego’s frown deepened. Every time I tried to shimmy, Diego looked like he’d sniffed a rotten egg.
“Your angle’s still off,” Noah called out. “The movement’s gotta come from your core.”
I thought I detected a hint of a smile on his lips. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought he was enjoying this. It seemed the grumpy, grouchy mountain man had a sense of humor. It just happened to run on my humiliation.
“Here.” Diego grabbed my shoulders. “Pretend you’re dancing. Just go with the flow.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Everybody dances,” said Diego.
“I don’t,” said Noah from the tree.
“I have an idea.” Diego reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. After a few swipes, Ricky Martin’s “Livin’ La Vida Loca” began blasting across the riverbank.
“Are you serious?”
“Safety first,” said Diego, swaying his hips to the beat with alarming enthusiasm.
I looked at Noah for help, but he provided the opposite. “Safety first,” he called.
“The music will help you find the right rhythm.” Diego moved around behind me, hands poised just above my hips. “May I?”
I sighed, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fine.” If being able to salsa dance were the key to not drowning, I figured I would play along.
Just before Diego wrapped his hands around my waist, he stopped and pulled back. “Actually, you know what? This stuff is too good not to film. What’s more authentically Colorado than salsa dancing?”
“I’m guessing many, many things?”
“Your followers will love it.” Diego started a selfie video, salsa dancing around me like a caffeinated flamingo.
“You’re messing with me on purpose.”
“Me?” Diego feigned affront. “Never.”
“We can’t have you flipping the kayak just because you didn’t practice your hip rotations,” agreed Noah.
“Well, at least now I know you care about my well-being.” I gave Noah a fake smile.
“Actually, I was more concerned about the kayak.”
I gripped my paddle tighter as I resumed wiggling my hips, calculating the distance between it and Noah’s smug face. One quick swing ...
“Less rigid,” Diego instructed, still dancing around me. “Loosen up. Feel the flow.”
“I’m flowing, I’m flowing,” I muttered through clenched teeth, wiggling faster while plotting Noah’s watery demise.
“Noah, you come show her.” Diego’s grin only widened as he panned the camera to Noah. “She needs a hands-on demonstration.”
Noah’s eyes widened with alarm. “Me? Why me?”
“Because I’m filming.”
At first, I thought Noah was going to stomp off into the wilderness, never to be seen again. But instead, he pushed off the tree and started toward us.
“Safety first,” Diego sing-songed, while continuing to video the kayak-paddling-salsa lesson.
My heart beat faster with each closing step, breath catching as Noah approached. The morning sun caught the edges of his dark hair, turning them almost golden. My skin tingled with anticipation as I imagined his firm hands settling on my hips, showing me exactly how to move.
Guiding me.
Commanding me.
His long legs ate up the distance between us in seconds. I could almost feel the heat of his body, smell that mix of coffee and pine that seemed to follow him everywhere. My heart hammered against my ribs as he got closer.
Closer ...
But instead of stepping behind me and taking me in his arms, Noah’s arm shot out past my shoulder. He snatched Diego’s phone with surprising speed, then shoved it back into Diego’s front shirt pocket.
“We’re burning daylight,” Noah growled. “Some of us have real work to do.”
All the breath escaped my lungs at once, and my body felt oddly hollow. Which was ridiculous, because I never wanted Noah’s hands on me, anyway. In fact, the only thing I wanted from Noah Barrett was for him to stop looking at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his hiking boot.
“Well,” said Diego, clearing his throat. “I guess the dance lesson’s over.” He hit stop and the muffled music playing from his shirt pocket ended, replaced by the rush of the river.
“Ready to hit the water?”
With the way the various girl parts inside my body were still tingling, perhaps being doused with ice cold water would do me some good. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”