21. Jack #2
I raise a brow. "Covered in dirt and sweat? You don't think I needed a shower?" I ask smugly since she gave me shit the other day.
"No, I mean it. You looked... happy. Like you’re finally where you’re supposed to be."
I glance at her. "You looked pretty happy, yourself."
She grins. "I am."
God, I want to kiss her again.
"Hey, Cami?"
She turns to me.
I reach out and trace my thumb along her cheek. There’s a smudge of dirt I pretend to wipe away, but really, I just want an excuse to touch her.
"I like kissing you."
Her eyes flick to mine, then my mouth, and back."You’re not terrible at it, I guess," she says, a little breathless.
"Not terrible?" I snort. "You seemed into it, Wilder."
She shrugs. "I’ve had worse."
"Should I try again?" I whisper roughly.
She leans in, close enough for me to smell the mix of sun and cinnamon on her. "You trying to win gold in the flirting, Jessop?"
I smile at her, slow and sure. "Just aiming for my personal best."
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling too.
And under the old cottonwood tree with our initials carved in its bark and the sun dipping low behind her, I feel it again.
That thing she knocked loose in me with one kiss. The feeling of hope formore of this with us.And I decide that hope isn’t enough. Not anymore. I lean even closer and trace the curves of her face, finally touching her the way I’ve always wanted to. Hope is not a strategy. I want her.
Hesitating for half a second about whether I should kiss her again or not, she answers the question for me by covering her mouth with her hand and yawning dramatically.
“I could fall asleep out here,” she says, as she stretches out beside me, her legs somehow finding their way over mine like we’re playing a full-contact version of Twister.
“Please don’t,” I mutter. “I'll have to carry you all the way back to Wilder Ranch house.”
But I'd secretly love to carry her. I love having her in my arms.
“That sounds better than walking,” she says primly, flicking a leaf off her shirt.
I roll my eyes and settle back against the tree, arms crossed behind my head, pretending like she doesn’t just fit here like she’s always belonged.
The leaves above us rustle in the breeze. It's quiet out here, too quiet. That kind of quiet that makes you start thinking things. Dangerous things. Things like what would happen if I kissed her again? Would she let me? What would she say or do?
“So,” she says like she is easing into something. “Poppy and I were talking the other day about hate sex?—”
“Pause. Hate sex?”
“Yes, you know, hate sex. Anyway?— ”
I shake my head. “What exactly do you mean by hate sex?”
She blinks at me. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head again? Do you not know what sex is?”
“I'm well aware of what sex is, Cami,” I tell her dryly.
“Okay, well anyway.” She stretches again, all sin and smugness. “We were talking about hate sex.”
I choke on air. “What about it ? ”
“Hate. Sex.” She enunciates each word like she’s giving a spelling bee answer. “It’s a concept. A vibe. A very intense, very combative form of therapy.”
I blink. “Why were you talking about that with Poppy?”
“Because it's hot, Jessop. Keep up.”
“I’m not sure what’s more alarming—that you said that… or that I kinda want to argue with you just to test the theory.”
She turns her head on my shoulder to look up at me, all fake innocence and sparkling mischief. “We were just debating if it’s a thing. Poppy said no. I said absolutely. Some people bring you flowers. Others shove you against a wall and hate fuck you hard until you come.”
I cough again. “And which category do we fall into, exactly?”
She smirks. “You? You’re one argument away from me throwing you against that tree and questioning all my life decisions.”
“Jesus, Cami.”
“What? It’s hypothetical.”
“It is not hypothetical if you say it while actively laying on me.”
Her brows lifted. “Are you blushing, Jessop?”
“I don’t blush.”
“Sure,” she says, patting my chest. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jessop.”
I suck in my breath at her touch and the way this conversation is going. It's making me sweaty again.What in the actual hell is coming out of her mouth right now?
She’s smirking like the devil, talking about hate fucking like it’s just another topic over coffee. Like we’re chatting weather and feed prices. And I—God help me—I can’t breathe.
Cami, the only woman who’s ever made me feel like my heart's not just something taking up space in my chest, is lying here talking dirty to me. With a straight damn face.
And now she’s all casual, like she didn’t just light my entire nervous system on fire. My brain’s short-circuiting. I’m sweating. My jeans are suddenly way too tight.
What am I even supposed to say to that? “Yeah, hate fucking sounds great, when do you want to pencil that in?” Jesus. Get it together, Jack.
She keeps going, and now she’s teasing me about being speechless. And she’s right. I’ve fought wars, branded wild cattle, stared down my father without blinking, and yet Cami smirking like she knows exactly what she does to me has got me tongue-tied.
This is dangerous. This is so dangerous.
Because if I let the words that are currently screaming through my bloodstream come out of my mouth, we’re not coming back from that.
And part of me doesn’t want to.
Because hate fucking? That’s not what this is. That’s not what I want. I don’t want rough and angry. I want her. All of her. But she’s throwing gas on a fire that’s been burning between us for a decade, and I’m one wrong look away from losing every shred of control I’ve got left.
And damn it, she knows exactly what she’s doing.
We fall into silence, and for once, it wasn’t awkward. Not exactly. Just tense enough to be interesting.
I looked down at her, hair coming out of her braid again, lips pursed in that permanent I’m planning mischief grin. “You really fantasized about hate sex with me?”
She rolled onto her side, facing me, elbow propped up like she was getting comfortable. “I didn’t say it was with you. ”
This makes me almost sit up straight. Who else is she thinking about this with? Oh, hell no.
“Oh, so you fantasized about hate sex with someone else while sitting at our tree with me? That’s comforting.”
She grinned. “I’m just saying, if someone’s being an arrogant pain in the ass, sometimes the only logical next step is tearing their shirt off and shutting them up with your mouth.”
I stare at her. My mouth opens and closes again, and I suck in a deep breath.
She stares right back. God, I want her. So fucking bad.
But not here. Not like this. I don't hate anything about Cami.
Far from the opposite. I'd love to have her.
But not in a one-time way. She's my forever.
She just doesn't know it yet. When we're on the same page, there won't be any hate in there.
She grins at me. "You couldn't handle me, Jessop."
“No, you couldn't handle me, Wilder.”
“See? You’re already halfway to hate fucking me. Admitting it is halfway to doing it.”
“You’re unhinged,” I manage to say.
“Thanks,” she says sweetly, resting her head back on my shoulder.
Her hand finds my stomach again. Not in a suggestive way, more like a cuddling kind ofway.
Still, I have to focus very hard on the leaves above us and not the fact that she's basically using me like a human heating pad while casually discussing hate fucking me like we're talking about taking a drive.
“I’m not saying we should ,” she says after a beat.
“But you’re not saying we shouldn’t. ”
“I’m just saying if the tension gets any thicker around here, one of us is going to combust, and it’s probably going to be you.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re already halfway to a meltdown every time I so much as blink in Beau’s direction.”
I glare at her.
“Exactly.” She winks. "Plus, I take care of myself, so I don't combust."
Oh, holy hell. She's trying to kill me. She really is.And this is it. The moment I realize she's going to drive me to the edge. Now, I for sure won’t get any sleep in my sleeping bag on the floor, picturing her down the hall in that huge bed making herself come. Jesus.
“Let’s go,” I say, groaning as I stood and pulled her up with me. “Before you say something else that makes me combust.”
She brushes herself off, lips twitching. “You’re not denying it.”
“I’m pleading the fifth.”
“You’re pleading for self-control, and it’s adorable. ”
“You’re a menace.”
“And you love it.”
“God help me,” I mutter, as she saunters ahead of me, hips swaying like she knows exactly what kind of chaos she’s leaving in her wake.
She does, and I'm in so much trouble. I want her so badly.
I've wanted her for years, and now that she’s finally giving me a sliver of a chance and flirting with me, I have this stupid show in the way.