Chapter 21
twenty-one
The sun had barely cleared the horizon when I stepped out onto the wrap-around porch of the cottage on Monday morning.
We’d spent Sunday much the same as Saturday, racing around in the boat, jumping in the water, and then warming back up in the sun, Rhys and I always within reaching distance of one another.
I’d briefly considered the possibility that I might get sick of him after spending all of our time together for days like this, but if anything, the more time I spent with him, the more I wanted him around.
It was the only explanation for why, when he didn’t drag me out of bed this morning like he’d done the last two days, I went outside looking for him in the cold morning.
I pulled the sleeves of my sweater—okay, one of Rhys’s sweaters that I’d stolen from his room when I was looking for him—over my hands and took a deep breath of the crisp cool air.
The air was heavy with the morning dew and I was already regretting the shorts I’d pulled on instead of pants, but there was still nothing more refreshing than the fresh air of the forest that felt so different from the air we had in North Glen.
I walked down the steps slowly and wandered toward the gym, which was the only spot I could imagine Rhys would be at this time of day if not in the cottage.
Sticks and pine needles crunched under my feet as I wandered over and found him with his back to me, dressed in only a low-slung pair of grey sweatpants.
His shoulders flexed with effortless, hypnotic rhythm as he bounced a soccer ball off the brick wall, catching it on his thigh, hopping lightly to his opposite foot, and juggling it before snapping it back against the wall.
It was almost irritating how natural he looked with a ball at his feet. Pure, instinctual talent.
Growing up with Sebastian meant two things: I’d spent thousands of hours sitting on freezing metal bleachers, and I’d spent just as many hours getting dragged into backyard drills against my will. I wasn’t varsity caliber, but I knew my way around a soccer pitch.
It was so early that I was barely awake and I was certainly not dressed to play soccer, but I couldn’t help myself—I ran toward him.
Just as the ball rebounded off the wall and dropped toward his foot, I darted into his space, hooked my ankle around his calf, and swept the ball out from under him.
Rhys stumbled, blinking in surprise as I took off with the ball, laughing out loud as I kept it moving across the gravelly area outside the gym.
“Hey!” Rhys’s voice was rich with amusement as his sneakers slapped against the wet ground behind me. “That’s grand theft, Novak!”
“Finders keepers!” I called back over my shoulder, cutting hard to the left to protect the ball with my body.
In seconds, he closed the gap. Rhys was bigger, faster, and infinitely more skilled, but I had the element of surprise—and a completely shameless willingness to play dirty.
He pulled up right behind me, his broad, bare shoulders blocking out the morning sun as he leaned into my space, trying to use his frame to shield me off the ball.
“Oh, so you think you’ve got footwork now?” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that sent a sudden spike through my pulse that had nothing to do with cardio.
“I was raised in the same house as Sebastian,” I panted, spinning around on my heel to face him and keeping my feet moving in a rapid shuffle. “I know all your moves.”
He lunged gently for the ball, but I trapped it under the sole of my slipper and dragged it back, stepping right into his personal space to block him.
Our bodies collided—bare chest meeting the fabric of my sweater top, his warm skin instantly transferring heat against mine.
I lost my footing for a split second from the impact, and Rhys seized the opening, sliding his foot around mine to kick the ball out from under me.
“Hey! Foul!” I gasped, immediately turning to chase him down.
Rhys flicked the ball into the air, keeping it up with quick, effortless touches—thigh, foot, shoulder, head—teasing me as I darted around him, trying to get a foot in. Every time I lunged, he’d pivot, his body brushing against mine, his laugh deep and rumbling in his chest.
“Come get it, Ainsley,” he challenged softly, popping the ball off his knee and letting it drop back to his feet.
I threw my weight against his side, wrapping an arm firmly around his waist to throw off his center of gravity. Rhys let out a low, breathy chuckle, wrapping a heavy, warm arm around my neck to anchor me against him while he casually kept control of the ball with his right foot.
We stumbled through the underbrush together, practically tangled at the hip. My skin was hot where his arm wrapped around me, his bare torso slick with a light sheen of sweat, pressed flush against my side. Every time he shifted to dodge my foot, I felt his muscles shift against me.
“This is definitely not regulation,” he murmured into my hair, his voice tickling my temple.
“There are no refs in the backyard,” I whispered, digging my heels into the turf and twisting around in his grip so we were standing chest-to-chest.
I reached down, hooking my leg around his to trap his working foot. The sudden shift in balance sent us both teetering. Rhys let out a surprised bark of laughter, his hands shooting down to grab my hips to steady us, but the momentum was already gone.
We hit the hard round together in a tangle of limbs, tumbling over gravel and plants until we rolled to a stop with Rhys hovering directly over me, his hands planted firmly on either side of my shoulders to keep his weight off me.
The soccer ball rolled away until it hit the gym wall, completely forgotten.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. My breath came in short, ragged hitches, my chest rising and falling against his.
His eyes darkened and his dirty blond hair fell messily over his forehead.
His gaze dropped slowly to my lips before tracking back up to meet my eyes, the playful banter completely evaporating into something thick and undeniable.
His hand shifted from the grass, his fingers slowly tracing a path up my ribs, his thumb brushing along the bare skin at the bottom edge of my sweater.
The warmth of him radiated over every inch of me, making my stomach do a dizzying flip.
He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his breath warm against my cheek.
“Ainsley,” he breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper. My heart hammered against my ribs, waiting for the space between us to finally disappear.
The loud blaring ring of my phone startled us both.
I jolted in surprise, so deep in the moment with Rhys that being pulled back to any sort of reality was startling.
Rhys turned his head toward the sound and I swear a muscle was feathering in his jaw, irritated to have been interrupted yet again.
Despite all of this, I let out a breathless, uneven laugh, stepping back as Rhys pushed himself up onto his knees.
His eyes lingered on mine for a beat longer before he ran a hand through his hair, a lazy, crooked smirk returning to his lips.
“Saved by the bell,” he said, his voice still holding that raspy edge.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Montgomery. You were about to lose,” I laughed, pushing myself up from the gravel and dusting off my shorts as I backed toward the deck where I’d dropped my phone when I came out.
I glanced at the screen, noticing my twin sister’s name, sliding it open and pressing it to my ear, still grinning from the adrenaline humming through my veins.
“Hey!” I gasped, catching my breath.
“Ainsley.”
The sound of Imogen’s voice hit me like a bucket of ice water. The laughter died instantly in my throat.
“Imogen?” I turned around, my smile completely vanishing as I looked back at Rhys. He was watching me from the grass, his relaxed posture instantly straightening as he caught the sudden shift in my face. “What’s wrong?”
There was a shaky beat of silence on the line before Imogen spoke, her voice cracked and tight with emotion. “Hilary went into labor early. Dad says if we don’t show up today, he won’t let us meet the baby at all.”