Chapter 26 Clementine
Clementine
The Therapy Tacoma did her job. I glance over my shoulder to make sure Alec’s still behind me. He bats a loose branch out of the way, eyes narrowing when he catches me staring at him.
I’m not used to setting the pace on our hikes. And I’m definitely not used to a man—especially one who’s spent weeks pretending ice runs through his veins—opening up the way he did.
Vulnerability looks stupidly attractive on him.
He looks lighter now, like he’s carrying the same backpack but with all those damn bricks removed.
I know that his trauma won’t be healed overnight, but I feel lucky he opened up to me.
Maybe Wild Trails can be an opportunity for us both to figure out what’s next in our lives.
Which is probably why I’m skipping down this trail, unbothered by loose roots or mud.
Or maybe it’s because I’m one gigantic step closer to winning twenty thousand dollars and paying off most of my debt.
Or perhaps I’m so giddy because in the month since leaving New York I’ve started recognizing myself again—stronger, heavier in ways that feel good.
Not ballet-thin, but actually muscular. I can carry a pack up a mountain and not feel like I’m about to collapse.
I can eat a cookie without hearing the echo of a director’s voice telling me to shrink.
For so long, my life has been about waiting—waiting to be picked, waiting to be good enough for principal, waiting to claw my way out of debt before I’m allowed to start living.
But here, with him following close behind, something new presses up through my chest, searing and terrifying in its possibility. Maybe I don’t have to wait. Maybe I get to want things—messy, dangerous, beautiful things—before I’ve deemed myself worthy of earning them.
“Are you leading me to a sacrifice?” Alec’s voice rumbles behind me.
“You figured it out. My coven’s meeting tonight. Lucky you, it’s my night to donate an unwilling man.”
“You have a coven now?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.” I grin, my breath puffing in the cooling air.
The hidden path appears. It’s just a thin cut in the brush, marked by a chipped blue painted arrow. I duck down it, careful on the steep slope, until the trees open into my favorite place.
The hot spring looks small and unremarkable at first glance, tucked among mossy stumps and ferns, but steam rises in little ghost curls, catching the lavender twilight.
The pool sits high enough that you can see ridge after ridge rolling into the distance, purple shadows stacking like folded fabric.
“Welcome to the Lennoxes’ best-kept secret,” I tell him, turning back. “My grandparents used to bring me here every summer. Grandpa proposed to Gran on that rock over there.”
“It feels like you’re inducting me into something.”
I smirk. “Welcome to my cult. Perks include free therapy, eternal youth, and skin so soft you’ll want to send me a thank-you card in that irritatingly perfect handwriting of yours.”
He smirks. “Never met anyone who resents penmanship before.”
“What can I say, Hastings? I’m original.”
“I’m discovering that.” His gaze lingers, steady, and the air thickens with something that has nothing to do with competition adrenaline. “I never got to say you were unbelievable today.”
“Really?” I say, obviously fishing for compliments. My eyes flicker down to his mouth before coming back.
“You held your own all day. You fucking scaled those rocks on the hike like they were pebbles.”
I laugh. “I appreciate that. It felt good being out there today. Obviously, I miss ballet, but it’s nice to finish something and not overthink my performance. I’m just happy we qualified and I did it, you know?”
“Thanks to you. You got some muscles peeking through this shirt, Lennox.”
Athletes get called by their last names. It’s a small thing, but it sends a ridiculous rush through me. “You have to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m already two seconds away from doing something stupid.”
His smile curves deliberately. “Like what?”
My fingers move before my brain does. I crouch to untie my boots. “What are you doing?” he asks, staring down at me.
“Scandalizing the local deer.” I kick my boots off, peel my socks away, and then tug my shirt over my head, leaving me in a baby-pink sports bra.
The evening air bites my skin, but the shiver that runs through me isn’t from the cold.
It’s from the way Alec’s jaw tenses, his gaze caught like I’ve stolen his air.
My braid slips forward, brushing over the swell of my breasts. His fists curl at his sides.
As a ballerina, I’ve always been called cute, and striking, but under Alec’s gaze I feel sexy…even wearing clothes I spent all day sweating in.
“You getting in?” I ask, shimmying out of my shorts, silently thanking past-me for wearing my good underwear. “Or are you just going to stand there looking like that?”
“Clementine.” My name lands heavy, like a warning sign.
“Alec,” I answer, like a dare.
I step barefoot onto a moss-slick rock, the first lick of hot water rushing over my sore feet. It stings, then soothes.
“Careful,” he says, already moving closer.
“You can’t protect me from way over there.” I smile, and that tips him.
In one clean motion, he peels his long-sleeved tee over his head and discards it in the moss.
I’ve seen him shirtless before, but not like this…
not for me. His chest is tan, hair spattering over pecs, ink winding up his arm in sharp black curves.
There’s a slash of an old cut near his ribs, another puckered scar along his side, each one proof of the mountains he’s climbed.
My eyes drag lower, over the taut line of his abs, down to the V that disappears into black boxers.
My brain screams as I land on his legs. His left leg is completely covered in tattoos—trees, flowers, a family crest, and an ice axe.
Aren’t thigh tattoos every woman’s weakness? But maybe shin tattoos are climbing their way up there.
“You’re the one staring now,” he says.
“I am.” My grin feels helpless.
“See something you like?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know you’re beautiful,” I tease, drifting in deeper, until the hot water kisses my hips. Steam curls up around me, wrapping my skin in heat.
“Don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”
“You must not read your Instagram comments.”
“I like it better coming from you.” He steps into the water, and my heart jitters. Even half submerged, he’s massive, and the steam only makes him seem more solid, more there. “I’m glad you returned the other underwear, because I like these ones a lot more.”
The bluntness knocks my breath from me. “These aren’t even the best pair in my collection. I’ve got lace ones, white, with a little tulip embroidered on the hip.”
“Clem.” He grits his teeth.
“What? Can’t a girl tell her camp buddy about her favorite lingerie?”
His pupils swallow the gold in his eyes. “Say that again.”
“Camp. Buddy.” I grin, and that does it. He lunges, sending a sheet of water crashing toward me. I splash back, laughing, until he corrals me against a moss-slick ledge. The backs of my thighs hit a smooth rock, and I settle on it while Alec wades in the water.
“Why do you hate it so much?” I prod, breathless.
“You know why.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“Because every time you say it”—his voice roughens—“I just want to kiss the word buddy out of your mouth.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Because of our arrangement.”
“But then why spend all these weeks making me flustered?”
His scoff is immediate. “I did not.”
“Don’t even deny it, it’s fun for you.”
He slides next to me, his thighs touching mine underwater. Alec’s muscles are corded with veins that I crave dragging my tongue over.
“Give me one example,” he challenges.
“For one, constantly checking my gear. It’s like you’re looking for an excuse to get your hands on me.”
“That’s for safety.”
“Sure. And the splinter incident? Who volunteers to suck blood from a paper-thin sliver of wood?”
“That was instinct.” He shifts closer, the steam swirling around him. “You’re not making a great case for yourself, Clementine.”
The challenge works something up in me, and I allow myself to move in, inch by inch. “So, you’re telling me that you get no enjoyment out of knowing that…” I pause and let the courage boil up inside of me. “You’re maddening?”
His pupils expand. “I like watching you fight for a comeback. I like the way you bite your lip when you’re losing. And I like”—he leans in, his voice barely skimming the surface of the water—“the way you’ve been staring at my mouth since we got in.”
“It’s eye level. Where do you expect me to look?” Unintentionally, my gaze drops to his boxers. Does water distort that much? Because if not…he’s huge. I roll my lips together, eyes widening before shooting back up to his face.
“Naughty, Fox.”
The nickname sends a thrill through me.
“Do you expect me to keep my eyes down here?” I reach out under the water, fingers skimming over the ink on his thigh. His gaze bores into me as I move up, higher, until I’m at his bicep. His skin is slick and fever-warm. “Or what about here?”
“Come closer,” he says.
“You first,” I counter, though my knees are already drifting toward him.
His chuckle sends heat down my spine. “Stubborn.”
“Hypocrite.”
His hand snakes around my waist under the water, thumb brushing the line of my ribs like he’s testing how close he can get before I bolt. I don’t bolt.
He’s close enough now that I can see a tiny freckle on his bottom lip. I want to taste it.
“Fuck, Clementine. You’re making it impossible not to kiss you right now.” He drags his free hand over his face, as if he’s still clinging to control. When it drops, his gaze shifts, like he wants to consume me. His hand cups my jaw, warm and steady, droplets sliding down his forearm onto my skin.
“You don’t have to be careful with me,” I whisper.
That undoes him.
The moment his lips claim mine, I’m gone—weeks of wanting, waiting, second-guessing, all collapsing into heat and hunger.
He tastes of minerals and salt and something richer, something I’ve only ever imagined and now finally get to savor.
My chest feels too small for the rush of it, like every ounce of self-control I’ve clung to has been stripped clean.
His grip on my waist tightens, hauling me flush until our legs tangle under the water, and it’s everything I’ve wanted and everything I was afraid to want.
My fingers clutch his shoulders, greedy for proof that he’s real, that this is real.
And for once, I’m not waiting for permission.
Not waiting to be picked. I’m choosing this.
I’m choosing him. The world dissolves into steam and the pounding of his pulse against mine—Alec Hastings, finally, finally kissing me—and I don’t want to come up for air, not yet, not when wanting feels this good.