Chapter 4 #3
Although she knew deep down that a fling would definitely ruin their friendship.
She’d enjoy the hell out of it while they were flinging, but afterwards, it would just be awkward.
And even though they were going to be seeing a lot less of each other now that Milo was working remotely at the resort and she was going back to Seattle…
Wait.
They would be seeing a lot less of each other. If she worked it out correctly, they wouldn’t really have to see each other again once she went back to the West Coast.
Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. She’d maybe have to see him once or twice a year. She knew she could handle that. So if Slater even hinted at wanting to kiss her again or perhaps something more…
“Do you want help?” he asked, completely oblivious to all her inner turmoil.
“What?” she squeaked.
“Help. Your whole stance is still a little off.”
Her pride flared. “I’ve played competitive volleyball. I understand posture.”
He took a small step back and nodded. “Duly noted.”
She drew the string back anyway, and, of course, the arrow wobbled. Evie hung her head for a moment and let out a soft sigh. But when she straightened, Slater stepped closer. Not close enough for them to touch, but close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his body.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Just…don’t move.”
Her pulse skipped as he moved behind her, and the world rearranged itself. She felt him before she registered anything else—the warmth of his chest at her back, the solid line of him, close enough that if she leaned back even an inch, she’d be against him.
She had to remind herself to breathe.
“Relax your shoulders,” he said, his voice lower now, near her ear.
“I am relaxed,” she lied.
“No, you’re not,” he said with a hint of amusement.
Then, his fingers brushed her elbow. Just a correction.
Just for instruction. Except it wasn’t just anything.
She was hyperaware of his touch now. Her body responded to it and desperately wanted more.
And just when she was telling herself to calm down, his hand slid lightly down her forearm, adjusting her grip.
The touch was careful, almost clinical, but his thumb lingered half a second longer than necessary.
The memory of his mouth on hers flashed hot and unwanted, making her throat go dry.
“Better,” he said.
She swallowed. “You’re very bossy today.”
“Only when someone’s about to shoot an arrow into the woods.” His breath skimmed her temple. She could feel every exhale. “Draw back,” he murmured.
She did. The string pulled tight.
He shifted closer, one hand hovering at her waist like he might steady her if she tipped.
She didn’t tip, but she was aware of everything.
Of the length of him aligned with her spine. Of the scrape of his jacket against her sleeve. Of how easily her body seemed to remember the shape of him from those mere sixty seconds yesterday.
“Don’t overthink it,” he said softly.
Too late for that.
Her lungs felt too full. Her heart was too loud. The air between them was thick with everything they weren’t saying.
“Breathe,” he added, quieter now.
She exhaled slowly and let the string slip from her fingers. The bow snapped forward. The arrow cut cleanly through the air and struck the outer ring of the target with a solid thud.
Neither of them moved.
“Nice shot,” he said, but his voice was different now, rougher. His hand, which had hovered at her waist, finally settled there. It wasn’t necessary, but it felt like it belonged there.
Her breath hitched. The world narrowed to the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of her shirt.
For one reckless second, she thought he might pull her back against him. She was ready for it. Hoping for it. Practically praying for it.
Instead, he stepped away, and the loss was immediate.
Cold air rushed into the space he’d just occupied, and her body registered his absence long before her pride could catch up. She lowered the bow carefully, fingers suddenly unsteady.
“Beginner’s luck,” she said, because she needed to fill the awkward silence.
“Nah,” he replied. “It was a clean hit.”
“Thanks.” But when she turned to look at him, his eyes weren’t on the target. They were on her.
The moment stretched—sunlight warm on her face, cool air at her neck, and Slater still hovering like he hadn’t decided whether or not he should move. All around them, other guests were laughing and talking and having a great time, but Evie was suddenly aware of how quiet they’d gone.
Their gazes were locked, but not in a battle of wills—something softer. And whatever they weren’t talking about had just gotten a whole lot harder to ignore.
“Evie, I…”
“Here,” she blurted out, practically shoving the bow into his hands. “It’s your turn. I don’t want to hog the equipment. Let’s see if you can get closer to the bullseye than I did.”
It was nervous chatter at best, but for a little while, she needed them to just be friends. There was no way she was going to push him for more, or maybe even hint at anything more while they were in the middle of the archery field. So for now, this was safer.
Or maybe she was just too afraid to find out what would happen if she took her boundaries off the table.