26. Rue
rue
. . .
main character energy
My fist freezes an inch from River’s door, stalled by my brain launching a thousand thought rockets at once.
What am I doing? This is a bad idea. Is it a bad idea? Maybe I can blame an LSD hangover. Is that a real thing? I feel fine, though. Tired and frazzled, maybe, but when am I not?
Otherwise, I’m fine.
Except for the lingering burn from the double shot of mortification I swallowed last night. But that’s trivial. On a personal scale of embarrassing behaviors, propositioning my best friend’s brother and having him overhear me masturbate are…
Actually, those are pretty high up there.
I hope he doesn’t think I was thinking about him. I wasn’t. Okay, I was, but he shouldn’t have washed my hair like he did—massaging my neck and scalp, humming and telling me I was a good girl when I leaned my head the right way. Who does that? Of course my imagination ran away with my common sense.
I’m relieved he bolted like a thief from the police. Super relieved.
The gut punch of his rejection was a perfectly normal response to being left tits out in the shower. Nothing to do with him specifically. Plenty of men have bodies that double as instruction manuals for involuntary ovulation, right? River just happened to be the one washing my hair.
Since he didn’t tease me about it this morning, he obviously understands it was a temporary lapse in judgment on my part. I’m grateful for his maturity and restraint. Very commendable of him.
There’s no reason I should be this nervous to knock on his door.
Unless… what if he regrets what he said at breakfast?
Or what if it took him a while to process last night, and now that he has, he doesn’t want to be around me anymore?
He did leave rather abruptly after breakfast, and that was over three hours ago.
I haven’t heard a peep from his cabin since he showered, which is odd since his laundry is outside.
Maybe he’s been quiet on purpose to avoid me.
Who am I kidding? Of course he doesn’t want to be around me. I’m too much. Everyone leaves eventually. Friends, boyfriends… Only Ivy has stayed. And here I am, hopelessly in lust with her brother and avoiding phone calls from the only person in my adult life who unconditionally loves me.
I’m never doing LSD again. Or any drug, for that matter. A bonfire doesn’t need napalm, and I’m perfectly capable of causing fires without accelerants. Metaphorically speaking. Also literally, I suppose, since I did almost burn the cabin down…
My internal freak-out is so consuming, I don’t register the creak and swish of the door until the wood disappears.
I blink at River.
The reality of him—shirtless, sleepy-eyed, smiling—sends my executive function on an unsanctioned break. My mouth hangs open. My raised fist hangs in the air a few inches from a bare pectoral.
His eyes flicker to my hand, and his smile grows. “Feeling combative? I’ll take a punch if you want, but can I recommend a slap instead? Your form isn’t all that great, and I don’t want you to break a finger.”
My laugh is a hundred decibels too loud, but at least it means my motor control has returned. I jerk my fist down and clasp my sweaty hands together.
“No punching or slapping required.” I belatedly notice his eyes seem extra bloodshot. “Did I wake you up? I woke you up. Sorry. I’ll just—” I hike a thumb over my shoulder and click my tongue like the lamest person ever.
I pivot, then freeze as his fingers curl gently around my arm. As he tugs me back to face him, his thumb sweeps over my elbow. I’m pretty sure the area isn’t considered an erogenous zone, but it sure as hell feels like one.
His hand falls away, and I pretend I don’t feel the loss of it. We’re friends now. Friends touch each other sometimes. Supportively. Platonically.
“I wasn’t sleeping. In fact, I was about to come see what you were up to.” His eyes twinkle with wry knowing. “What’s going on in your head?”
Just a little menty-b. Average Saturday vibes.
I swallow a hysterical laugh and clear my throat. “I wanted to do something to thank you for last night. If you’re not busy.”
His brows pinch together. “You don’t need to thank me. I loved taking care of you.”
Warmth blooms in the pit of my stomach. Flustered, I look down, and my gaze inadvertently latches onto the bulge in his shorts. Only now that I think about it, bulge isn’t accurate. What I’m seeing is too absurd for any acceptable dick descriptors. It’s a rotund ridge. Perhaps a tumid telescope.
Good grief, is it moving?
I wrench my gaze back to his face, blurting my embarrassment as an admonishment. “You’re making this awkward.”
His brows lift, a smile teasing his mouth. “Am I? Sorry about that. What’s my gift?”
I pull a set of keys from my pocket and hold them up so he sees the tiny bong attached to the ring.
As expected, his jaw drops. “You stole Kirk’s golf cart?”
Smirking, I tuck the keys away. “I didn’t have to.
I merely suggested that, given my difficult night, he might want to let me borrow it this afternoon.
I also suggested he pack me a cooler with snacks and drinks.
I thought it would be cool to explore a bit.
See the bigger art installations, maybe check out the Zen garden.
If that doesn’t sound fun at all, you don’t have to come. No pressure or anything.”
River gives me the grin I’ve started to crave. His biggest and rarest, the right side higher than the left like his dimple is gravity. Full fang exposure. Lion-eyes shining, external creases emphasizing their glow.
When he braces an arm on the doorframe beside my head, at least a billion of my brain cells spontaneously combust. Even more disintegrate when he curves over me, all bare skin and messy man bun and oh-so happy trail.
Now this is looming done right. Major main character energy. Still villainous, though, because this level of sex appeal is criminal.
I snort at the thought.
“Rue?”
“Yes?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Want you to what?”
His head tilts subtly, angling toward mine so I feel the breath of his next words against the shell of my ear. The words themselves, however, I feel much farther south.
“Do you want me to come?”
It’s official. I’ve absolutely lost my mind because his innocent question sounds like straight-up filth.
Before I can stop it, a wild giggle leaps out of me.
River cocks his head, his mouth amused but his eyes confused. Poor guy. I pat his chest, then spy his belly button, a lovely oval that’s too tempting to resist. So I stick my finger in it. He recoils with a wheezing laugh, grabbing my hand at the same time and pinning it to his chest.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. “But I’m driving.”
“Hell no. My keys, my golf cart.”
His free hand dives for the front pocket of my shorts. I yelp and swivel away, but he moves with me. Within seconds, both of my hands are cuffed in one of his.
“No fair, Sasquatch!”
The gleam in his eyes sharpens, and he stops playing nice.
He moves like a snake, sinuous and swift.
I turn into a frantic pelican, squawking as I hop, jerk, and bend away from his darting hand.
A few times, he gets close enough that our bodies brush.
My hip, his thigh. His bicep, my chest. With each contact, the fire inside me grows until I’m breathless from more than laughter.
Unfortunately, I’m so focused on his every twitch that I don’t notice him corralling me into a corner until my butt hits the railing.
Blowing hair out of my eyes, I send him my flintiest glare. If I weren’t also folded in half with my arms locked to keep him away, I’m sure he’d be appropriately cowed.
As it is, he merely chuckles.
“Give it up, Princess. You’re trapped.”
In a last-ditch effort, I widen my eyes and invite a quiver into my lower lip, then tug feebly against his hold.
“You’re hurting me.”
He isn’t—he’s actually been careful not to—but I ignore the pang of guilt. I really want to drive the golf cart.
River drops my hands, his smile disappearing. “I’m so sor—”
“Ha!”
I lunge for the opening between his body and front railing, flying past him toward the steps. When I reach them, I leap.
Unfortunately, River has six inches and pounds of muscle on me. He uses the leverage to vault over the railing beside the steps right as I go airborne.
My clear landing vanishes, replaced by a human wall. I don’t even have time to scream before I slam into him.
He catches me like he did on the trail, but without the complication of a hurt back, he’s unbelievably agile.
Besides having the air knocked from my lungs, there’s no discomfort at all—at least until he straightens to his full height, at which point I realize just how different this is from our trail collision.
Only one of his arms is around my waist. The other is hooked around my right thigh, the attached hand planted firmly on my left ass cheek. The other major deviation is entirely on me—I have no idea how it happened, but my limbs are pythoned around his neck and waist.
“Choking,” he rasps.
I lighten up the pressure but don’t lean back, unwilling to look him in the eye. Not only am I confused about how I ended up like this, his hand is still casually sealed to my ass.
Then River starts shaking with silent laughter, and the location of his hand becomes the least of my concerns.
A problematic part of my anatomy—still sensitive from my self-care session last night—is pressed to his warm, hard abdomen. As he laughs, the muscles jump up and down. One might even say they vibrate.
If this goes on long enough, there’s no question of what will happen. I can already feel those deep, pulsing currents that urge me to rock against him.
I test his hold with a wiggle and suffer immediate regret. At least my shorts are denim; were they cotton, I might have to change my name and move across the country. Instead, I drum my heels on the backs of his thighs.
River sighs the last of his laughter against my neck, then relaxes his arms enough to support my slide to the ground. I purposely black out during contact with his tumid telescope, only to hallucinate him squeezing my ass before releasing it.
Once my feet are on the ground, I backpedal to a safe distance before glaring at him. I am a little peeved, but mostly I need to justify my flaming face.
“What’s so damn funny?”
Aftershocks of laughter roll through him, making his eyes shine like gems. “You spread your arms and legs midair and latched onto me like a koala. I didn’t even need to catch you.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I’m clearly an improvisational genius. Moving on—you cheated, so I win by default.”
His eyebrows jump. “Interesting interpretation. How about a compromise? I get to drive home.”
I ruminate for a few seconds just to be difficult, then shove out my hand.
“Deal.”
We shake on it.
As our hands part, his thumb drags over my wrist. My gaze snaps to his face, but his smile is guileless.
Is it too guileless?
“When are we leaving?” he asks.
“As soon as the exhibitionist puts on a shirt.”
Fangs press briefly to his lower lip. “Got it. Need anything else?”
A fucking lobotomy.
“Nope. All good here.”
He nods and heads for the steps. I frown after him, a question I’m afraid to ask pooled on my tongue. He’s halfway across the porch by the time I locate my lady balls.
“Hey, River?”
He looks back. “What’s up?”
“Is there a chance I’m still hallucinating stuff? Or having some delayed sensory-type effects?”
His lips pinch and twist. I can’t tell if the reaction is because he’s concerned or trying not to laugh, but his voice is neutral. Too neutral?
“No idea. Sure you feel okay? I’m down to drive if you want to relax.”
I scoff. “Nice try.”
With a breezy shrug, he jogs toward his open door.
Shaking my head, I walk toward the golf cart. Either the LSD is still messing with my mind or my mind is messing with me. There’s no other explanation. The ass grab and thumb eroticism couldn’t have been intentional.
Unless…
Nah.