Chapter Thirteen Hailey #2
We spiral down slowly, Cole adjusting our trajectory with small tugs on the handles. My heart is still racing, but now it’s mixed with an awareness of his body against mine.
His chest rises and falls against my back. One of his arms is wrapped around me, the other gripping and maneuvering the controls. And pressed against my lower back is something that’s definitely not part of the equipment.
Oh.
Oh.
“Cole,” I say, my voice coming out breathless.
“I know.” His voice is rough, almost apologetic. He already knows. “Sorry, it’s—adrenaline does things. I’m not trying to—”
“I didn’t say I minded.”
A beat of silence. Then his grip on the handles tightens.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Hailey Brigham.”
“At least it’ll be a fun death.” His rumbly laugh vibrates through my back, right up until I push my hips back an inch and the sound turns to a garbled choke. “Told you it’d be fun,” I say, and I’m rewarded by his fingers tightening on my waist.
We drift lower, the ground coming up to meet us. I can see our landing zone now—a clearing in a valley that looked perfectly dry from thousands of feet high. But as we get closer, I notice the grass has a certain…shine to it.
“Is that—”
“Marsh,” Cole says grimly. “It wasn’t like that last week. Must’ve rained.”
“Cole.”
“Yeah?”
“It hasn’t rained in nine days. I checked the forecast obsessively.”
There’s a long stretch of silence from the man behind me.
“Jack,” Cole growls.
“Jack,” I confirm. “Can we…land somewhere else?”
“Not at this point. Brace yourself.”
We come in faster than I’d like, Cole flaring the chute at the last second to slow our descent.
My feet hit the ground—or what should be ground—and immediately sink into three inches of cold, squelching mud.
The momentum carries us forward, and Cole’s trying to stay upright, but it’s a losing battle.
We go down in a spectacular tangle of limbs and parachute silk, mud spraying everywhere. He tucks as we fall, angling us so I land on top of him, and he’s beneath me in an even muddier situation. The harness keeps us connected, so we’re basically one muddy, flailing creature.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, trying to push myself up and only succeeding in splattering more mud across both of us. “This is disgusting.”
Cole is laughing—actually laughing—beneath me, his whole body shaking with it. There’s mud in his hair, mud on his face, mud everywhere.
“Welcome to skydiving,” he manages through panted breaths.
“You said I’d love it!”
“You did love it. This is just the bonus content.”
“A swamp is bonus content?”
“He told us to aim for the center,” Cole groans, staring up at the sky. “I’m just now realizing he told us to aim for the center of the clearing—”
“Where it’s the wettest,” I finish. “Cole.”
“Yeah?”
“Your boss is a jackass.”
“I can’t say I disagree.” He lets out a happy half sigh, half laugh.
He unclips me in several places, and I try to roll off him, but a missed clip catches, and I fall back onto him, face down and directly into his muddy chest. We’re face to face now, both of us covered in Colorado swamp water, but he’s looking at me like I’m the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.
“You’ve got mud on your nose,” he says.
“You’ve got mud on your entire existence.”
“Fair point.”
Then he kisses me.
It’s filthy—literally. I taste dirt and him, and his hands are on my face, smearing more mud as he pulls me closer.
I kiss him back just as desperately, all the adrenaline from the jump converting into something hot and urgent.
I don’t care that we’re lying in a marsh.
I don’t care that I probably look like a swamp creature.
All I care about is the way his mouth moves against mine, hungry and claiming.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I should probably get that last clip,” I whisper.
“Probably.” He doesn’t move.
“And find somewhere to clean up.”
“Also a good idea.” He still doesn’t move.
“Cole?”
“Just give me one more second. I’m memorizing this.”
“Me covered in mud?”
“You…happy.” His thumb traces my cheekbone, leaving another streak of mud in its wake. “I want to remember this exact version of you.”
My heart flips in my chest. “That’s either very romantic or very creepy.”
“Can’t it be both?”
I laugh and finally manage to unclip us, rolling off him and into a fresh patch of mud. We struggle to our feet, the parachute dragging behind us like the world’s saddest ghost costume. I’m cold now, and wet, and completely disgusting.
And happy. Cole’s right. Quite possibly, I’ve never been happier.
Jack has landed and is waiting for us at the edge of the marsh by the time we get there, with towels and a look of profound amusement. “Landing zone’s usually dry this time of year.”
“No shit,” Cole says.
“Did you know it was wet?” I ask, instantly suspicious. His readiness with the towels is a little too convenient. The look in his eye tells me he knew exactly where we’d land—and what we’d land in.
“Could’ve.” Jack shrugs, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
“Jack.”
“Hailey.”
“Where did you get those towels?”
“The hangar.”
“How many did you bring?”
He lets an even wider grin spread across his entire face before he answers me. “A lot.”
“More than you’d typically bring for a non-muddy landing?”
Jack chuckles, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I was being prepared.”
“You’re a Boy Scout now?”
“I’m always prepared, Hailey. It’s part of my charm.”
Cole steps out of the marsh, mud dripping from his elbows. There’s a leaf stuck to his ear. “How long have you been planning this?”
“Planning what?”
“Jack.”
Jack sighs and hands me a towel. “Look. When you texted me Wednesday saying you wanted to take her on the skydive of her life, I had two options. Standard landing zone—boring, forgettable, totally fine. Or…”
“Or?” I prompt, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Or the memorable option.” He gestures grandly at the marsh. “Decades from now, you’re going to be telling your grandchildren about the day you fell out of the sky with Grandpa Cole and landed in a swamp. Decades.”
“Grandpa Cole?” Cole repeats, somewhere between offended and appalled.
“You’re welcome.”
“You purposely landed us in mud,” I say.
“I purposely gave you a story,” Jack corrects. “Mud was just the medium.”
“You’re unwell,” Cole tells him.
“I’m romantic,” Jack counters. “There’s a difference.”
I’m laughing too hard to be angry. And I’m shaking so hard from the laughter that mud is falling off me in clumps. “Jack, I have only spent a handful of minutes with you, and I’m already terrified of being on your bad side.”
“Then stay on the good one.” Jack passes me a water bottle.
Cole shakes his head, scattering mud in Jack’s general direction. “I’m going to put cinnamon in your coffee for a year.”
“That’s barely a threat.”
“Every cup. Every single cup.”
“Try me.”
Jack has already covered the seats of the company van in towels, so Cole and I pile into the back for the drive to the hangar.
The towels help, but we’re still leaving a mud trail everywhere we go.
Jack seems unbothered, which makes me suspect this isn’t the first time he’s transported soggy jumpers.
“Same time next month?” Jack asks as we pull up to the airstrip.
“Absolutely,” I say before Cole can answer. “But maybe we’ll check the ground conditions first.”
“Noted.” Jack grins at me in the rearview mirror.
Cole and I transfer to his truck, towels on the seats to protect the upholstery. The heater blasts as we pull onto the road, and I’m finally starting to feel my fingers again.
“Was that…normal?” I ask. “For Jack?”
“Disturbingly so.” He cranks up the heat another three degrees. “He once flew me to a ‘tactical training site’ that turned out to be a paintball facility full of his nieces and nephews. I lost. Badly. To a six-year-old named Mira.”
“I might be in love with Jack.”
“Don’t tell him. His ego cannot withstand additional fuel.”
We drive for a minute in silence. Shimmers of adrenaline still course through my body, the corners of my lips quivering with the beginning of a smile every time I think about flying.
The heated seat beneath and behind me reminds me of having Cole at my back, his steady presence making me feel safe even while I was falling through the air.
And there was that other presence.
Hard and hot—and, if I’m not mistaken, a good eight inches.
“My place,” I blurt, my mouth gone suddenly dry. “Has great water pressure. If you want to get cleaned up there.” Like that’s the appeal. Water pressure.
Cole’s gaze snaps sideways for a second, but he looks forward at the road before he answers.
“Sold.”
The drive to my apartment feels both too long and too short.
Every time Cole looks at me, there’s heat in his gaze that makes my stomach flip.
The mud is drying on my skin, tight and uncomfortable, but underneath that I’m hyperaware of the fact that we’re heading back to my place to shower—though in my head, the word sounds like it’s surrounded by scare quotes. “Shower.”
Is that what it’s called these days?
Fuck, but I want him.
The thought isn’t new, but the intensity has gone to a twelve out of ten since the jump. The desire burning in me feels almost dangerous. Like if Cole doesn’t put his hands and mouth on my body in the next five minutes, I could combust.
We park in front of my building and I lead him up the stairs, suddenly self-conscious about my small apartment and the dishes I left in the sink. But Cole doesn’t seem to care. His attention is entirely on me.
“Shower’s through there,” I say, gesturing toward the bathroom. “I’ll grab us some towels.”
“Hailey.” His voice stops me before I can escape into practicalities. “Come here.”
I turn back to face him. He’s standing in my living room, covered in dried mud, looking at me with so much hunger I can hardly breathe.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he says. “If you need time, or space, or—”
I close the distance between us, rise on my tiptoes, and press my mouth to his.