Chapter 9 Hutch #2
I try not to get distracted by the long column of her neck as she tips her head back to drink. Her throat rolls over swallow after swallow until almost half the water in the bottle is gone.
She recaps it and hands it back. I take a few gulps before recapping it and slipping it back into my bag. When I straighten up, she takes out her phone and pulls up the camera app.
She wanders around, snapping snapshots of the surrounding trees and vegetation, then snaps a few shots of the ocean in the distance.
I wander over to the edge and peer down, and when I look back at her, she drops the phone from in front of her face to her side, ducking her head in embarrassment, and tries to cover it with a cough.
“Do you want me to take one of you?” I ask, lifting my chin to the spot where I’m sure she was about to take a selfie.
I know she does something with websites and marketing for work, but I wouldn’t know what exactly because I’m literal shit at anything past using my laptop for drafting. I know how to use my iPhone, which is a step up from Hank, but I don’t use social media.
“Hmm?” she asks, flicking a glance in my direction.
“A picture of you.” I gesture behind her. “I’m assuming you want it for FaceTok or InstaTik or whatever the hell you call those websites.”
The words come out more sarcastic than I mean them to. I guess it’s easier than admitting I just want to look at her—all windblown and gorgeous, backlit by the setting sun.
Sappy much?
She shoots me a look. “They’re called apps. And what the hell is FaceTok?”
I chuckle. “Don’t ask me. My sister’s all use that shit. I couldn’t tell you what to do with it if I tried.”
“It’s TikTok and Instagram.” She shoots me a haughty little look. “And Facebook is for old people.”
“That so?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “You got Facebook, California?”
“Did you just call me old?” she hisses.
If I remember right, she’s only three years older than me, but I'm obviously going to take any chance I get to tease her.
I hold up both hands, palms facing out. “You’re the one who said it was for old people. I was only asking if you had one.”
She turns away from me with a huff, making me smile. She’s so goddamn uptight. Is it crazy that her snide little mannerisms have my dick thickening in my pants?
“Here,” I say and close the distance between us, “let me take one of you to send to your boys.”
She eyes me and then reluctantly hands over her phone. I take it from her and watch as she gets into position. But she can’t seem to let a nicety stand.
“Do you even know how to use a smart-phone?”
“I’m not an idiot,” I quip, giving her a dry look.
“Debatable,” she mutters, but her gaze sweeps down my body before bringing her eyes back to mine. My dick gives a little twitch. I like her eyes on me.
“You finished insulting me while simultaneously eye fucking me?” I ask, brow arched at her.
Her cheeks flush a bit. “I wasn’t—”
But there’s the smallest hint of a smile tugging at her lips, like she knows she’s caught.
“Move to the left a bit,” I say, framing her on the screen.
Her eyes bore into mine through the camera. She doesn’t so much as crack a smile.
“You just gonna scowl at it?”
Her tone is syrupy sweet. “Isn’t that what all your women do?”
That pulls a bark of laughter out of me, and I shake my head. “Fucking smile, will you?”
She lets out a soft huff, a reluctant grin breaking through. “Just take the damn picture, Bigfoot.”
“If you say so.” I click the button a couple of times and manage to get at least a shot or two where she doesn’t look like she wants to rip my head off.
I stride toward her and hand her the phone.
She shivers when our fingers brush and that shit lights me up.
She can play games all she wants, but her smart mouth is one of my favorite things about her and the attitude she gives me?
That’s goddamn foreplay. And if the look of satisfaction on her face tells me anything, she enjoys this back and forth as much as I do.
I swing the pack up from where I dropped it in the dirt and unzip it, pulling out a thin, button-up flannel. The sun is dipping behind the trees, and it’ll drown her, but at least she won’t be cold. I hold it out to her.
“What’s that for?” she asks, eyeing the shirt.
“You cold?”
She runs her hands over the skin on her upper arms. “A bit, yeah, but it’s fine. Let’s just go.”
“Put it on.” I push the flannel toward her.
“I said I was fine,” she protests.
“Jesus. In five minutes, the sun is gonna drop below the tree line, you’ll be shaking like a leaf.”
I didn’t know how to show concern for her without sounding like a complete lunatic—that’s not who we are to each other—so I barked it at her, instead. It was fine as long as she wasn’t a popsicle by the time we got back to the campground.
“Take it.” My tone leaves no room for argument.
Her eyes flash to mine in surprise and heat flares in them. She bites her lip, eyes dropping to my mouth. I hadn’t meant for it to sound sexual, but fuck me, what I wouldn’t give to see just how obedient she would be if she let herself.
She blinks a couple of times before yanking the flannel out of my grasp.
She says nothing as she slips her arms into the flannel.
The sleeves fall past her fingertips, and when she pulls the flannel closed around her middle, the material reaches the opposite sides.
Ginger is tall and curvy, but the flannel is still oversized on her, and I can’t deny how much I like her in my clothes.
There goes my dick again. Fucking hell.
“Thank you,” she says, barely above a whisper, and I nod, turning to let her lead us back to camp out. And when I do, I swear I catch a glimpse of her burying her nose in the collar.