Page 77 of The Cost of Forgetting You

I struggle to remember how to walk, but I do manage. I put one wobbly foot in front of the other, closing the distance between us. “Helpful in some ways.”

“And in others?” One eyebrow pulls up, wrinkling his sun-kissed forehead. He reaches into the cooler beside him and retrieves a beer, which he opens, then offers to me.

“Thanks.” I take a long pull of the ice-cold liquid, letting it soothe the heat rising in me. Or hoping it does. “Turns out, no matter how long you think about problems, they still exist when you’re done.”

He offers a sympathetic frown as he rises to his feet, dusting his hands on his thighs once he’s up. “Yeah, ain’t that a bitch.” He grabs a beer for himself. The cap flies off, lost forever in the tall grass beyond the willow’s reach. “Do you want to talk about it? Or does that fall under the same sad truth, that it still exists even after we’ve dissected it to the bone?”

I weigh my options. Even if that is the sad truth of it all, I realize I don’t want to be alone in my thoughts anymore. “Mom called.”

He nods. “You mentioned that.”

“She broke her ankle, and it apparently needs surgery.”

The bottle stills at his lips. Drops slightly. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is she going to be okay?”

“I guess so, but she wants me to fly home to help with her recovery.”

“When’s the surgery?”

I scrub a hand over my elbow and shift my weight. “Not sure. I don’t think it was scheduled yet. But she mentioned something about Monday.”

His gray eyes settle on me, tracing the lines of my face. I hear his voice in my head calling me remarkable, and heat flares in my cheeks. I can reason away the kiss we shared beneath this tree all those years ago. He wanted to practice before his date with Molly Evans. I wanted to know if his lips were as soft as I’d always dreamed. Friends help friends. But do friends call their friends remarkable? Do they look at them like they are?

“Do you want to go?”

Heat flares in my cheeks. I’d drifted somewhere far off course, and it’s a rude awakening to return. Part of me doesn’t want to. I take another pull of the beer while holding his gaze, then lick the remnants from my lips. Energy hums beneath the surface of my skin when I catch him looking. When he licks his, too.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But I don’t want to think about it anymore. Got enough of that on the walk over.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “You know what can help with that?”

I chug the remaining beer, refusing to answer his question. Mostly because I know what I’m hoping he’ll say, and I don’t want that hope to color the sound of my voice.

“That’s right, skinny-dipping.”

I set the bottle by my foot and then grab another. I remove the cap while looking Tru in the eye. “I’ll skinny-dip on one condition.”

A smile takes over his face, revealing sharp canine teeth in a flash of white against his bronzed skin. “I knew I’d win you over eventually.”

“Aren’t you going to ask what my condition is?”

His hand is already at his fly. “What’s your condition?”

“Underwear stays on.” I toss back the beer, my throat working to get it down. When it, too, is empty, I discard it at my feet and kick off my shoes.

His gaze darkens along with the setting sun. “What if I’m not wearing any?”

“Truett!” I throw a sock at him, which he dodges easily.

“What?” His hands fly up, the picture of innocence. “You texted while I was out in the field, and I came right here. Not a lot of time to go back for boxers.”

“Why weren’t you wearing any in the first place?”

He shrugs, returns his hands to his fly, and pops the button free. “It’s laundry day.”

“All right, new condition.” I twirl my finger, gesturing for him to turn around. “No peeking.”

He does as instructed. I swallow hard. His jeans are tight against the sinful curve of his ass, the long planes of his muscular thighs. The boots come off, followed by his socks. He loops his fingers in his waistband and tugs it down just enough that I can see his tan line when he stops, glancing over his shoulder. “That rule goes both ways, missy.”

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