Page 16 of Aim for Love

Hunter is staring at me, unblinking. “You were thinking about kissing me? Right now? Why?”

This is such a bizarre question—it’s so obvious!—it distracts me from my embarrassment. “Because you’re…you. You’re so kind and thoughtful. And you’re sitting there with those huge calves and you look hot despite your pillow pants.”

He tilts his head. “Despite them? I thought girls liked bike kits.”

“I don’t know what girls you are talking about, but you look very silly.” And then I lean toward him. Not much, because I don’t want to put my weight on my hand and he’s too far away from me to reach without leverage. Still, I lean enough that he knows I wasn’t joking about wanting to kiss him.

Because I’m trying new things and reaching for my dreams. I might fail a lot, but I keep going.You have to have something tobe proud of yourself for when you’re as bad at as many things as I am.

The only problem is, he’s not leaning back.

seven

HUNTER

The wordsI heard Mollie’s friend say are repeating over and over in my head:You need some sexual adventure.

I don’t usually get involved with women only in town for an “adventure.” I’m not a vending machine, and whatever I dispense would be a disappointment to the women looking for something more exciting and different compared to their “real” lives. I’m just me, and this town is pretty boring if you live here.

Scott can make a fling seem like an adventure. He’s good at that.

But Mollie isn’t trying to kiss Scott. She’s leaning intome.

There are no books to guide me in this situation. None I’ve read, anyway.How to kiss strangers without getting emotionally attachedwould be helpful information right now.

Teasing her, or even being honest, could deflect the situation.I don’t know how to do this,I could say.Mollie would be embarrassed and also understanding. And that would be that. I’d go on to teach her how to safely ride a mountain bike and she’d go home and forget about me.

Only there’s something about the way Mollie has been so determined to keep trying. The way she acknowledges she’s bad at these activities, like she straight-up acknowledged she was thinking about kissing me. I’ve never met someone so willing to fail over and over again.

I don’t want her to fail now.

When we touch lips, I no longer feel the heat of the sun on my back or the dirt under my hands. Mollie makes a small sound that I also heard her make when she threw an axe the other day, a tiny grunt of release. This time, she hits the target. Our kiss is effortless, my head turning to the right while she turns to the left. Our tongues touching lightly. I’m getting hard and these bike shorts hide nothing.

It’s been a while since I touched a woman intimately. Usually, I know her for a while first and I’d be more in my head when I finally kiss her. It would be more of an intellectual connection.

Holy shit,something differentis good.

Reaching out, I let myself touch her arm, trailing my fingers down it. Her skin is soft. I wouldn’t mind being wrapped up in it.

That second is all I get to imagine laying Mollie down on this rocky ground and getting lost in her when two cyclists not with our group blow past us, over the feature, and up the hill. We pull apart, watching them disappear.

“They make it look so easy,” says Mollie, her face wistful.

I watch her face, the furrow between her eyebrows over her sunglasses, and I wish her eyes were visible. What did that kiss mean to her? Did she get the same zing of surprise that I did? The startling need to sink intousfor a while?

Her gaze is following the other cyclists, not lingering on my lips. I swallow and force myself to move on. I debate telling her that on the full-suspension bike she’s borrowing, she could have rolled up and over that feature easily without listening to any ofthe for-practice guidance Scott and I offered. If only she didn’t hit the brakes.

Nah.If it’s not easy for her, that’s all that matters. Not whether itshouldbe. “We’ll get you there,” I say simply, and study her face for signs she doesn’t want to try again. I’m not a good enough teacher to beat resistance. But she looks at the little hill we’re sitting next to as if it’s one of Colorado’s 14,000-foot mountains. Like it’s meant to be climbed.

I’d sort of like her to look at me like that.

“Can you really teach me how to do that?” she asks, still not looking at me. “I’m…pretty bad at this.”

“I canabsolutelyteach you how to do that,” I reply. “You can be good at this. It takes some time. And practice.”

She nods, like that settles it. Then she looks at me. “I know you only kissed me to encourage me,” she says, matter-of-factly. “I appreciate it.”

She carefully stands up, without bracing her hands on the ground, and brushes herself off. I stare up at her, letting my crotch know we’re done here. It’s slow to get the message.

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