Page 87 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

And then Alex was leading me away, our soaked bodies clinging together as we headed back down the path the way we’d come. He was sturdy at my side, supporting me even though I didn’t need it. We left a trail of water droplets in the dirt—like fucked up Hansel and Gretel.

Alex didn’t stop right away to ask me if I was okay, somehow understanding that treating me like I was fragile in front of everyone else would only make me feel worse. I was already a one-man train wreck. The last thing I needed was to bring more attention to myself.

Instead, he simply helped me along the trail. When we were out of earshot and no longer visible, hidden behind a swath of green-leafed giants, he slowed the pace. Alex shifted gears swiftly. His muscles flexed as he quite literally hauled me back to the boulder we’d occupied when we’d taken a break earlier.

The sun had made its surface even hotter, the dry scratch of stone under my ass centering me in the present. Dripping and miserable, I allowed Alex to manhandle me where he wanted me. Which was sitting legs squeezed tightly together, my weight off the ground.

I glared at him because if I stopped glaring I was pretty sure I’d cry.

I didn’t want to hate myself even more, so that wasn’t an option.

Now that the shock of what had happened was wearing off, it was hard not to admire the specimen of a man in front of me. The truth was, Alex was gorgeous always—but wet Alex? In a see-through shirt? Jesus Christ. This was another thing entirely. Better than porn, really.

God, I was such a perv.

Alex was as drenched as I was, but he wore it like an underwear model and not a bedraggled rat. His joggers stuck to his shapely thighs, highlighting his quads. The same quads I’d repeatedly drooled over.

Unbidden, my eyes drifted upward—only to be assaulted with a view of his lovely flushed nipples. They were hard, pushing against the fabric of his shirt where it clung to the thick swell of his pectorals. I wanted to nip them. But not as much as I wanted to lick the water that dripped in rivulets down his ropey forearms. He looked cold, hair clinging to the tan, gooseflesh-dotted skin. His watch glinted, just as soaked as the rest of him, and immediately guilt cinched tight around my throat.

His watch had been submerged.

Because of me.

But he didn’t complain.

Instead, Alex’s chest heaved as he sighed. It was a long, gusty sigh, like he was as relieved to be away from the group as I was. Then with no warning at all he shoved my thighs apart with his knees, crowding into my personal bubble without a care in the world. Like it was his favorite place to be. I couldn’t help but be reminded of one of our first conversations?—

“I like your personal space,”Alex had said on the plane ride to Ohio, and that statement had never proved more true than it did now. My stomach fluttered nervously. I unconsciously wanted to snap my legs back together to preserve my dignity—but that was silly. And besides, having Alex between them like this was…Christ.

“Your watch—” I panicked.

“Broken,” Alex shrugged. My eyes widened in horror, I clenched my hands tight, then gasped in pain when the pressure exacerbated the burns on my fingers. “No,no. Not by you. Or this. It’s been broken for years.”

Why the hell did he wear a broken watch?

Quickly trying to cover up the sound I’d just made, I tipped my head back to meet Alex’s gaze. Confused, turned on, and mortified all at once, I recognized that not all of those things were Alex’s fault. Though…it would almost be too easy to slip into old habits and blame him anyway.

He’d like it.

I’d push, he’d push back.

We’d banter and fight.

I’d storm off down the mountain, running from him and what he made me feel.

But…

Alex didn’t look like he wanted to tease, or play, or fight right then.

Not with his lips drawn into a thin white line. There was a lovely wrinkle above his brows that I’d never noticed before. Worry lines. Alex’s tongue wasbright pink as it flickered out to wet his lips.

All I could think about was what that tongue would feel like against mine.

I had no doubt that Alex was a good kisser. He had a silver tongue, had made it clear he enjoyed eating people out, and was cocky enough there was no way he didn’t have the skill to back it up.

Would his lips be soft?

Yielding?

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