Page 88 of Wild As Her

I glance up and find Cami standing there, holding two sweating mason jars of sweet tea. She hands one to me.

"Thanks," I say, cracking it open. "How did you know I was out here?"

She shrugs, dropping down beside me like she belongs there. "You practically ditched your date mid-sentence."

I huff a laugh. "I thought her name was Ruby. Might’ve been Savannah. I panicked."

"You called her Shania at one point."

"Damn it."

Cami snorts and takes a sip. "To be fair, she called you Jake. That's a new one. I'll call you Jake from now on. At least she was funny about it and teased you back."

I scoff. "Do not call me Jake."

We sit there for a second, quiet except for the low hum of the ranch in the distance, drinking our tea.

"You looked good today," she says after a beat.

I raise a brow. "Covered in dirt and sweat? You don't think I needed a shower?" I ask smugly since she gave me shit the other day.

"No, I mean it. You looked... happy. Like you’re finally where you’re supposed to be."

I glance at her. "You looked pretty happy, yourself."

She grins. "I am."

God, I want to kiss her again.

"Hey, Cami?"

She turns to me.

I reach out and trace my thumb along her cheek. There’s a smudge of dirt I pretend to wipe away, but really, I just want an excuse to touch her.

"I like kissing you."

Her eyes flick to mine, then my mouth, and back."You’re not terrible at it, I guess," she says, a little breathless.

"Not terrible?" I snort. "You seemed into it, Wilder."

She shrugs. "I’ve had worse."

"Should I try again?" I whisper roughly.

She leans in, close enough for me to smell the mix of sun and cinnamon on her. "You trying to win gold in the flirting, Jessop?"

Ismile at her, slow and sure. "Just aiming for my personal best."

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling too.

And under the old cottonwood tree with our initials carved in its bark and the sun dipping low behind her, I feel it again.

That thing she knocked loose in me with one kiss. The feeling of hope formore of this with us.And I decide that hope isn’t enough. Not anymore. I lean even closer and trace the curves of her face, finally touching her the way I’ve always wanted to. Hope is not a strategy. I wanther.

Hesitating for half a second about whether I should kiss her again or not, she answers the question for me by covering her mouth with her hand and yawning dramatically.

“I could fall asleep out here,” she says, as she stretches out beside me, her legs somehow finding their way over mine like we’re playing a full-contact version of Twister.

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