Page 21 of Hero Hair

He reaches down and readjusts his thick dick, without hiding the gesture. I can’t help but watch. Meeting his gaze a second later, he smirks.

“We don’t have to work out first. You could watch me if you want. Or we could make it interesting. Throw a bet in there for good measure. It’s obvious we’re both competitive.”

Macs and I have something in common, and I actually like it.

Sighing, I close my eyes and pull a knee up to my chest and then repeat the stretch with the other leg. Macs notices my grimace and nods in approval. He says I am a woman after his own heart, and beneath the painful ab muscles, my stomach flutters. We agree to do the course he has planned once before we sit down to eat the salads he’s packed for our dinner. Macs bites his lip in between sentences as he explains what obstacle comes next. I’m only vaguely aware I’m supposed to be listening to him so I know what comes next.

I’m dissecting him. With a no-nonsense authoritative air, I can see the person he is when he’s not trying to get laid. “Got it,” I admit. He’s laid out the course. It will take a few minutes to complete. “What are the terms? I’m all for girl power and all that, but I’ll never be able to beat your time. Don’t you have an obstacle course at work?” I try at nonchalance as I grab my sweater from the sand and toss it over a ladder nearby. His gaze is piercing, following my every move like a hawk.

Hands on his narrow, muscular hips, he tilts his head left and right, lost in thought. “If I win, I get to touch you wherever I want.”

I scoff. “That’s not allowed. Wait, above the waist is allowed. So is kissing. Second date making out was confirmed as acceptable.”

Macs smiles and rubs his hands together. “Fuck yes. Perfect. And if you make it through the course, you get to touch me. Above the waist and lips on lips,” he amends, folding his hands together in front of his chest.

Would it bother someone like Charlotte if they shared nothing but a physical connection with a man? What if it’s just lust—chemistry? Looking at Macs and watching him look at me, I’m confident it will never be more than that. How do you dichotomize a relationship enough to understand the percentages? Fifty percent things in common, thirty percent compatibility and finding the other interesting, ten percent attraction, ten percent…lust? What is the goddamned formula? Who makes up the rules? Why does this confuse me? I’m a well-educated woman, with smarts beyond the average person, and I’ve never been able to figure it out.

“This doesn’t seem much of a bet,” I tease, moving around Macs to climb the small ladder that leads up to the play structure. “Both of the outcomes give relatively the same reward,” I explain. Jumping out, I hang on the bar he was just hanging from. My hips are eye level with Macs. He grins. I want his scrutiny as I have nothing to hide.

Out of my peripheral I watch as he reaches a hand out to touch me and then lets it fall into a fist by his side.

“Give me a little more credit. I’m in the business of strategy. Everything in my life is purposeful, Tay-la,” Macs says, growling my name.

With aching, heavy arms, I make my way across the monkey bars with ease. He follows right next to me, walking as quickly as I’m progressing. His presence makes everything below my belly button fire in suspense. The wobbly bridge is next, and this does not look to be built with grown-ups in mind.

He hops up behind me to splay his arms on either side of the metal poles. His chest is so near my back that I feel the heat radiating from his body. It warms me from the chill in the air.

“This bridge isn’t holding two people,” I say, exasperated.

“Then go,” he says, leaning down to whisper into the crook of my neck by my ear.

I very purposefully left my cell phone in my car. I’m completely in control right now, but at this rate I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stave off my desires. He’s shirtless, oozing masculinity and smelling of sweat. Every word spoken is a double entendre. Stealing a deep breath, I push away from his heat and cross the bridge.

After I get to the other side as quickly as possible to avoid breaking anything, might I add, I turn to see him swinging down to the ground. He motions for me to keep going. The monkey bars were the hardest obstacle of his pseudo course. I make light work of zigzag balance stones and climb down a rock wall. My sneakers sink into the sand and I walk precariously to try and keep the fine white grit out of my shoes.

I’m one of those odd people who hate the beach because of the sand. A quick thirty-minute trip to the beach and you’re cleaning sand out of your car for weeks to come. It lodges itself in places sand should never be. I think sand is an awful torture device when placed in a children’s playground.

“Course completed,” I call out, glancing at my watch. I glance left and right and can’t find Macs. I stand in the light of the nearest streetlight. The picnic table he’s set up nearby is empty but for the basket of food. I hear chattering on the other side of the park, so I walk around, doing my best to stay out of the sand. I shiver from the light breeze. Surely no one with kids is visiting the park at this time of night.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I murmur when I see my friends.

They’re circling Macs like he’s prey and they’re the lions in a zoo exhibit.

Tossing my arms up in the air, I approach them. “Why are you here?” I ask, tromping over the grass to stand near them.

Macs smiles, flashing a devious grin at me, then turns it back to them.

Charlotte turns. Jasmine and Carina continue staring at Macs, like he’s some sort of anomaly they can’t quite define.

I snap my fingers. “Hello? Is someone going to answer?”

Macs breaks through their circle of lust to stand in front of me. “You left your phone in the car,” he explains. “They wanted to check in. Make sure you were okay.”

What a bowl full of bullshit.

Irritated, I grit my teeth and take a few deep breaths through my nose. Macs must see my inner turmoil. He puts an arm around my waist and pulls me to him in one fluid gesture. As simple as it seems, my friends are all but forgotten the second I snake my hand around him and run my fingers along his bare skin.

Jasmine replies, “We shouldn’t have come. But they didn’t think you were actually going on a date.”

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