Page 37 of How You See Me
“Josie, I am not—”
“Calm your own horses, big guy. I’mjoking.”
Thank God.
“I hope you know I’m not that kind of girl. Anyway, I’ve sworn off men and anything that involves them. Except road trips, of course.”
Relief rushes through me so fast it leaves me dizzy. She’s not hoping to run off with anyone, and she isn’t getting any impossible ideas about me.
This trip will be a hell of a lot easier if I don’t have to worry about either of us getting attached. The most we can become is friends. Nothing more.
Chapter 8
Josie
It’s nearly midnight when we finally roll into our spot at the RV park in Pigeon Forge. After six hours in the van, and I’m a bottle rocket with a lit fuse.
I can sit for twice that long when I’m painting, but riding shotgun in the dark with the embodiment of temptation is something entirely different. No dream to escape to with my brushes. No distracting music. Just an empty road, my runaway imagination, and all my energy compounding with every mile we traveled in silence.
Hayes surprised me, surpassing my expectations on the kind of road trip partner he’d be. He didn’t love all my wild conversation starters. Some landed and took root. Others flopped, and he participated as if I forced him by pulling the little hairs on his arms. But he didn’t shut me out, and somewhere along the 430 mile markers we passed, we learned more about each other.
Now that we’ve parked, he looks worn out. Probably from me making him talk more than he’s used to. I feel only a little bad about that. He keeps too much hidden, and I think that wears heavier than my pointless chatter ever could.
“The bed is all yours.” He opens the driver’s side door and slides out. "I’m going to find the showers, then crash.”
“What happened to never letting me out of your sight?” It’s late, eerily quiet, and we’re parked at the edge of a dense patch of woods. My imagination is already staging a nightmare.
“I assumed you wouldn’t want to hang out in the public restrooms. Do you?”
“Not particularly, but we haven’t stopped since we left, and I need to . . . you know.”
“Right.” He sighs, too exhausted to debate it. “Let’s go.”
I throw on a sweatshirt and pants over my summer clothes, and we head out into the cool night with only a few dusty wooden signs and a flashlight to guide us. I never thought to bring something like that. Of course, Hayes did.
He stops at the doorway to the women’s restroom and waits while I duck inside. When I emerge, he leads the way to the men’s side. There’s no way I’m letting him vanish and leave me in an abductor’s paradise. No lights. No security cameras. Plenty of trees and crevices to hide behind. A shiver runs down my spine.
“I’ll be quick,” he says, catching my tremble.
I set my toothbrush and paste on the narrow sink ledge, my heart thudding louder than the insect concert outside. “I’ll wait here.”
Through the mirror, I watch him choose a stall that keeps me in view. He has younger sisters—Jordan mentioned that—and it shows in the careful ways he eases my anxieties. The way he checks on me over the low plywood door whenever his routine turns him from the spray. Not obvious. Just there.
I can’t believe I’m making eye contact with my brother’s best friend while he takes a shower. The fear prickling my skin is real, but so is the heat flowing underneath. He’s nude behind that thin, warped door, and suddenly, I don’t feel like someone’s scared sister he’s sworn to protect.
I feel desirable and fully awakened.
The water shuts off and a minute later he emerges, wearing only gym shorts. His chest glistens, droplets catching on sculpted muscle like light in glass. I can’t stop staring. I don’t even try.
I didn’t know men could look like that. Everyone I’ve ever been with didn’t have a fraction of Hayes’ bulk. They were toned but weak, male but not masculine. I think I prefer this rugged, warrior type infinitely better.
With him strolling toward me likeI'mhis destination, I have to grip the sink behind me to stay upright. His spicy, clean scent consumes my space and turns my knees to jelly. I inhale instinctively, wanting more, but that's all I can manage with him this close and oh sotempting. All that magnificent bare skin on display threatens to cancel my resolve to keep things friendly between us.
My pulse kicks up to full Olympic sprinter pace. It’s hard work resisting pure carnal instinct when it can be satisfied by moving half a ruler’s length.
His hand hovers over the faucet dial, eyes finding me through the mirror. “What’s wrong? Did you see something?” He makes a move toward the entrance, toothbrush in hand and ready for a fight.
When I don’t answer, too mesmerized by him and his protective response, he crosses that imaginary ruler line, right up to me.
