Page 21 of When It's Us
“So, where’s your house?” She looks around, then brings her gaze back to mine.
“You’re looking at it.”
Her eyebrow nearly launches off her face, she cocks it so hard. “You live in a garage?”
“No.” I raise my chin in the direction of the van. “I live in that.”
She gives me a withering look. “You can’t be serious.”
Dropping my eyes back to the fire I’m stoking, I shrug. “Why?”
She scoffs; irritation clear in her voice. “It’s a fuckingvan.”
“Perceptive.”
“But…” she trails off, clearly at a loss, “what do you do in the winter?”
Adding another log to the fire, I bite back a smile, keeping my expression blank, and lift a shoulder. “Build an igloo.”
I steal a glance her way and she rolls those gorgeous blues, hands on her wide, grabbable hips. “God, you’re annoying.”
Straightening up, I cross my arms over my chest, keeping my eye on the fire. “I pull the van into the shop.”
She makes a small sound of disbelief in the back of her throat, and I flick my gaze in her direction.
“Why not build a house? Throw a bed in there? All this land? Seems like a waste if you ask me.”
I shrug. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t ask you then, huh?”
I don’t care what people think about the way I live. I never have. In fact, I find it amusing that she seems to care so much while trying topretend she doesn’t.
She huffs, throwing up a hand. “Whatever. I’m gonna go find Wren.”
I chuckle now, remembering how she’d stomped away, giving me a great view of her ass, kind of like the one I have now.
“What’s funny?” she asks over her shoulder, not stopping to turn around.
“Nothing,” I say.
It’s another twenty minutes or so when we break through the tree line into a small clearing. Ginger heads toward the edge of the ridge and stops. I come up alongside her as she lets out a soft gasp.
“Wow,” she breathes out, her head on a swivel, chest heaving slightly from the steep ascent.
“Worth the hike, then?” I ask, shucking off my pack and unzipping it to grab the water bottle I stashed. The water is warm, but it’s fresh.
She drops her gaze to the water bottle I extend to her, giving me a look. “I don’t share drinks.”
“You’ve had my cock in your mouth twice and you’re worried about sharing a water bottle?” I ask, deadpan.
She has the audacity to look offended. Her eyes dip down my body before her creamy skin flushes from forehead to chest and I chuckle. “Don’t worry. It’s still sealed.”
She shifts her feet, glancing at my outstretched hand. “Thanks,” she says, finally taking and uncapping it.
I try not to get distracted by the long column of her neck as she tips her head back to drink. Her throat rolls over swallow after swallow until almost half the water in the bottle is gone.
She recaps it and hands it back. I take a few gulps before recapping it and slipping it back into my bag. When I straighten up, she takes out her phone and pulls up the camera app.
She wanders around, snapping snapshots of the surrounding trees and vegetation, then snaps a few shots of the ocean in the distance. I wander over to the edge and peer down, and when I look back at her, she drops the phone from in front of her face to her side, ducking her head in embarrassment, and tries to cover it with a cough.
