Page 25 of Some Like 'Em Burly
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“One more lap, Clem.”
“Can’t,” I wheeze, flailing to keep up with Meg’s giraffe limbs. “I’m done. Too hot. Too thirsty. Done.”
My best friend grumbles, but she steers us back along the street that leads to her dad’s house. She acts so prickly, but she’s a softie really under that spiked up hair.
Not many people know that. I count myself lucky.
Our sneakers pound against the sidewalk, echoing in the lazy, mid-morning street. Meg’s barely broken a sweat, her long legs bounding easily over the ground, but I’m red-faced and gasping for air. It’s so humid this morning, the air heavy and damp, and I can’t freaking breathe.
Running is a terrible invention.
I only do it because Meg likes the company—and okay, because it’s good for me. Details.
Mostly, I use our morning runs to burn off the frustrations from the night before. Sleeping a few doors down from Duke’s bedroom every night and knowing he’s close by, maybe taking a shower, maybe stretched out in his bed, bare chest rising and falling with each slow breath… it’s a lot.
I love these summer breaks with Duke and Meg, but by the end of them, I’m wound pretty tight.
“Woah.” Meg laughs at my sudden burst of speed, loping to keep up easily. “Is that a yes to another lap?”
Yeah. I guess it is. Because after the toffee apples with Duke last night, and the way he brushed his thumb against my chin…
I’ve got a lot of frustrations to burn off this morning.
Twenty minutes later, I stagger through the side gate to the backyard, my legs like jelly. Trying to walk is like wading through thick soup, and I must look like a zombie as I shuffle down the garden path. Escaped strands of my hair stick to my forehead, and my arms and chest are flushed so red, my freckles are invisible. Don’t want to eventhinkabout what my face looks like.
Meg’s still going out there. Better her than me.
The pool glitters over by the wall, the water turquoise and welcoming. It would feel so good to sink beneath that water, dunking my head and feeling the coolness seep through my hair, but it’s so impossibly far. I weave over to the side of the house instead, strip down to my sports bra and shorts, and crank on the garden hose.
“Shit.” Duke’s voice makes me jump. He hardly ever curses—yet another difference between him and his tearaway daughter. When I glance over my shoulder, blinking the sweat from my eyes, he stands wide-eyed by the back door, a coffee in his hand.
Why is he staring like that?
I peer down at my flushed, bare skin, and my heat-addled brain remembers. Oh, yeah. Stripping in public is frowned upon.
“Sorry,” I mumble, testing the spray from the hose against my hand. It’s warm at first, but gets colder with each overtaxed heartbeat. “I’ll go inside in a second, I swear, but if I don’t cool down soon—”
“I’ll fetch you some water.”
Just like that, Duke’s gone again and I’m all alone. Left to wonder, surrounded by the hum of insects and the shade of waxy green leaves, whether he was really here at all, or if I’m seeing things. Hallucinating from heat stroke.
Heavy boots crunch against the tiny stones gritting the path. Not a daydream, then.
“Here.” A cold glass of water pushes into my hand, the sides beaded with condensation. “Trade me.”
My grip is loose on the hose, and I give it up easily. With one shoulder slumped against the wall, I sip my cold water as Duke works the hose over me, misting my body with his big thumb blocking most of the spray.
Lord, I’m so much trouble. This man has been like my guardian angel over the last three years, and I’m nothing but a pest to him.
The thought has me slumping even worse, my eyes drifting closed, suddenly too miserable to speak.
“Clem?” A big hand takes my shoulder—squeezes me gently. “Clem, honey? Are you okay?”
Yeah. I’m a love struck idiot and shamefully unfit, but… yeah. I’m okay. And I squint one eye open to tell him so, but the sight that greets me chokes the words off in my throat.
Because Duke’sclose.Towering over me, so big and broad and manly. The morning sunshine brings out the bronze flecks in his brown beard, and he’s dressed in dark pants and a duck egg shirt, the sleeves rolled. The top button of his collar is undone, and the shirt is tucked into his waistband, his belly straining against the fabric.
