Page 29 of Your Two Lips
I focused back on the bike. “I think it would be weird to have someone else’s trophies in my workshop.”
“Har har.” She smirked. “How long did you race?”
“Five years or so. High school mostly, then some in college.”
“Why did you stop?”
“Too many concussions, even with the full-face helmets we wore. I loved the challenge, and the races were fun with my friends cheering me on, but after my second concussion, I quit. It was too risky. It wasn’t like it was a career I wanted.”
“What career did you want?” She stepped closer, and I noticed the details of her face, like the narrow line of her nose and the soft bow of her lip. That bow looked like a target to my lust-filled brain. I had to get it together.
“I wanted the one I have, mostly. I’ve always known I would take over the farm. Growing up, I worked in the fields and asked questions about the plants, the greenhouse, the warehouse, and processing, all of it. I enjoy making the science and the business and the luck all work together. There’s always something new to learn. Then sometimes, it seems like nothing changes.” I finished her brakes and put my tools back in their bins. “Some change is coming, though.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m building a yurt-style resort for mountain bikers. There are a lot of people who would come here to explore new trails if they had a place to stay. I think it’s a need.”
“That’s great, Finn.” Her voice was confident and sure.
“We start grading in a few weeks.” I walked out around the corner of the garage. “Over in that copse of trees. The fields slope up the side of that hill. We can’t farm there. The dirt’s too shallow above the rock. But it’s flat enough for a few yurts and some communal space, like a firepit and grills. We’ll grade it and landscape it. They make some nice yurts these days with running water and comfortable interiors.”
“I love it. Put me down for the opening weekend.”
I didn’t need her approval, but damn it felt good.
19
EMILY
I was getting stronger,and Finn was teaching me how to tackle more obstacles on the trail instead of riding around them. Talking and laughing together during the rest breaks, however, was bittersweet.
Waking most days with an ache in my core was new for me, and I was spending more time with my favorite vibe lately, too. Thankfully, it was rechargeable, or I would need a Costco-sized pack of batteries.
The sight of Finn after a long bike ride, muscles bulging and rolling against his clothes, lit a fire in my blood. The urge to rub up against him sometimes was downright disturbing in its intensity. I had managed to not try to kiss him again, but with each day, the pull intensified, and I was reaching a breaking point.
Last night over another pint of my favorite Island Dairy ice cream, I decided that after the race, I was going to lay it out for Finn, literally and figuratively. Throw my inexperienced self on his mercy and make him a proposition. No-strings sexy times.
Lately, I thought he could be open to it. He hadn’t wanted to kiss me, but he didn’t want me to date Evan, and he was angry about the guy harassing me at work. He flirted, and I caught him looking at my mouth and my backside since my sad attempt to make a move. Thathadto mean something.
After the race was the right time to take the risk. Our training would be finished, and if he rejected me, I would never have to see him again. If he agreed—I really hoped he’d agree—we would keep it fun. Sex had rarely been that for me. And when the fling ended, I would be one step closer to sex goddess.
Until I experienced sex with Finn, I would never stop imagining how it would feel to touch him, make him hungry, and feel him unleash that hunger. After having him over me and inside me, I’d stop driving myself crazy picturing it. Things were good. I had a plan.
ReeAnnand I grabbed our fish sandwiches from the food truck and found a table off to the side of the gravel lot. The morning marine layer of clouds, typically low and gray near the water, had already burned off in the bright summer sun, and the seagulls called from above, hunting for scraps. The only cloud in the sky was a small puff of white hanging off Mount Baker’s glacier ten thousand feet up.
“How was the sailboat race last week?” I asked. The Perry Harbor Yacht Club sponsored regular sailboat races from June through September. Like a fun run, these races were a community event, open to all levels of sailors and all sizes of boats.
“It was good. We won our class. Jake skippered theNell & Natagain, your neighbors’ boat.”
“You know Miss Nell and Miss Natalie?” The two older ladies lived next door. We chatted during chance meetings at the mailbox or exchanged bright greetings across our backyards, sometimes with a glass of wine, while we took in the view. They had mentioned a sailboat that belonged to their late husbands. The couples vacationed together here for years, and when the ladies were both widowed, they moved here permanently. They made great brownies and spoke in warm southern accents.
“Everyone knows Miss Nell and Miss Natalie,” ReeAnn said. “Jake’s racing their boat again in a couple of weeks. He loves to race the big catamarans. Says it reminds him of his America’s Cup days. You want to try it? I believe Finn will be on the crew for that one.” She tried to hide her smile behind the flaky fish po’boy.
“I don’t sail.”
“That’s okay. We’ll make sure you know what to do when. It’s fun. Plus, there’re the tats. Jake wears a sleeveless shirt under his inflatable life vest. You can see the entire arm and most of his shoulder. I can’t deny it’s a good look on him.”
ReeAnn simmered at a low boil for Jake and didn’t want to. It was a state of mind I was becoming familiar with myself.
