Page 26 of Hopeless
“You crossed to this side of the river?” he asks, catching me in a moment of loose-tongued focus.
Fuck.
I opt to ignore the question, gasping when I step down into the cold water to make it the rest of the way. After treading carefully over sharp rocks, I come to stand beside him, still not making eye contact. I toss my foam sandals down and lift a foot to slide one in, but the rocks shift beneath me, and I find myself tipping.
And then not.
Beau’s warm palm captures my upper arm, and he rights me with a deep chuckle. “You can walk that log, but lose your balance putting on sandals?”
When I peek up at him, he’s grinning. Right now, he seems more like the carefree man I remember before that final deployment. For a few beats, we get lost in each other’s eyes. In the warm light of the golden hour, his take on less of a silver tone, trending more toward the soft gray of the river rocks surrounding him.
He’s beautiful almost always. But he’s blinding when he smiles.
“Yeah, yeah.” My lips twitch and my cheeks heat as I drop my head to slide my feet into the sandals. I try to ignore the fact he still hasn’t let go of my arm. His gentle hold brands my skin, and the minute I get those plastic thongs wedged between my toes, I step away, offering him a bright smile in return.
“Wanna come to my place?” he asks. “We can chat there?”
My heartbeat speeds up. “Your place?”
“Yes.” He points to where I already know his home sits.
“What if someone sees us?”
He snorts a laugh, scrubbing a massive hand over the stubble on his cheeks. “Well, if you’re about to be the future Mrs. Eaton, it would make sense that you’d be at my house, no?”
My tongue darts out over my lips as I shift my focus to the embankment. He seems …happyabout this.
I can’t wrap my head around that. It all feels so fucking weird.
“Okay. Yeah.”
This time, his hand lands at the base of my neck as he guides me away from the river, fingers so long they curve over my shoulder and dust over the pulse point in my throat.
I can’t help but wonder if he can feel my heart rate accelerating, if that was his casual way of checking, or if it was a mistake. I have a sinking suspicion this arrangement is going to leave me overthinking every little touch, every little look.
“Maybe I can make you tea this time.”
My laugh comes out a little shrill, his fingers absorbing the vibration in my neck. “I could use something stronger than tea for this conversation.”
His hand drops as we walk the path up the embankment. I’m so starved for touch; I wish he’d put it back.
“Well, that’s perfect. I’ve got a couple beers in the fridge that have been ignored. They’ve got your name on them.”
He leads me up the hill and I try not to stare at his ass. But his broad shoulders aren’t any less distracting. They flex against the black polyester of whatever workout shirt he’s wearing, and they taper down into a perfectly narrow waist. My thoughts drift to what it would be like to prop my legs over them while he buried his head between my thighs. How would that feel?
I remember the way the moonlight hit his bare torso the other night. It’s impossible to forget. I wonder how heavy his body would feel over my own. How another person’s skin would feel sliding against mine.
I clear my throat and give my head a shake before I ask, “You haven’t been drinking at all? Not even at home?”
“No. I’m addicted to chamomile tea now.”
It seems like an intrusion to ask if he’s sleeping, so I don’t. Plus, seeing as how we met down at the river in the middle of the night, it seems like I can make an educated guess.
“Huh,” I reply stupidly, before adding, “Good for you.”
“Yeah, well, someone I respect told me I couldn’t keep drinking the way I was.”
The skin on my chest vibrates with the heavy thud of my heart.
