Cal's eyes flashed as my stride broke and he reached out to help me but it was no use. Now both of us were snowballing into a tangle of stray limbs. It was a cartoon collision, complete with dust flying and a rough ass-first landing in a puddle.
"Unnff."
And Cal was on top of me once again. Oh, my man-brick.
Stellllllllllla not yours stop it now.
"We have to stop meeting this way," I said, cupping his cheek. Even when I thought my feelings for him were packed up and waiting on the curb, I still wanted to feel him. I still wanted him. "Sorry. This one was my fault. You should've let me hit the ground."
"Never, Stella. Never," Cal said, tugging my one remaining earbud loose as he shifted to his knees. "But tell me something, sweet thing, how loud do you have this? I've been running flat out to catch up to you and I kept calling your name and I thought—I thought you were—wait. Are you all right? Are youcrying?"
My bum was wet. Puddle water was soaking my workout leggings straight through to my undies and the bottom of my t-shirt was growing damp as his body pressed mine to the ground. I hated being wet like this. It was uncomfortable and unpleasant. Like spilling a drink on your lap and feeling that weird dampness every time you moved. And it never dried. It didn't matter if it was Phoenix in July, it never dried. It was a perpetual state of damp, a reminder of things gone wrong.
"I-I—it helps me clear my," I stammered as hot tears sprang to my eyes, "my head."
I wasn't a crier. I had plenty of misty-eyed moments but actual tears dripping down my face wasn't the norm. And I wasn't going to cry now. Not on the middle of the trail, not in front of a man I barely knew. He was an Oregon State alum and an Army veteran and a doctor, and aside from knowing he preferred to dip his fries in ketchup rather than drizzling it over the top and he ate pussy like a champ, I didn't know him. There was no earthly reason to cry in front of him, over him, or about him, and nothing that'd happened this morning altered this truth. Not even landing ass-first in a dirty trail puddle.
"Oh, shit. Stella, no, no," he said, dragging his fingers through my hair and over my shoulders, squeezing as if he was searching for bones poking through my skin. Just like yesterday. "What did I do this time? Where does it hurt, sweetheart?"
"I'm serious. We have to stop meeting this way." I pushed against his chest, a not-so-subtle order for him to let me up.
"Stay where you are," he barked. He gripped my wrists and pushed them down before his fingers began moving over my sides. "Does anything feel broken? Did you hear anything snap when you fell?
"There's puddle water in my underwear and someone gnawed on my ass last night so I'm a little sensitive this morning," I said flatly. "I'm getting up and you're not stopping me this time."
Cal stood and reached for me, his lips folded together and his brows furrowed. His scruff was thicker than it was yesterday. There were lines around his eyes too. He looked rumpled, tired.
When I regained my feet, a small downpour fell from my backside. Awful, just plain awful. Yet Cal didn't miss a beat. Nope, he scraped his hand over my ass, swatting away the water as if this was an everyday occurrence for him. As if this wasn't weird and awful.
Not. Crying.
"Please don't," I said, slapping his hand away. "Just stop. I'll be fine. Soggy, but fine."
He shook his head and rested his hand on my hip, his fingers curling around the waistband. "Let me see."
"Cal, I'm not going to say this twice. You are not examining my ass on the middle of the trail," I said, prying his fingers off my leggings.
I forced a smile at the pair of nylon tracksuited ladies power walking past us. They appeared as mortified as I felt and thewhish-whishof their nineties-era outfits only snapped this moment into sharp focus. Here I was, watery-eyed and -assed, and I had a whole mess of unpacked feelings about Cal Hartshorn. I'd halfway convinced myself he and everything that happened yesterday was like a rookie throwing a no-hitter: it just didn't happen.
Cal propped his fists on his hips while he stared at me for a long moment. He nodded, saying, "Okay, then," and scooped me up. He held me like a fireman intent on clearing a burning building.
He jogged past the nylon tracksuits with my size fourteen ass over his shoulder. I waved. They were still mortified but they both gave Cal the elevator eyes. Good for them. What was that old adage? The day you stopped looking was the day you died?
Look all you want, ladies. Live this life up!
"I can walk," I called to him, although I was slightly concerned that the thick, corded muscle of his back would absorb my words. "Put me down, dude. You're going to dislocate something."
He slowed when we reached the sidewalk. "If you don't mind, I'd like to hold you."
"Maybe I do mind," I said. "Maybe having some dude peel me off the trail and lug me to safety two days in a row is messing with my girl power, and if you don't know this by now, I'm rather fond of my girl power."
Cal's fingertips skated over the back of my calf. "I'm not some dude, Stella."
"I determine dude distinctions, thank you," I replied. "I don't even have your number. That'ssome dudeterritory, Cal."
Yes. Sure. He was the onlysome dudewho'd ever given me an orgasm in thirty seconds—no lie—but those were not my problems today.
He fished his keys from his pocket and I heard his car alarm chirp as the door locks disengaged. He set me on the tailgate, where I was rapidly reminded of my wet-not-in-the-nice-way undies, and he rummaged through his roadside disaster bag.
