She reacted each time.
A tiny inhale.
A stiffening.
But she’d force herself to relax.
It did things to me. Unwanted things.
And I had to remind myself I was not here to experience those types of things.
Six miles wasn’t long, but she spent five of them trying not to look over at me and the sixth mumbling to herself about professionalism.
We reached the trailhead with our dignity partially intact.
Partially.
She parked the ATV and shut off the engine. The silence of the forest wrapped around us, crisp and pure.
She hopped off too fast and nearly slipped.
I grabbed her arm.
She steadied herself, cheeks flushing even in the freezing air. “I meant to do that.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Because I’m coordinated.”
“Yes.”
“And competent.”
“Yes.”
“And attractive.”
The word slipped out of her before she could stop it.
She slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh no. No. Not what I meant. That wasn’t… I mean, I know I said it, but I didn’t mean it about me, I meant it…actually, no, I didn’t mean anything at all.”
I stared at her, and she stared back, mortified.
And God help me, something warm pressed under my ribs.
The kind of warmth I couldn’t afford here.
Not now.
So, I turned away and put physical distance between us.
I grabbed my pack from the cargo rack. “We should begin.”
Her voice was small. “Right. Work mode.”
I nodded. “Work mode.”
