He kisses me as if we were the only two people around.
As if the entire town wasn’t watching from metal bleachers.
It’s messy and wet and tastes like lake water, and I want to be furious, but I can’t! I can’t seem to care! His hands slide up my back, pulling me against him as the water ripples around us, waves lapping against our bodies.
They love it.
I love it.
And honestly? I think I lovehim.
I must.
Nothing else can explain the way he makes me feel.
Chapter 25
Lucy
What I want to do is spend the evening at home, where it’s quiet. Where the lighting is dim. Where I can sit in my pajamas in front of the TV and have Harris massage my feet ...
But that’s not what happens.
Because Harris is famous—and so are his friends—and once he became the belle of the festival? Well. The only logical place to spend the evening is up at the big, fancy lodge, being roasted and toasted by his friends, the locals—and the tourists.
The moment he ripped his shirt open like a freaking romance cover model, Iknewthe night would spiral into chaos.
So now here we are, crammed inside the Lakeside Resort, packed with way too many people, all of whom have only one goal: to ensure Harris or his teammates stay as long as possible.
The man of the hour groans, rubbing his temples as yet another round of applause—and another round of shots—breaks out. “I swear, these people are acting like I personally chopped down the entire forest with my bare hands.”
I nudge his side gently. “I mean, youdidtear your shirt open like some kind of woodsy superhero. I think that earned you the title of Lumberjack Linebacker for life.”
He gives me a deadpan look. “That was not intentional.”
I snort loudly. “Tell that to the thirsty divorcées at table six.”
A trio of women, each armed with a fresh martini, are brazenly eyeing him like he’s the dessert menu.
“Please.” He reaches for my hand. “Save me.”
I arch a brow, feigning innocence. “It would berudeto leave now.”
His fingers tighten around mine, lips ghosting near my ear as he leans in. “I will doanythingif you get me out of here.”
The way he says it—low and promising—sends a shiver through me. “Tempting,” I murmur, letting the words drag out just to watch his expression shift. “So tempting ...”
Before he can retaliate, a commotion near the bar catches our attention. A giant bear of a man is hoisting himself onto the bar top while the bartender struggles to remove him, raising a beer stein high above his head and shouting, “To the Lumbersexuals!”
The entire bar erupts, laughter echoing off the wood-paneled walls.
“I swear to God, if one more person uses the word ‘lumbersexual’ in my presence ...”
I bite back a grin, smiling above the rim of my glass. “What’s wrong,babe? Not a fan of your new title?”
He levels me with a flat look. “I play football. I am not a lumberjack.”
I glance down at his flannel-covered chest, then up at the thick scruff lining his jaw. “Mmm. Debatable.”
