Andrew snorted and pulled his socks off.
“But I’ll go,” I said.
“And leave me here alone?” William whined. “With all the hungry animals?”
“Use the rifle,” Andrew said. “It’s already loaded.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Take safety off. Point. Pull trigger.”
Andrew unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders. His arm and back muscles flexed and rippled as he neatly folded his shirt and placed it atop his backpack. And oh, my heart. We might not have found lost treasure, but I may have found the sole reason for global warming. Dr. Andrew Jones washot. His torso resembled a chiseled marble masterpiece.
“So,” William said to Andrew’s back, mouthingOh My Godto me and fanning himself with his hand, “do you go to the gym regularly or does dusting off mummies keep you in such great shape? I’m a member of the gym in my office building.”
I scoffed. Because that was all he was. A member, not a frequent visitor.
Andrew’s hands went for his belt, and my jaw unhinged. Sweet mother of Jesus, he was going to take those off, too? He unbuckled his belt, unfastened his pants, unzipped his fly, and—I ceased to breathe by this point—stepped out of his pants. Holy mother of all round and hard places. I could bounce a quarter of that butt. It was like a giant, firm Georgia sweet peach. My favorite fruit. My mouth watered.
de·i·ty |'de?de|
NOUN: The handsome, tender-hearted, intelligent, virile, living, and breathing god, Andrew Oliver Jones, with the body of an ancient Greek statue, only with all body parts attached.
ORIGIN: Probably in his early twenties or right after he hit puberty.
“I run. I row,” Andrew finally said. Wearing only the Fedora and boxer briefs, Andrew rested his hands on his hips again and looked straight ahead, his eyes assessing the lake in front of him.
“Oh yeah, me too.” William loosened the bandana around his neck.
While Andrew stared at the water, I couldn’t stop gawking at him.
William offered the bandana to me. “Here you go.”
“What’s that for?” I asked, taking it.
“To wipe your drool.”
“Oh, fuck off.” I hurled the fabric at him.
Andrew dropped the hat on top of the pile of his discarded clothes, grabbed a flashlight out of the pocket of his backpack, and looked at me over his shoulder. “You coming?”
Wide-eyed, I nodded, and my fingers flew to my shirt.
“What are you doing?” William gaped. “Did you bring a swimsuit?”
I didn’t.
My hands stopped. What to do? Andrew needed me to go with him. I wanted to go with him. Every fiber in my body begged me to go with him. It never bothered me to parade in front of strangers in a swimsuit, which was more revealing than the beige panties and a bra I wore today. Damn it. I should have grabbed a lacier pair. My pulse raced but for the wrong reasons. What was I afraid of? My body was in good shape. Not great, but good. Constant traveling and eating out made it impossible to keep in tip-top form, but I ran several days a week.
What if Andrew didn’t like how I looked naked?
No.
I didn’t care. If he didn’t like what he saw, then it was his problem.
“Ugh, what the hell,” I muttered and began unbuttoning my shirt.
I glanced up and found Andrew staring at me. After a hesitation, I took off my shirt and tossed it on my backpack. He didn’t look away, the smirk more prominent than usual. I hesitated before pulling down my shorts, my gaze interlocked with Andrew’s. And I think he held his breath. Or was I holding my breath? Oh, whatever, who needed oxygen? Breathing was overrated.
