Suddenly, Claire starts to struggle. “Your shoulder. You can’t—this is?—”
“Reach, Claire.” I heave her upward.
My shoulder doesn’t hurt, but I’m well aware this isn’t a movement any doctor or physical therapist would endorse. Just like I’m aware I’d do it if even my shoulder was bothering me.
Claire grips the bar across the top of the gate, balancing on her stomach like a gymnast.
I gauge the distance for a few more seconds, then hoist myself up too. My muscles protest, but it’s not the searing pain in my shoulder, just general discomfort. I don’t stop at the top, like Claire. I propel myself over, utilizing the momentum to land on the other side. The impact ricochets up to my knees, but that’s the worst of it.
Claire’s staring down at me. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
Her tone is chastising. But there’s some awe, too, underneath the disapproval.
And impressing Claire Caldwell is one of my favorite pastimes, so I flash her a smug smile before lifting my arms. “Spin around so your legs are facing me, then start to slide down. I will catch you.”
She grimaces before complying, inching to the side until she’s facing the opposite direction. Her legs drop as she scooches backward, ass up.
Now’s not the time to ogle the curve, but I have a perfect shot up the hem of her shorts, pulled tight by the movement.
“Okay. Let go.”
I’m expecting her to need some encouragement. Claire instantly dropping is a surprise, but I’m prepared. I catch her, holding her to my body, back to front, feeling her heart pound wildly against my biceps.
“Shit,” she breathes. “That was higher than I thought.”
She feels so fucking good, pressed against me. Warmth, unrelated to the rising sun, trickles through my veins.
Proximity is underrated. I’ve missed talking to Claire. Touching her. Fucking her. But this, being near enough to hear her breathing and smell her shampoo? I missed this the most. Simply being near her.
Essentially, I’m screwed. Entirely and utterly fucked.
Because there are about to be roughly four thousand miles between us.
“Otto?”
“Sorry.” I let Claire go so fast that she stumbles before turning around. “Locker room is this way,” I say, heading in that direction.
“Is your shoulder hurting?” she asks, hurrying after me. “Because if you?—”
“I am fine,” I call over my shoulder as I continue down the hallway. One, two… Five seconds later, I hear her footsteps following me.
We reach the locker room a few minutes later. Thelockedlocker room.
I swear under my breath. Couldn’t one part of this be easy?
I’m debating the best approach to tackle this obstacle when a strange voice calls, “Hey! What are you doing?”
Claire explains the situation to the bearded security guard.
He nods. “I got a call about you. Went out front to let you in, but no one was there.”
I avoid looking at Claire. If I did damage my shoulder, that’s my problem to deal with.
“Can you let us in?” I ask, nodding toward the locked door.
“Oh. Sure.” The guard tears his eyes away from Claire’s bare legs, reaching for the jangling ring of keys hanging from his belt.
It takes him long enough to find the correct one and fit it in the lock that I contemplate breaking the door down anyway.
