I keep walking, letting him finish. “And I’m not alone today. Here, let me give you a sneak peek of my company…”
My spine goes rigid, and I refuse to turn around.
“Yep, for now, all you get is that gorgeous view right there. Those legs. That ass. Trust me, the front is even better.”
My face is nuclear, my smile out of control.
“Okay, that’s it for today. Get outside. Move your body. Hug a tree. Corey out.” I hear the beep of the stream ending and spin around. He’s looking extremely pleased with himself.
“You’re a natural,” I state.
“And the comments are already rolling in.” He holds up his phone, showing me the wall of comments. “Everyone wants to know who you are.”
“Good. Let it stay a mystery.”
“A mystery with great legs. Their words, not mine.” He shoves the phone away and catches up to me. “You know, I could teach you to do that too. The live stuff. It’s easier than you think.”
“I hid with my back to the camera. That’s the opposite of a natural.”
“Everyone starts somewhere.” He bumps his shoulder against mine. “Besides, mystery girl with great legs? That’s already better branding than most people manage in a year.”
The trail flattens into a valley and the trees thin, and suddenly there’s a creek in front of us. Wide, clear, running fast over smooth rocks, sunlight flashing off the surface. The banks are mossy and green, and wildflowers cluster at the edges, purple and yellow. The sound of the water fills the clearing with a constant, musical rush.
“Oh, wow.” I stop and breathe it in. “This is beautiful.”
He scans the creek, hands on his hips. “There’s a bridge about thirty minutes downstream. But it’s in the wrong direction.”
“So we go around.”
“Or we go across.” He nods at a line of flat stones breaking the surface, spaced at irregular intervals. “Stepping stones. Straight shot.”
They’re wet and mossy. The water between them looks about knee-deep at most but moving fast. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve done this a dozen times. Follow me.” He takes off his backpack and tosses it over the water. Then he takes mine and does the same before crossing. Two steps, three, his boots finding the stones, arms out for balance, and he’s halfway across, looking back at me with that grin.
“See? Nothing to?—”
His right foot shoots sideways, and his arms windmill. His expression shifts from cocky to pure surprise in a fraction of a second, and then he’s in the water with a splash that sends a spray of creek water three feet into the air.
I scream with laughter.
He’s sitting in the creek, water up to his chest, his hair plastered to his forehead, and he’s laughing so hard his whole body is shaking.
“Nothing to worry about, you were saying!” I’m doubled over on the bank, clutching my knees.
He pushes his wet hair back and grins up at me, water running down his face. “Okay. Maybe there was something to worry about.”
I step onto the first stone, still cackling, taking it slower. The second. The third. My boot suddenly slides and I yelp, and then I’m in the water, the cold slamming into my legs and hips and stealing my breath. Corey is there, arms around me, catching me before I go fully under.
“Oh my God!” The water is freezing. It’s arctic. I’m gasping, clinging to his soaked shirt, my legs numb from the thighs down.
He’s on his feet in seconds and scoops me up as if I weigh nothing, wading through the knee-deep current, water streaming off both of us, and then deposits me on the far bank like a rescued cat. We collapse on the grass, dripping, breathless, giggling.
“Okay,” he manages. “Pants off.”
“Excuse me?”
“Wet fabric on a hike is actual torture. And it’ll slow us down, so we both need to change.”
