“Then let’s stay up here.”
I dropped the pack from my back and attached our permit to the post at site number 7. “Here it is. I’ll get started on the tent.”
She grimaced as she glanced at the outhouse. “I should have used the bathroom at the Feldmann’s. Or not drunk whiskey.”
I grinned as I unzipped my pack. “You’re a tough cookie. You’ll survive.”
As I set up the tent, I thought about the day so far. Everything had gone perfectly—the Feldmanns had given their word they’d accept our offer, Chloe was on board with everything, and the two of us were getting along even better than I’d expected. In fact, I was having a hell of a lot of fun with her.
That hadn’t been part of the plan.
But it hadn’t been bullshit, what I’d said to her about us. I did think of her as someone who’d always be there for me, and I’d always be there for her. We ran hot and cold, but we had history. We’d shared some unforgettable experiences, both painful and pleasurable. But beneath all the surface-level ups and downs was a bond that couldn’t be broken. I felt it in my gut, and I had to believe Chloe did too. Otherwise, after everything that had gone down between us, why would she be here with me?
We made the perfect team. We’d challenge each other to be better, smarter, more creative. We wouldn’t pull punches or cut corners. We each brought unique knowledge and experience to the venture, and we’d known each other so long, we communicated almost in shorthand.
The problem was our physical chemistry.
No matter how much we fought it, it was always there, simmering just below the surface of everything we said, threatening to erupt at any moment. I wasn’t sure I could stop it, even if I wanted to. Even if I knew it would only make things more complicated.
Because it would.
“Want help?” she asked when she got back. How she managed to look so beautiful after a day of hiking in this hot, humid weather was beyond me.
“Sure.”
Together we set up camp, had a snack, and tied the remains of our food up out of reach of the chipmunks. “We need more water,” she said, wiping her forehead. “And I could use a swim. Want to go down to the beach? We can bring some water back for purifying.”
“Good idea,” I said. “And I’ve got a little something besides water in the meantime.” From my pack, I pulled out a flask I’d filled with my favorite bourbon.
She laughed. “Of course you do.”
I offered her the first sip, then I took two before sticking it back into my pack.
“Come on,” she said. “I’ll race you.”
Since we still had our suits on, we took off running for the beach and didn’t stop until we hit the sand, where we tore off clothing and dashed into the cool, clear water. I beat her by a full five seconds because one of her bootlaces was tied in a knot.
“I don’t know why you even challenge me,” I teased her. “You’ve never once beaten me.”
“I totally could have won that time,” she insisted. “I had a wardrobe malfunction. I made it down to the beach just as fast as you did.”
“Maybe,” I allowed. “I guess I could call the race to the beach a tie. I’m feeling generous.”
“Well, thank you very much.” She stuck her tongue out at me before ducking beneath the water again. “God, this feels good,” she said when she surfaced. “It was so hot today.”
“It was.” I tried to keep my eyes off her breasts. “But it will cool off soon. The sun is going down fast. Clouds are rolling in.”
We stayed in the water and watched it happen, the sky turning orange and then pink as the sun slid lower on the horizon and disappeared into the lake. Afterward, it was immediately cooler.
Chloe looked up and down the beach. “Guess we have the place to ourselves, huh?”
“We do. So feel free to skinny dip if you’d like.”
“Ha. You wish.” She backstroked by me with perfect form.
“Show-off. You still swim a lot?”
“I belong to a gym. Sometimes I swim before work. It’s good exercise.”
“You look good doing it.”
“Thanks.” She turned around and stroked back toward me. When she got close, she ducked under and then stood up, tilting her head back to get her hair off her face, water streaming down her body.
“You look good, period,” I told her, unable to stop staring at her curves, her skin, her taut little nipples poking through the fabric of her bikini top. My dick started to get hard.
She didn’t say anything for a moment. “Oliver, what did you mean earlier, when you said I cross your mind?”
“I meant that I’ve thought about you.” I moved closer to her, drawn by some invisible force. “I still think about you.”
She backed up. “Did you think about me when you left for Europe without even saying goodbye? When you ignored my texts and phone calls? When you came home and started a distillery without me?”
“Yes. I know you don’t believe me, but I did.”
“All you had to do was text me back. ‘Decided to move to Europe and party for two years instead of go into business with you. Peace out.’”
“I’m sorry. I should have.”
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t.”
“I was young and stupid, Chloe. I wasn’t ready to handle what I felt for you after that weekend. I panicked.”
“You said things. I thought you meant them.”
“I did. I just …” Seeing how hurt she was even after all this time cinched my heart. “Freaked out. I’m sorry.” I got close enough to her to take her by the shoulders. “I meant every word I said that weekend. And I mean what I’m saying to you now—you’re special to me.”
She looked away from me, toward the horizon. “We can’t keep doing this every time we see each other. It … messes with me. Every time I think I know what we are, what this is, how we feel, it blows up in my face.”
“It messes with me too. I left Chicago—fuck, I left the country, so I could try to forget you.” I squeezed her arms. “But I never did.”
“We’re going into business together, Oliver. We can’t be more than friends.”
I took her chin in my hand, forcing her to look at me. “We’ve always been more than friends.”
She didn’t argue.
Unable to resist, I pressed my lips to her forehead, her cheek, her jaw.
“This is a terrible, terrible idea,” she said weakly.
“I know.” I moved my mouth down her throat.
“One of us needs to be rational and stop this before it starts.”
“Definitely.” I pulled her body tighter against mine, and she shivered. “Are you cold?”
“No. I just … felt you, and I got excited.” Then she pushed me back. “But that’s enough.”
Inwardly groaning, I held up my hands and backed up. “Sorry.”
We looked at each other under the darkening sky, our skin blanketed with goosebumps. “We’re not kids anymore,” she said softly. “We have to be mature and think about the bigger picture. The long-term success of Brown Eyed Girl is more important than short-term gratification, right?”