But off paper … I’d be the winner.
Water swishes against her legs as she gingerly makes her way to shore. I wait with bated breath for her to respond.
“Ouch!”
My instincts spin me on the spot to make sure she’s okay, and I catch a quick glance of her bare ass. A tan line from where her bikini bottoms must sit. A trim waist and toned thighs. My pulse skyrockets, my dick grows hard, and I turn away quickly, hoping she doesn’t realize I saw anything. Her curves are already branding themselves into my brain, and I fail at stopping myself from imagining how it would feel to hold her, grip her ass as I got lost in her. One cheek in each—
“You okay?” My voice comes out thick and strangled as I shut that line of thought down.
“Yeah. Just a sharp rock.”
There’s a rustle of clothes and then silence.
“You ever going to turn around?” she calls from the other side of the creek.
“I was trying to be polite,” I say, propping my hands on my hips as I turn to face her.
She’s dressed now, and too far away for me to decipher her facial expression.
“Is that why you already looked at me?”
“I didn’t—”
“I saw you. Don’t have to be special ops to notice someone whipping around that quickly. You’re rusty, Beau Eaton.”
“I didn’t mean to.” I drop my head. “You said ouch, and I—”
“Thought you’d come save me?” Her statement comes out lighthearted, but it hangs heavy between us. Like we both know what this is.
I offered my last name because she looks like she needs someone in her life right now. And, shit, it might be time for me to admit that I need someone too.
I don’t address that, though. Instead, I ask, “Are you going to take the bet?”
Her eyes land like heavy weights against my skin. I can’t see them clearly, but I swear I can sense her internal struggle.
“I’m going to sleep on it. Meet me here tomorrow night.”
“Okay.” I nod, fingers squeezing against my hip bones as if that might quell the itch in them.
She turns to walk away, loose cotton shorts creasing under each butt cheek. The ones I’m going to try not to think about while I …
“I’ll bring a bathing suit next time. Might help with your self-control.”
I chuckle to myself.
“Hey, Beau, you never answered my question earlier.”
“What question?”
“Have you had anal sex?”
I bark out a laugh. That was not what I was expecting. At all. And I figure, what’s the point of lying? “Yeah. Once.”
“Did you like it?”
I blink. Wow, okay, just out with it then. Bailey Jansen yelling about anal sex over the creek bed has my boxers feeling outrageously uncomfortable, my dick ready to stand at attention.
“It wasn’t the best sex I’ve had.”
I can see the outline of her head nodding. “Yeah. I guess you can’t knock it until you try it.”
A strangled laugh bubbles up in me. What else am I supposed to do? She’s the most confusing combination of innocent, curious, and forthright.
“Goodnight, Bailey.”
She turns away with a gentle salute. “Yes, sir.”
I almost laugh again. Couldn’t sleep before. Probably won’t be sleeping after tonight’s exchange, either.
7
Bailey
Heavy feet carry me across the lawn, back toward the barbwire fence that divides Eaton property from Jansen property. It seems metaphorical, separating me from what could be a terribly stupid decision. Those sharp little peaks somehow representative of all the ways this bet could come back to hurt me.
I told Beau I needed to sleep on it, but I lay awake in my hot-as-fuck Boler trailer, turning his insane offer over in my mind. I alternated between stressing over going through with the bet and stressing over the prospect of passing it up.
Then I stressed about the fact we didn’t set a time to meet up.
I spent most of my day off obsessively cleaning a seventeen-foot trailer that I barely make a mess in. When the smell of bleach nearly overpowered me, I chased myself out of there. Book in hand, I expected to sit by the river and wait for Beau.
But when I hit the riverbank and peer down toward the water … he’s there. Waiting.
His head snaps up at my approach and our eyes meet from across the water. Unlike last night, I can see him clearly in the sun’s fading light. Every hard line. The way his thighs strain against the simple swim trunks he’s wearing, the cut line of his quads blending down into his knees.