Show off.
"I'm totally relaxed,” I lie.
His gaze drops to where I'm white-knuckling the paddle’s rubber hand grip.
"Sure, you are."
The heat crawling up my neck has nothing to do with the sun.
"I'm trying not to fall in," I confess.
"I'll let you in on a secret," he says as he leans across his kayak and braces a hand against the side of mine to steady it. The movement pulls his T-shirt tight across his shoulders and chest.
My traitorous eyes linger.
"Everybody falls in eventually."
Easy for him to say. The man glides smoothly through the water like he was born for this.
A droplet of blood appears beneath his nose and my stomach twists into a knot.
"You're still bleeding," I whisper.
His hand immediately flies to his face.
"It's fine."
"It isnotfine."
"It's just a nosebleed," he says dismissively.
"That I caused!"
He grins. Actually grins. Like he thinks his injury is funny.
"I think I hit your head harder than I thought."
His grin widens. The jerk is enjoying this.
The current nudges our kayaks downstream. Sunlight dances across the surface of the water and ahead, Dylan is explaining basic paddle techniques to the group while Dean completely ignores his responsibilities.
Or maybe he delegated them.
Either way, he hasn't moved more than a few feet away from me, and it’s making it hard for me to focus.
"Tell me something, Paddles."
I groan.
"My name is Paisley.”
“Pretty name for a pretty woman.”
The compliment catches me off guard. Heat creeps into my cheeks, and suddenly the river feels ten degrees warmer. His grin is warm and easy, and entirely too distracting.
Before I can think of a response, he asks, "Why Crescent Ridge?"
I dip my paddle into the water and immediately splash myself. Perfect. Could I be any more pathetic?
