I glance at her, then at the water.
“I believe so,” I say.
Layla swings her leg over and hops off Shadow like she belongs there. Then she starts unbuttoning her shorts, tugging her boots off without hesitation.
“Whoa, what are you doin’?” I ask, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.
This is a bad idea, I should stop this. Why is this girl stripping down right in front of me? In front of a stranger.
She grins at me. “What do you mean? I’m getting wet.” She winks.
Before my brain can catch up, she pulls her shirt over her head, standing there in nothing but blue panties and her bra, every curve unapologetically on display. Confident. Comfortable. Like she’s not asking for permission. She’s not trying to be anything she’s not. That confidence is dangerous. But, her belly is soft. Her hips are full. Her skin looks warm and sunlit.
She looks up at me, raises her eyebrows like she’s daring me to look away.
I don’t. She has the perfect body.
Then she takes off running and launches herself into the creek.
There’s that squeal again—high, breathless, full of joy.
“Oh my God! It feels soooo good! like Heaven! And look, at this scenery. ” she yells.
She turns back toward me, water clinging to her thighs. “Come on, Scrooge! Get in! You’re not a chicken are you?” She yells.
Dammit.
I strip my shirt off, yank my jeans and boots free, and charge into the water, splashing her as I go.
“I told you to stop callin’ me that,” I growled, splashing her.
She laughs and splashes me back, hands landing on my shoulders as she tries to dunk me under. Her palms are warm. Sure. Like she’s not afraid of me at all.
I like when she touches me.
That thought lands hard.
She floats onto her back, arms wide, eyes closed, the sun catching on her skin. “This was a good idea, I’m having fun,” she says. “And this water feels so damn good. An amazing way to cool off.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoyin’ it,” I tell her, and I mean more than just the water.
We wade around, laughing, talking. I tell her pieces of my childhood I don’t usually offer anyone, about the ranch, about Maggie and Luke growing up wild and barefoot. About learning responsibility too young. I forget to be guarded. For a minute, I forget everything else. She’s like talking to a best friend.Someone I’ve known for years but I don’t know her. What I do know is that she listens. Really listens.
Then she walks out of the water. And fuck. Water trails down her body, catching on every curve. Thick thighs. A perfect ass that makes my chest tighten. She sits on a rock at the edge of the creek, feet still in the water, leaning back and letting the sun hit her like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. I shouldn’t be looking at her like she’s mine. That thought scares the hell out of me.
“This has been one of the best days,” she sighs.
It hits me square in the chest.
She looks at me then, slow, deliberate. Her eyes drag over my bare chest, my arms. She bites her lip. My body reacts before my brain does. She eyes at me like she wants me. Like she’s daring me to cross a line I swore I wouldn’t even look at. Like she wants back in the water with me, close enough that I could take what she’s offering and the fact that my body answers before my brain pisses me off.
How long has she been single? Why do I care? I shouldn’t. I don’t do this. I don’t notice women the way I’m noticing her.
The sun drags slowly over her curves, lighting up every soft inch like it’s intentional, like she knows exactly what she’s doing sitting there in nothing but a bra and panties by the creek. No hiding. No shrinking. She wears her body like a challenge, like she’s already decided she doesn’t owe anyone comfort, least of all me.
I tell myself I’m in control. That letting her get close is harmless. But the way she’s looking at me now, steady,unflinching, like she sees the worst parts and doesn’t flinch, makes something dark and reckless twist in my chest.
I want to step back. I want to be smarter than this. Instead, I stay right where I am, knowing damn well I’m already losing ground.
