“Guess so,” she replied, equally as light.
The instructor demonstrated the stance again. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Relax your shoulders. Don’t lock your knees.”
Evie stepped into position, lifted the bow, and immediately felt like she had too many limbs. She rolled her shoulders and tried to relax, but the whole thing just felt a little unnatural to her.
“You’re tilting,” Slater murmured.
“I’m not tilting.”
“You’re tilting.”
She risked a glance at him. That was a mistake. His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, and he looked so damn good that her heart actually ached. Why did they have to do something stupid like kiss? She had been perfectly content just imagining what it was like, and now that she did, it made her resent their friendship and her entire stance on being uncomfortable with a fling.
Although she knew deep down that a fling would definitely ruin their friendship. She’d enjoy the hell out of it while they were flinging, but afterwards, it would just be awkward. And even though they were going to be seeing a lot less of each other now that Milo was working remotely at the resort and she was going back to Seattle…
Wait.
They would be seeing a lot less of each other. If she worked it out correctly, they wouldn’t really have to see each other again once she went back to the West Coast.
Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. She’d maybe have to see him once or twice a year. She knew she could handle that. So if Slater even hinted at wanting to kiss her again or perhaps something more…
“Do you want help?” he asked, completely oblivious to all her inner turmoil.
“What?” she squeaked.
“Help. Your whole stance is still a little off.”
Her pride flared. “I’ve played competitive volleyball. I understand posture.”
He took a small step back and nodded. “Duly noted.”
She drew the string back anyway, and, of course, the arrow wobbled. Evie hung her head for a moment and let out a soft sigh. But when she straightened, Slater stepped closer. Not close enough for them to touch, but close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his body.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Just…don’t move.”
Her pulse skipped as he moved behind her, and the world rearranged itself. She felt him before she registered anything else—the warmth of his chest at her back, the solid line of him, close enough that if she leaned back even an inch, she’d be against him.
She had to remind herself to breathe.
“Relax your shoulders,” he said, his voice lower now, near her ear.
“I am relaxed,” she lied.
“No, you’re not,” he said with a hint of amusement.
Then, his fingers brushed her elbow. Just a correction. Just for instruction. Except it wasn’t just anything. She was hyperaware of his touch now. Her body responded to it and desperately wanted more. And just when she was telling herself to calm down, his hand slid lightly down her forearm, adjusting her grip. The touch was careful, almost clinical, but his thumb lingered half a second longer than necessary.
The memory of his mouth on hers flashed hot and unwanted, making her throat go dry.
“Better,” he said.
She swallowed. “You’re very bossy today.”
“Only when someone’s about to shoot an arrow into the woods.” His breath skimmed her temple. She could feel every exhale. “Draw back,” he murmured.
She did. The string pulled tight.
He shifted closer, one hand hovering at her waist like he might steady her if she tipped.
