Page 4 of XO Karma

I snatch the headphones off my head and roll my shoulders, fighting away the ick. My fingers fumble for the switch, and I jam it till the sounds stop entirely.

Their conversation is enough proof for me to feel comfortable enacting the proposed revenge, and I draw the line at listening to the actual fucking part.

After removing the microphone and putty, I secure the device in my backpack and hook it over my shoulders. With rain sprinkling against my cheeks, I scoot across the large limb towards the trunk of the tree at snail speed. The moist bark makes it difficult to get a good grasp, and my hand slips off, stomach plummeting as my legs tighten on the bough. Bear-hugging it, I hold on for dear life as gravity tugs at me until I’m upside down, hanging like a goddamn koala.

Shit.

Fear twists in my gut, and I don’t so much as flex a finger. It’s about an eight foot drop, give or take, and a fall from this height is not preferable.

Time drags worse than dial-up internet, and I’m paralyzed with indecision. Maybe I could attempt to get a better grip on the tree and let my legs down first for extra height. Then it’s like falling five feet instead of ten. Or I could try to pull myself back over the branch? Who am I kidding, my core strength isn’t that good.

“You okay?” an unfamiliar husky voice asks, and every muscle freezes. I close my eyes, willing the witness away. Maybe if I remain perfectly still, they will think I am one with the tree. Simply a hanging human-sized bird feeder. “I can still see you,” they say, and my heart pumps double time as I crane my neck to identify the voice. After a few seconds, my eyes focus in the low light enough to confirm it’s not Richard, and I sigh in relief. A relief that is quickly thwarted at the reminder I’m hanging off a tree, moments from death.

“Hi,” I say quietly.

“What are you doing up there?” he whispers, clearly realizing I’m attempting stealth.

“Oh, you know.” Water droplets trickle along my arms, my grip growing weaker. “Just hanging around.”

“Would you like some help?” he asks with a chuckle, and the prideful feminist in me wants to say no. I don’t need a man. But given I’m one wrong move away from a potential spinal cord injury, I grumble, “Okay.”

Footsteps crunch against the ground until he’s directly below me. “Let go.”

My head whips to the side, hands digging into the bark. “Are you crazy?!” I whisper.

“Just trust me.” He shuffles. “I’ve got you.”

Taking a calming breath, I accept my options are limited and release. My stomach is in my chest as my body plummets through the air, and I land in his arms.

“Shit!” he growls, and a second later, my back slams against the hard ground, the breath knocked from my lungs. “Fuck.”

“Oww.” The sky spins above me as I stare up at the dark figure. You’d think the backpack would have softened the landing, but I now have the permanent imprint of a cassette tape in my spine.

“Are you okay?” He crouches over me. “I wasn’t ready.”

“No, I am not okay!” I groan as the world aligns. “You literally said ‘I’ve got you.’”

“I know, but I expected some kind of verbal confirmation before you skydived into my arms,” he argues, backing away, and the moonlight briefly illuminates him. My mind goes blank at the sight of some handsomer-than-God pretty boy who was clearly carved of marble. He’s all muscular and tall and his biceps are massive and delicious and I want to bite them and—do I have a concussion? His brows furrow, head tilting to the side. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No,” I say, regaining the ability to speak as I force myself up. A groan slips out, and he grabs my arm, tugging me to stand. His grip is strong and firm, and what I would give to be manhandled by this beautiful specimen. A concussion diagnosis is increasingly likely.

He glances to the tree as his fingers press into my skin, providing balance and making me lightheaded all at once. “Maybe the police, then?”

“No!” I blurt, ripping my arm away to regain focus. “I was…” Be cool, baby. Be cool. “Just leaving.”

The corner of his lip quirks upwards. “Okay, well⁠—”

The porch light flicks on, and I gasp, shoving him into the shadows and behind the trunk of the tree. Will this stranger blow my cover? Is this the night I finally get caught? A dark wave of dread consumes me, and my eyelashes flutter as rain droplets trickle off the branches above. An overwhelming, delicious masculine scent infiltrates my consciousness as his presence surrounds me. It’s also a little bit like… pizza? Great, and now I’m hungry.

“What are you—” He cranes around the trunk, and I snatch the neck of his hoodie, yanking him back to me. He grips my hips, flipping us in a split second, and cages me against the tree, our chests pressed together.

His quizzical gaze pierces mine in the low light, and I’ve almost forgotten exactly why we’re in such a compromising position. My hold on him tightens. I cannot get caught because of a literal slip-up and a stupidly handsome stranger. Bringing a finger to my lips, I signal him to keep quiet, and for some reason, he listens. Such a good boy.

Fuck! What is wrong with me?

Next stop, hospital, because clearly that fall has jolted my horny receptors like a defibrillator. Get a grip, girl!

A door creaks, filling the night air, and we go perfectly still. It’s not lost on me this man could totally blow my cover but instead is playing along. Panic claws at my insides all the same. He quirks a brow, eyes twinkling with a glint of mischief, and I fight a smile of my own as the silent conversation continues between us.