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“Like you’re coming up short, or have to prove something?” he continues for me.
“Precisely,” I sigh. “That, and someone who looks past your flaws, someone who really understands you. Someone who can tell with one look what you want, or know what you’re thinking.” I motion around me, wondering if Shane really is that person for me.
“What is this?” he asks, motioning with his hands.
“It means you can tell someone with one look what you want, or he knows what you’re thinking,” I muse.
“With your nonexistent poker face, I can always tell what you’re thinking.”
I give him a look, which hopefully can cut through glass. “What am I thinking now?”
He chuckles. “It starts with F and ends with off.”
“Damn right.” I grin.
“See, I pick up on stuff. I also picked up on the fact you can really ride. You were just rusty and scared.”
I bite on my lip, and his eyes follow the way my tongue wets my mouth. He leans into me, but at the last moment, pulls back, or am I imagining things. “You know, you look like Tristan from Legends of the Fall,” I say.
“Damn, babe, I can’t keep track of your thoughts. And, shit, isn’t that movie ancient or something?”
“It’s a classic, thank you very much.”
“I would love to have someone like him give me a butt rub. Man, my ass hurts.” I sigh, and it still does. Probably have a couple of bruises on there.
He chuckles. “That, I can relate to.”
“See, we do agree on something,” I say, before I turn my attention to the sky again.
“I like your movie knowledge, babe,” he says, gray eyes roaming my face.
I snicker. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I ask, pointing up.
He smiles and looks at me, then up at the star filled sky. “Yeah, beautiful.”
I close my eyes, making a snow angel with my arms and legs. “Try it, Jesse.” I push my leg against his by accident, and brush over his crotch. He grunts when my knee makes contact with his bulge.
After a couple of seconds and some swearing, his arms start to move. “Why am I doing this?”
“Because it’s fun,” I drawl, giving him a devilish smile and a wink. I’m cold and a little wet, but I don’t give a shit.
He shakes his head, but doesn’t stop.
I yawn. “I’m tired. I really need to sleep. These last couple of days have been exhausting. Muscles hurt that I didn’t even know existed. Like someone has been pounding me over and over—”
“Fucking hell,” he grunts.
“What?” I ask, trying to feign innocence when I turn my face toward his.
“The things that leave your mouth.”
“My mother is German, so we are not so uptight like y’all are here.”
“Is that so? And for your information, we are not uptight,” he guffaws. “That was the language you were speaking when you were swearing your ass off?”
“You always go back to your first language when you’re hating on something or someone,” I say, raising one brow.
“Sounded like a bad rendition of Inglorious Bastards. You know the more recent Brad Pitt movie,” he says, nudging me in the side with his elbow.
