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He brings the axe down, showing off the unbelievable lean, hard muscles in his shoulders and back, and glances over at me. Jameson’s eyes are the same green as the forest leaves behind him. “So?”
“How long have you been chopping wood?”
He balances the axe on the ground and swipes at his forehead, blowing out a breath. “I don’t know. Half an hour? Forty-five minutes?”
“I mean, when did you first learn how to do it?”
“Oh.” Jameson hoists the axe and splits another piece of wood. “When I bought the cabin.”
“Through your criminal mastermind holding company.”
He cracks a smile. Holy mother of moral certainty, that’s a relief. Jameson’s looked distant, like he’s in some other life, since he told me those things about his siblings.
“Can’t be a criminal mastermind without a holding company.” Jameson abandons the axe again to stack the wood he’s split and get another chunk. “I bought the cabin about five years ago.”
“It seems like you’ve been here longer.”
I think he might make a joke about how I haven’t known him long enough to have an opinion, but he huffs a laugh. “Yeah. It does seem like that.”
The wind sends tendrils of my hair across my forehead, so I turn my face the other way and let it undo the annoying thing it’s done.
“Were you working for your brother’s company by then?”
His shoulders tense, and the energy in the air gets more palpable. The topic could be too close to the hospital. I’m no professional, but I get the sense that if we avoid talking about his family, it’ll only make things harder.
What things? I don’t know. Everything.
Jameson picks up the axe, swings it in a bright arc over his head, and lets it sink into the wood.
“I’ve always worked for Mason’s company,” he says slowly, as if he’s wading into the conversation in small increments. “Since college.”
“You went to college?”
He shoots me a narrow-eyed look that somehow manages to be playful. “That’s offensive. Of course I went to college.”
I let out a laugh. The deadpan tone from him isfunny.“I didn’t want to assume.”
“Can’t be a criminal mastermind without a degree.”
“What was your degree?”
Jameson sighs, bringing the axe down especially hard on the chunk of wood, and when he looks over at me, he’sblushing.
“Oh my God.” I clutch my can of lemonade to my chest like I’m giddy about this turn of events because Iamgiddy about this turn of events. Jameson doesn’t get embarrassed. He made me ride a vibrator on the arm of his couch for hours and never got pink in the face. Now his face is several shades darker than even the most vigorous chopping would make it. “Did you…Jameson, did you get a cute degree?”
He scowls, but it’s the least scary thing he’s done with his face so far. “Did you not like it when we fucked in the shower? I swear I felt you come at least once, and you’re out here trying to kill me.”
“If I wanted to kill you with jokes, I would have done it by now.”
Jameson snorts and turns his head before I can get the full effect of his grin. “You know what? Maybe they were cute. It’s sexist bullshit to assumecutehas a negative connotation just because of its feminine associations.”
He wraps his fists around the handle of the axe and swings it with a level of muscular grace that has me hot between the thighs, shower fucking notwithstanding.
Wait.
“Hang on.They?”
Green eyes skate over mine. “They,” he confirms.
