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“You’ll figure it out.” He folded the map, causing the plastic to squeak and crinkle, and then shoved it into the back pocket of his gray pants. They looked like a cross between joggers that cinched in at his ankles and athletic wear with swishy material and pockets in smart places. His army green T-shirt looked so soft, you could wrap a newborn in it. He had also put a dark gray baseball cap over his thick hair, and it had an embroidered logo that indicated that the hat likely cost more than my virtue.
Amos glanced down at my feet. He frowned. “What are you wearing?”
I bent over to look at my strappy, gladiator-style sandals, and wiggled my toes before turning a reproachful glare on him. “My sneakers are wet.”
He pursed his lips guiltily. “Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh,’” I said, mocking his tone.
“Don’t forget your backpacks!” Carla shouted above the noise the partners made as they conversed about their routes. Most of the pairs were bent over their maps, discussing the trails and making a plan. I gave Amos an expectant look, raising my eyebrows and folding my arms.
“What?” he asked. He walked around me to swipe up two backpacks from the pile near the door, one dark green like his shirt and the other black.
I snatched the black one away from him. “Aren’t we going to make a plan or something?” I unzipped my hoodie, already starting to overheat in it, and slid it down my arms so I could tie it around my hips.
“I have a plan.” He looped the backpack over his enormous biceps, and he looked like the Rock wearing a kindergartener’s backpack.
“Care to share?” I pushed.
He shouldered open the glass door. “No. Let’s go.”
“What? Are you for real?”
He motioned with his head for me to exit ahead of him.
“Unbelievable,” I groused. Pushing past him, I stomped across the porch and down the steps. I looped the compass around my neck and inspected it. The orange and black compass had been mounted on a white plastic plaque inscribed with numbers and geometric lines I had zero understanding about. It also had a plastic case that hinged up when I clicked it open, revealing a mirror like a makeup compact. There were a lot more numbers and measurements than the cheap compass I’d gotten in a cereal box as a kid.
Amos caught up to me easily, his hands on the straps of his backpack. “You want me to show you how to use that?”
I pulled it away from him like I was hiding a toy I didn’t want to share. “No.” There weren’t even letters to indicate the direction. Just numbers and lines embedded in other measurements around the outside. I clicked the outside ring, turning it experimentally.
“Well, as long as you adjusted the declination correctly, we should be fine,” he said.
I slid a look his way. His eyebrows lifted in challenge. I sighed in disgust, pulled off the compass from around my neck, and threw it at him. “Fine, you do it.”
He caught it, mouth lifting to one side. “I said I’ll show you. You can do it once you know how.”
“I don’t want to,” I sniffed. Amos lassoed the compass back around my neck and let it fall down my back. I growled, reaching behind me and doing a spin like a dog chasing its tail.
“I know where our first point is, anyway. We won’t need it until after lunch.”
I gave him a dubious look as I twisted the compass back around to my chest. “How? You’re telling me you’re some kind of expert map… reader?”
“You mean an orienteer?” he clarified cooly.
“You aresuchan as—”
Gravel crunched as his feet slid, and faster than a viper strike, he pulled me up hard against his chest and pressed his hand over my mouth. I stared up at him, eyes flaring with outrage. His left hand was wrapped around my bare, lower back, and his hold nearly brought me off my feet.
“Let me give you a few useful words, Matthews,” he said, his voice deadly quiet and his eyes sharp as steel. “Jerk. Toad. Moron. Dingbat. Blockhead. I’ll even accept ‘dick’ on occasion because I do have a tendency to act like one.”
I breathed heavily through my nose, glaring at him.
“But I don’t like cursing. So, stop.” He slowly lowered his hand from my mouth, but he didn’t release his hold around my waist.
The contrast of his warm forearm pressed against my cold skin sent goosebumps down my arms. I was grateful he’d trapped them to my sides, so he didn’t see. If he knew that being pinned to the length of him sent a trill of excitement through me, he’d never let me live it down. But how was I supposed to react when my labored breaths pushed against granite hard abs, and his thigh had been wedged between my legs? I wasn’t a robot. He was hot. And I realized, as my dumb brain chugged back to life after I’d been staring at him for several seconds too long, he knew it.
He fucking knew it.
