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She laughed and dropped her arms to her sides. “You have to get there early for the good games.”
The good game was bamboo cotton sheets, a decent cool gel-infused pillow. It was a morning lie-in and added fooling around with the beautiful diversion he’d taken to bed, followed by a leisurely brunch together.
He put his hands down on the grass and shaped a plank, ready for push-up. “There are no good board games. Drop and give me ten.”
She dropped beside him and he counted out ten and then when she didn’t falter, another ten. At the count of twenty-two, she sat cross-legged on his back. “Twenty-three,” she said.
“Are you trying to kill me?” He lowered his chest to the grass and pushed up, her added weight and the edge of her runners on his shoulder blades reminding him of his various aches and pains.
“Twenty-four. You love a challenge.”
He growled at the grass, sweat dripping from his nose. “Brat.” He lowered and lifted, staying rock steady so not to dislodge her.
“Why are you grumpy? Twenty-five.”
“Because I have to go to games night like it’s 1952 and clubbing and Netflix haven’t been invented.” He did the twenty-fifth push-up.
“That’s not it. Twenty-six. Did you know they all think there’s been a major measles epidemic? Killed millions. Wiped out whole cities.”
“Bizarre. Measles is out there but not at killer plague destruction level.”
“They also think radio waves from electronic equipment cause birth defects and too much medical intervention stops the body from repairing itself. Also, apple cider vinegar is better than antibiotics.”
“Did you know they think Hawaii sank?”
She flicked the back of his head. “Better not have. Twenty-six, or are you done?”
He gave her twenty-six and twenty-seven.
“Are you grumpy about Hawaii?”
He was tired, that was all this was. Found it impossible to sleep on the ground and difficult to sleep in a cabin shared with four other men. The snoring alone was a reason to contemplate murder. When he got back to town last night, he’d been looking forward to seeing Rory, but she was nowhere to be found.
He got Susan instead.
And she brought her A game without a single wasted hair flip or eyelash flicker. He was filthy and stank and was barely polite and still she’d straight-up proposed they bond and promised to be his baby momma no later than three months after they were down to fuck, as if that was the deal of the century.
They’d had an audience, most of the construction crew. Hadn’t stopped her. He stumbled over a response, as shocked in real life as he was wearing Zack’s skin. He played hard to get, sending Susan away with an offer to consider her proposal and an embarrassed flush on her cheeks. He’d hated doing that, but there were limited choices available in the moment. It was a relief it earned him a reprimand from Mike for being disrespectful and behaving like a decay dweller. He owed Susan an apology and he had to find a way to do it that didn’t involve his cock.
“That was thirty-seven,” Rory said, climbing off him.
He gave her three more to make forty and lowered to the ground, rolling to his back, throwing an arm over his face to block the sun.
She lay beside him. He could feel her waiting. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about this. Somewhere close by a goat bellowed and Rory followed with, “You’re pregnant and you don’t know how to tell the father?”
Close. “Fuck off.”
“You regret your life of crime and you’re going to turn yourself in and spend the rest of your years wearing an orange jumpsuit.”
“I look good in orange.”
“I’m not visiting you.” She pinched his thigh. Warm fingers, nasty sting.
“There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Zeke Venom Janvier Lucas Sherwood, you’re lying to me.”
The arm over his face masked his smile. She used to make up middle names for him from the books she was reading when they were kids. What did it mean that she was doing it again? Venom? The amusement didn’t mask his annoyance.
