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In fact, his directness is the quality I appreciate the most. Sneaky people suck. To Conner’s credit, he’s not remotely sneaky or underhanded. His motives couldn’t be clearer if they were skywritten above his head. It’s kind of refreshing.
But if I sit here for too long, ticking off his finer points, I’ll end up talking myself into something way riskier than an afternoon hike.
“Race you to the top,” I say even though there’s not a chance I’d be able to beat him in any race at any time.
He knows it. But he laughs and plays along, shadowing my heels as I use this fresh burst of energy to sprint to the summit.
Reaching the top of Glinda’s Peak isn’t a significant accomplishment. Still, it’s the first wholesome physical mission I’ve completed in years so I feel a sense of satisfaction when I thud my ass down on a flat rocky ledge and take in the view of Emerald City and beyond.
Conner helps himself to the empty spot at my side and when he wordlessly hands over more water I don’t argue. At least this time I don’t choke while drinking.
In between sips I sneak a few glances at my hiking companion. For the moment he’s run out of cheeky dialogue. He removes his sunglasses and sits casually with his arms propped on his knees while enjoying the sights.
Everything about him, from the square line of his jaw to the thick fingers tapping on his knee, screams masculine vitality. And even though I can secretly admit that Conner was magnificent in a tux, I prefer the way he looks right now. He wears an old pair of jeans. Dusty running shoes. A green Emerald City tee that’s seen far more vibrant days. He did a careless job shaving this morning, or else he didn’t shave at all. The stubble on his jaw is darker than the windswept hair on his head.
When he shifts his weight, I breathe in soapy hints of sea salt and tropics. Much more to my liking than overpowering cologne.
His stare is pointed west, skating over the flashy stadium where he amazes the world with his astounding skills on the field. Beyond the stadium, even farther west, lies the green scenery of wealthy West Emerald. Sometimes the serene childhood I spent there with my sister seems as remote as a fairy tale.
Conner turns his head and I’m hit with the full force of his curious blue eyes. “Why did you run out on me yesterday?”
I lift my chin, my defenses prickling. “I didn’trunout.”
“All right. Why did you walk out quickly when I wasn’t looking and forget to say goodbye?”
“I had business to handle.” A polite way to sum up an unpleasant encounter with my asshole cousin. Just like I thought, Talon is on the hunt, a predator testing the fence for weak spots. No doubt he and his brother are planning to become a problem while my father’s away. This will need to be nipped in the bud.
However, right now I have no wish to dwell on the ugly, complicated pressures attached to that piece of my life.
“Business.” Conner nods over the word. I feel like there’s a question hanging at the end of it.
Some questions don’t need to be asked. Or answered.
Apparently my silence isn’t enough of a hint.
Conner rubs his chin. “You work for your family.”
“Yes.”
“Running a bar, right?”
“You could call it a bar.”
“What wouldyoucall it?”
“A bar with tits.”
Conner laughs and plucks the half empty water bottle out of my hand. He tilts his head back and drains the remaining water in a couple of swallows. The sight of a man drinking water shouldn’t make my pulse speed up. Then again, the average specimen is a bin of garbage next to Conner Wiseman.
He tosses the empty bottle in his sling bag and gets comfortable, openly studying me.
I stare right back at him.Look as long as you want.I’m the opposite of an open book. I’m a goddamn vault with a steel padlock. He won’t learn anything that I don’t want him to learn.
“You live alone?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Over on the east side, right?”
