Slow Burn Cowboy. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
turned, launching herself away from the dock and at Finn, pressing down on his shoulders and pushing his head beneath the water. He went easily. Easily enough that she knew he hadn’t bothered with any real fight. In fact, he had allowed the dunking. It was a pity dunk.
When he came back up, he shook his head and doused her with water. Then he grinned, water rolling down his face, the look in his eye mischievous and maybe even a little bit predatory.
She became very aware, suddenly, of the warmth of his skin beneath her palms, in stark contrast to the chilly water. She kicked her feet, and her legs tangled with his for a moment. She gasped, moving away from him and ducking beneath the water, swimming as hard and fast as she could. Away from him.
When she resurfaced, he was still back by the dock and she had gone out quite a way. She continued to tread water there for a while, keeping an eye on him. As far as she could tell he was just looking at her. Looking at her and doing nothing. For what reason? She had no idea. But she wasn’t about to ponder it too deeply.
She shook her head and went face forward into the water again, swimming in a straight but aimless line. When she looked back at the dock, she saw that he was lying out on the wood, his arms thrown up over his head, water pooling around him.
Submerging again, Lane swam back toward where he was, gripping the edge of the dock and levering herself up beside him. She was breathing hard, the exertion of her impromptu lap swim leaving her limbs feeling wrung out and vaguely like spaghetti.
Wind whipped across the surface of the lake, rippling the dark water, and then skimming over her skin, leaving goose bumps behind. The wood was warm, so she lay down too, next to Finn but with a healthy amount of distance between them.
They had done this a thousand times—swimming, dunking each other, relaxing in the sun afterward. And never before had there been this strange undercurrent. It was her. It had to be. The non-thing with Rebecca and Finn nearly hooking up was only part of it. Normally, she would have just brushed that off. But the intensity of how unsettled she’d been recently, the almost-manic energy and drive she had felt to do something—anything—with her business so that she would be as accomplished as she needed to be—it was making her tense even around her oldest friend.
She felt like a fragile, knit creation that had gone through the past ten years with a loose thread hanging free somewhere. Unnoticed. Undisturbed.
Until the past few weeks when Cord McCaffrey had gone national with his whole handsome, charismatic politician shtick.
Now the thread had been pulled. She had been pulled. That loose string yanked and yanked until she felt threadbare and dangerously close to unraveling completely.
This edginess was just a symptom of that unraveling. All of those patchy, unprotected places suddenly more vulnerable to...whatever this was.
What she had to do was get their friendship back on typical footing. She should ask him how things were going with his brothers. Why he was so tired. If there was anything she could do.
She rolled over onto her side, and her breath caught in her throat. Anything she’d been about to say died.
Her eyes were held captive by him. By that sharp, angular curve of his jaw that was dusted with a couple days’ worth of stubble.
From there, she looked at the strong column of his throat, which was notable somehow. Maybe because it was yet another thing that signified his maleness. And then there was his chest. She had been swimming with him about a million times, give or take. She had seen him without a shirt the moment she had looked out her living room window today. They had walked down to the lake together. But still, she had somehow managed to avoid really seeing.
For years, she had managed to avoid seeing.
Now all she could do was see.
That broad expanse of chest covered with dark hair. The ridges of muscle that shifted each time he breathed, running down his abdomen like a perfect, living washboard. Down to the hard cut of muscle at his waist that pointed downward, framing the flat space of his stomach just below that final ridge of ab and drawing her eye down to the waistband of his shorts.
She refused to ponder any farther down.
He sucked in a deep breath, every well-defined line moving as he did, then again as he released the breath on a masculine sigh.
Finn Donnelly was a man. Like, a MAN. In all capital letters. With muscles and chest hair and everything beneath the waistband of his shorts.
She knew that. Of course she did. But she had spent a very long time pretending she didn’t. Pushing it to the back of her mind. What did it matter if Finn was a man? Why would she ever think of him that way specifically? He was her friend first. Above all else. Her rock, her comfort and her stalwart in times of need.
The fact that he was a man had only ever been secondary in their relationship. An incidental.
But it was full frontal now. Big and glaring and impossible to ignore.
She didn’t know why it was suddenly so obvious. Except for that damn pulled thread. It was the only thing she could think of. That everything felt like it was a little bit off balance, and this was just one of the many symptoms of that.
She felt breathless. Like she had been hollowed out from her chest to her stomach. She was about to look away when Finn turned, opening his eyes.
That electric blue hit her hard. All the way down. To where she felt hollow and for some inexplicable reason it made her feel full again. But not in a good way. In some kind of strange, restless way that made it seem as though her skin was too tight for her body.
She wasn’t an idiot. It might’ve been a while since she’d had a relationship—physical or otherwise—but she knew what attraction felt like.
It wasn’t this. It couldn’t be this. Because this was Finn. And they weren’t that way. She didn’t see him that way.
He didn’t say anything. But he shifted slightly, his tongue dragging briefly over his lower lip before he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the motion.
And just as the strange pang hit her stomach, in response she levered herself upward, pushing herself to her feet. “I’m cold,” she said, moving quickly off the dock and over to that patch of grass where she’d flung her dress down.
He was still looking at her, and for some reason putting the dress on didn’t make her feel any more covered up than she had just a moment ago. Maybe because he had already seen her in her bathing suit, so she knew that he could still see it in his mind.
Not that there was any reason for him to want to. Just because she was having a great unraveling didn’t mean he was.
But she thought of the way he had looked when he walked up to the house today. There was a slight, unraveled edge to it, she couldn’t deny.
“Feel free to stay down here as long as you want,” she said, turning on her heel and cursing when a piece of gravel dug into her skin. “Ouch,” she muttered, lifting her foot and brushing her hand over the bottom, making sure there were no rocks lingering behind. “See you at the house,” she said, flinging her hand in an approximation of a wave.
It took a minute to realize she was literally running away from her best friend. She slowed for a moment, her heart thundering sickly in her throat.
She swept her hand over her forehead and tried to catch her breath. She turned, facing a knotty pine that was just off the side of the trail that led to the lake. She braced herself against it, pressing her hands firmly against the bark. Then she leaned forward, resting her forehead against it too.
For a moment, she just stood there, conscious of the way her heart was beating in her head. She stood there until it slowed. Until her breathing slowed. Until the quivering sensation in her stomach stilled.
“Are you okay?”
She turned and saw Finn coming up the path, dragging his towel over his damp chest.