“You look like a fucking prince, babe,” coos Myrtle.
He ignores her and leaps the rest of the way across the stream. “Are we checking out this big-ass waterfall or what?”
“Let’s go!” Jordan skips across the rocks and bolts up the trail.
“Good lord,” says Nick. “She wasn’t kidding about having energy.”
The rest of us trickle after Jordan and Tom, filing up a path laced with roots and studded with rocks.
After several minutes of uphill progress, Tom lags, dropping back to walk near Myrtle and her brother, George, a skinny white-blond kid of maybe fifteen. When I glance back at them, Myrtle is sagging on Tom’s shoulder.
“God, it’s so hot.” She plucks at the neckline of her tank top. Sweat glistens along her cleavage. “Why are we doing this again?”
“Because,” Tom growls, with a significant look at me, and I quickly face forward again. That look of his was a not-so-subtle hint that he came on the hike because he knew I’d be here. Unbelievable. He’s hiking with his girlfriend, yet still angling for my attention. He just can’t let it go.
“My mouth is parched,” Myrtle whines.
“Here,” Tom says, and from behind me comes the sound of a bottle cap unscrewing. “Drink this and shut up. You make the heat worse by bitching about it.”
Jay is walking ahead of me now, tension lining his shoulders. There’s a firm quickness to his steps that tells me he’d rather be running ahead with Jordan.
I tap his back, right above the pack he’s carrying. With a start, he turns.
“Want to run ahead? With me?” I say, low and soft.
An odd glaze drifts over his eyes, and I think back to my encounter with Cody at the Met party. I’m going to have to be more careful about my tone if it’s going to affect Jay in a similar way.
“Whatever you want,” he says.
I glance back at Nick, who’s lagging behind Tom and Myrtle. Catherine, McKee, and Bek are even farther back, barely visible.
“Run with us, Nicky,” I call in my sweetest tones.
“Fuck you, darling,” he responds.
“I’ll run with you,” offers George.
“Okay.” He’s Myrtle’s brother, but he seems nice enough. Quiet. Overshadowed, maybe, by his sister’s bombastic personality.
“Fine, I’ll run too,” grumbles Nick. And he shoves by Tom, rockets past me, and bolts ahead, up the path.
Jay makes a low sound, like an excited growl, in his throat. Which is very odd, and I’ve never heard anything like it from him. He’s off like a shot, chasing Nick. George shoots past me next.
I run after them, full out, skipping over the roots and ridges, grabbing the occasional branch to haul myself up the slope faster. I dart off the path through the brush to get past George, and the brambles scratch my bare calves. My thighs are burning, and my lungs are starting to hitch and ache, but it doesn’t matter because I’ll catch up to the other guys if it kills me.
Up ahead, Jay has overtaken Nick. He reaches out for him, claws extended—
Wait, what?
I blink, peering at Jay again. He has passed Nick now, and he’s too far ahead for me to see his fingers clearly. For a second there, I could have sworn he had claws. Which is impossible. Maybe I shouldn’t be running in this heat.
Nick is flagging, and I push myself harder, skidding on the forest litter as I skirt around him. I give him a sassy two-fingered salute and charge ahead, aiming for Jay’s back.
But he’s too fast. How is he that fast when he’s carrying the pack with our water bottles? My muscles are rioting, straining, and my lungs throb with each frantic breath. Sweat courses down my back, drips between my breasts, and films on my forehead.
Spots are dancing in front of my eyes. I need to stop.
Jay glances back and sees that I’m the closest one to him. The approving grin on his face is the only trophy I need, my permission to quit before I pass out. I collapse against a tree, hauling in ragged lungfuls of humid air.
Jay circles back to me, holding out a water bottle. “Nice running, klipspringer.” When he winks at me, my heart does a quivery, ecstatic dance—which in my current state is not a great thing. I might be about to freaking swoon. Except I live in the 2000s, not the 1800s, and I refuse to faint. Just flat out refuse. Won’t happen.
“You okay?” Jay leans in.
I look up at him and say softly, “I think you need to carry me.”
His eyes gloss over for a second, and without another word he scoops me up so fast I nearly drop my water bottle. “Jay!” I hiss at him. “What the hell? I was kidding.”
He strides on, ignoring me, his lean arms locked around my body. The scent of him envelops me, a tingling aroma of sweat and grass and spices, mixed with something masculine and indefinable. Or maybe it’s very definable—pheromones, pure and simple. Can pheromones be smelled? I’m getting even hotter, and more flushed, and very tingly.
Jay obeyed me. Without thought, question, or embarrassment, he obeyed my voice instantly. And now he’s acting grimly purposeful, a ferocious energy rolling off him even though his eyes are oddly distant.
He ducks his head, breathing in slowly, like he’s inhaling my scent. A faint ripple of sound rolls from his throat.
Did he just fucking growl? And did my pussy just quiver at the sound?
I have this breathless fear that we are a few seconds away from him charging into the woods with me, hitching my legs over his hips, and fucking me senseless. And while part of me would love that, I just can’t go there with him. Not yet.
“For goodness’ sake, put me down, Jay,” I gasp again.
