Erin McCarthy - Sweet

“Well, of course I’m going to do it. I’m just a little surprised. Besides, I like to complain.”

“Really? I never noticed.” He laced his fingers through mine. “I bet you make this obstacle course your bitch.”

Holding hands in public was a new thing for me, and I had a weird appreciation for why people did it. It made me feel . . . wanted. Taken care of. I can’t say I’d felt that way in a long time. On the other hand, it felt a little like gloating—like look at me with my hot boyfriend. But I was okay with that.

Riley had taken off his shirt and yanked it on over my head. I don’t think it was a total coincidence that he did it after a guy in his thirties was checking me out. With my free hand, I traced the tattoo on his chest, trying to make sense of the dark figure and all the shading. “What is this, anyway?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Excuse me? Why not?” I leaned forward to study his chest a little closer. “Wait a minute. Is that a demon? With wings?”

“It may or may not be a demon or it may or may not be the devil.”

“Holy crap!” Horror rushed over me. I had been okay with thinking it was a weird werewolf or a monster from a video game or a comic. But the devil? The Big S? The ultimate demon of all demons? “How am I supposed to cuddle on your chest knowing my head is resting on Lucifer?”

“It wasn’t something I particularly planned out,” he admitted. “But if it’s any consolation it’s meant to symbolize conquering your demons.”

Now that I knew what it was, there was no denying it. It was hard to see why I hadn’t been able to pick that evil face out of the black swirls before. I stared at it so long, the lines started to blur. The devil had particularly menacing teeth. “I’m speechless.”

“Now I know my secret weapon to get you to shut up.”

I twisted his nipple.

“Ow, Jess.” He rubbed his chest. “You fight dirty.”

“Remember that.” I looked back at the course. “Okay, so how does this work?”

“You’re in the eighteen-to-twenty-four age bracket. They run heats of competitors in each bracket so everyone isn’t out there at once.”

“I’d rather go up against the sixty year olds. But okay, fine.”

He explained the course, and in another five minutes, they were calling us for line up. I had been hoping I would get to see Riley do it first, but no such luck.

“You got this,” he told me, sounding way more confident than I felt.

But I was nothing if not stubborn. I figured I could power my way through the course. Which is what I did. Leaping over the fire was no big deal. The wall wasn’t that tough either, and I gained ground on some of the other competitors by showing no hesitation in just dropping the five feet from the top down the other side, landing with an oomph on the soft ground. Only one other girl just free-fell like I did. The others eased themselves down, and I felt a certain triumph. What I had loved about volleyball was the jump, the hit, the power. The pure adrenaline that came from rushing the net and stuffing an opponent.

The control.

I pushed it hard, the buzzing in my ears, the crowd yelling, and the rush of my burning lungs. Okay, I’m not going to lie. When I dropped in the mud pit, the first slap of hot sludge sliding over made me want to gag, and an army crawl through slop is harder than it looks. But using my elbows and my thighs, I hauled myself through and scrambled to my feet, my hair falling out of my ponytail and slapping me in the cheek with a wet layer of mud. For a second I couldn’t see, but as I ran in the general direction of the finish line, I swiped at my eyes with the one spot on my forearm that was clean. I saw that Riley was at the finish line yelling for me, a grin splitting his face.

In my wave of competitors, I finished second behind the girl who had jumped with me. Stumbling to a stop, I sucked in a few deep breaths and slapped Riley’s hands, which he had raised for a double high five. A high ten.

“Babe, that was awesome!” he said. “You killed it!”

“Told you,” I wheezed. Then I leaned forward and wiped my muddy hands on his chest.

Instead of being pissed, he laughed. He grabbed both my dirty cheeks and gave me a kiss.

“When is your turn?” I asked, still breathing hard. “I’m dying of thirst and I want to steal your beer.”

“I think I have a few minutes.”

“Okay.” I peeled off his T-shirt and slapped the muddy mess against his chest. “Here’s your shirt back.”

He cocked his head. “Oh, you are just asking for it.”

“Yes, I am.” I grinned before throwing my arms around his neck, rubbing my body against his, the shirt wedged between us. “Kiss me.”

Riley laughed and ran his hands all over my muddy ass before letting them rest on my back. “Too bad there are a hundred people around us.”

That was what I had been waiting to hear—that there was some hint he wanted me the way I wanted him.

But his kiss was sweet, not intense.

Damn the crowd.

When Riley’s heat went, I was stunned watching him. His focus and intensity were unreal. He didn’t look at any of the other guys, and his trajectory was completely straight, his feet eating up the course at top speed. He was up the wall in two leaps, and down the other side. I wondered if he had played sports in high school because he moved like an athlete, his arms tucked in close to his abs. Unlike me, he didn’t flop into the mud like a tripped hippo, but he crouched low and covered half the pit with one leap forward.

Sexy. I was warm from more than the hot sun beating down on me.

Shielding my eyes so I could see, I slipped in between two women in their forties to watch him overtake the guy in front.

“Yummy,” the one said to the other. “I love me some tattooed boys.”

Normally, I would have just listened in silent amusement. But I felt a wave of territorialism and the need to claim and brag. It was a foreign feeling, and before I knew it I was blurting out, “That’s my boyfriend.”

They glanced over at me, smiling. “He’s very pretty,” the one said. “And with such a hard body. What a perfect combo. Enjoy him.”

She was right, but wow, that was pure objectification of another human being. I knew my friends and I did that, too, but hearing it said about Riley made me realize girls were no better than guys when it came to checking out the opposite sex.

So I said, “Thanks. He’s very sweet.” Which just made them laugh.

But then I had no time for them because Riley finished the race in first place, looking barely winded.

“See?” he said when I made my way over to him. “Smoking doesn’t even affect me.”

I snorted. “That is the worst justification I’ve ever heard.” But I reached for his hand. “But that was an awesome job. You were like a mud ninja out there.”

“Thanks. We need a picture of us. Where’s your phone?”

“In my fanny pack,” I deadpanned. “In the car, where do you think?”

“God, you’re such a brat. Go get it while I get my beer. Of which you can have none because you’re underage.”

Like he wouldn’t cave if I asked him for a sip. Feeling happy, sticky, and proud of myself, I took his keys and went to the car to get my phone. When I came back he was holding a giant beer stein and wearing a Viking hat.

“Wow, you’ve never been hotter.” And I kind of meant it.

“You came in tenth out of forty-five in your age bracket,” he said. “Good job.”

“Thanks. That’s not bad considering I didn’t know what I was doing. How did you finish overall in your bracket?”

“Second.”

“Woot.” I gave him another high five. “You are awesome.”

“Thanks.” He kissed me, and I tasted the beer on his breath.

“So. Thirsty. Dying.”

He grinned. “Take a sip, but if you get caught, I’m not bailing you out of jail.”

“Yeah, right.” I took a quick sip, shielding myself from view by leaning over and letting my hair fall in front of me. The cup was down by his waist.

“This looks really inappropriate,” he said. “I’m getting a boner because of it.”

About time. “Then let’s go home.” I stood up and eyed him. “I’m feeling dirty,” I said in a flirty voice.

Riley put his arm around me as we headed toward the car. “We can fix that.”

He better mean fix it in the way I wanted to fix it. “How about a hot, wet shower?”

I wasn’t exactly being subtle, but he didn’t respond in the way I wanted him to. He just said, “I need food first, I’m starving.”

“Of course you are.” Not exactly what I wanted to hear.

I was consoled by the fact that when we got in the car, Riley showed no concern for his upholstery and pushed me backward, kissing me with a ferocity he hadn’t shown since our first real make out session, his hand brushing over my breast.

Yes. That’s what I wanted. That hot, deep slide into oblivion, that tingling over my skin, wet tongues and tight nipples.

But he pulled back just as I was getting into it. As he put the key in the ignition, I was sideways, knee up, on my elbows, breathless and unsatisfied.

WTF.

“That’s a good look on you,” Tyler said when I walked in the front door. He was reclining on the couch, his phone up to his ear, a burger bag on the coffee table. “By the way, Rory wants to know why you’re not answering her texts and if you’re avoiding her for some unknown weird girl reason. Those are my words, not hers.”

I kicked off my shoes by the front door. “I’m not avoiding her.” Not much anyway. Just slightly, because I didn’t want to talk about Riley with her. I didn’t know what to say. We like each other? That felt so lame. Nor was I going to share my fear that Riley didn’t want to have sex with me. Rory would say he was respecting me or some such crap like that, but I knew that even guys who respect you want to bang you.