She stops and turns to face me again. “Uh,yeah. You do have like a bajillion rooms in this place.” She gestures with her free hand. “Even if they all probably look straight out of the Brady Bunch.” My mind isn’t working well enough to come up with any sort of reply. This woman always seems to make me feel slow. “I told you,” she continues, “we have a lot of stuff to do. I’m not wasting time commuting out here to bumble fuck, or clocking those kinds of miles on my bike.” She tilts her head with a smile, and once again my brain falters. “Lucky for you, NASA has been after me to take some of my massively accrued vacation time.”
“Lucky?” I manage to sputter.
She laughs. “Not that kind of lucky, cowboy.” And then her sexy smile turns into a smirk when I feel myself blushing.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know, but you just make it so easy.” She winks and turns to go but stops, showing me her profile. “And Iamsorry about how I acted this morning.” She frowns and bites the side of her lip before continuing. “I was uh…caught off guard.” Her frown deepens, lines marring the skin between her eyes. “I don’t like that feeling.” She swings the bag onto one shoulder and glances up at me. “Sorry.” Then, like she hasn’t just rocked my world with her sincerity, she vanishes around the corner.
I’m still in a state of confusion when I hear her shout from upstairs, “See you at oh-eight-hundred to talk wedding plans. Nighty-night, cowboy.” A door closes.
It should annoy me that she waltzed in and made herself at home, foul mouth, mood whiplash and all.
Instead? My dick twitches at the thought of her sleeping under my roof.
Six
Move ‘em Out
Jules
Ah,fresh country air.
Cow shit never smelled so good.
My sneakers leave tread marks on the dew-moistened dirt road that winds around the West property. The sun is pushing through the early morning haze, illuminating my way. Tall grass on either side of me bends in the light breeze that’s cooling my over-heated face.
As the house gets closer, I amp up my speed, sprinting toward the finish. The buzzing at my wrist signals I’ve completed my suggested workout activity time for the day and the sun is barely up.
I love this. Not running, per se, but pushing my body to its limits and the focus that comes from it. I’ve been running for an hour. It’s taken me this long to quiet my mind, which is unusual. Up in space, confined to a cramped area within a never-ending void, I became well-versed in meditation techniques to calm my overactive mind. Techniques I’ve never needed on land. However, upon waking up at five a.m. after a fitful night’s sleep, I yanked on my sports bra and sneakers and shuffled out into the barely lit sky. An odd mix of thoughts, ranging from yesterday’s unwelcome delivery to Holt’s piercing gaze, swarmed my mind for most of the run.
But now, finally, after sixty grueling minutes, forty of them at top speed, my mind is empty of everything except the pace of my running shoes and the metronome of my breath. Mentally I check off a task from my to-do list.
I’m a stellar list maker. Not many know this about me. Jackie does.
Hmmm, maybe that’s why she didn’t include the traditional bridesmaid to-do list on the thumb drive. I thought the absence of one was weird, as any self-respecting engineer knows there is always an order of operations, akalist, that one needs to follow in order to achieve whatever goal you’ve set. Jackie is the smartest person I know. But maybe she figured the list would be somethingI’dlike to do. She’s always laughing at me whenever I rework NASA’s order of operations to suit my needs better. Maybe that’s exactly what I need to do to get this wedding started properly.
Number one on my list of things to do after my morning run: make a list.
Nice.
I cross over the imaginary spot I’d determined as my finish line before starting out this morning and slow down to a jog, and then a walk. Sweat drips off my body and it feels like I exorcised something besides toxins and calories from my body this morning. The hum of discontent, and dare I admit it, fear, that hasn’t stopped thrumming through my mind since I picked up that package yesterday is finally quiet. A part of me feels bad, hiding out here under the guise of wedding planning.
But then again, out here, with the smell of hay and cow patties, one could almost forget about being roofied by a stalker.
And Idoneed to get wedding shit done. So, you know, win-win.
My cool-down takes me to the house and my feet pound up the two porch steps, trying to release the tension already building back up from my last thought.
Trying to refocus, I curve my spine into a deep half bend, palms flat on the porch floor. I take a deep breath in through my nose, releasing it slowly through my mouth, deepening my stretch. With each exhale my muscles loosen and settle into the position, the top of my head nearly grazing the wood planks.
The squeak of springs and the slam of the screen door intrude on my stretch time.
“Jules?”
My eyes pop open to the vision of Holt West, fresh from bed, morning scruff on his chin, wild, uncombed hair, shirt unbuttoned, pants undone. It is a glorious, glorious thing. Especially when viewed from between my legs. Even upside down.
“What are you doing up this early?” He sounds suspicious and, for some reason, angry.
