I do, too, but I can’t afford to get sidetracked, so I hold out my wrist and he lines up the shot.
“Oh, crap. Wait. I forgot.” I pull the gold claddagh ring off my finger and then reach up to take the silver hoops out of my ears. But I’m not wearing them. “Dammit,” I mutter. “Why is this so hard?”
“What do you need?” Pete asks, and this is exactly why I can’t think about the fact that he’s kneeling between my legs. Because if I do, I’ll find a lot of creative ways to answer his question.
“My silver earrings,” I answer. I think I left them on the bathroom counter, and I have a vague memory of Holland asking if she could borrow them. But it was five-thirty in the morning, so she could have asked me if she could eat them, and I’d have said it was fine.”
“Does it have to be earrings, or do you just need something silver?”
“Anything silver will do,” I say, thinking about the contents of my jewelry box. I don’t wear a ton of jewelry, but most of what I have is gold.
Instead of offering to grab something off my dresser, he reaches up and unclasps the thin chain around his neck.I only noticed it recently because it’s thin and delicate and it tends to get buried under his beard. There’s nothing on it, no medallion or cross or anything. I noticed it when we were lying in bed the other night and he said it’d belonged to his grampa. That Gramma Dottie gave it to him after his grampa died, and he’s worn it ever since.
“Will this work?” he asks, handing it over.
“Yes, it’s perfect. Thanks.” I place the necklace and ring a few inches below my palm and then slink my hand back so Pete can get a good shot.
“So… am I taking pictures of your ankles next?” he teases. “How risque are we getting? Have you been talking to Ollie? Are you starting a MyFans account?”
The second the words leave his lips he wishes he could gobble them back up. I can see it in his pained expression. Sure, the rumor that Ollie Jablonski has a MyFans account with a hefty following has been circulating on campus for a while now, but it’s clear that Pete didn’t mean to spill the beans.
“Forget I said that.”
“Forget you said what?” I ask. “Now take the picture, you hunky photographer.”
Pete chuckles, but I can see the relief in the relaxed set of his shoulders. “I’m taking these for the Try It column. Taryn should be back soon, so we thought it would be good to try something together and write about it. That’ll make it easier to transition the column back to her point of view. And I’ll be glad to give it back to her. I mean, it’s been fun, but this isn’t really the kind of column I want to write.”
“You’re almost done? Oh, no. I had such a good idea, too.” There’s a smile on his handsome face, but I can’t tell if he’s joking. He snaps a final photo of my wrist before putting his necklace back on.
I slide my ring back into place and look at Pete. We’re done with pictures, but he hasn’t moved. “What was your brilliant idea?”
“Picture it now,” he says, using his hands to make a frame. “Claire Conquers…hiking!”
“Uh, no, she definitely doesn’t,” I answer.
“You don’t like hiking?” he asks, acting as though I’ve just admitted I’m not a big fan of oxygen.
“I’ve never been,” I reply honestly, uploading the photos to an online portal I’m using.
“What? That’s a travesty,” Pete says, looking utterly dismayed. “Come on, I’m a certified trail guide. I’ll make your first time so much fun.”
“While I don’t doubt that,” I say, my brows arched, “I will never go hiking.”
“Are you serious? The weather’s gonna get nice in a couple weeks. You’re telling me that a month from now, when the season’s over, you won’t want to take a hike on a beautiful spring day?”
The man looks almost wounded, so I don’t point out the fact that in a month from now, we probably won’t need to pretend we’re dating. We’ll have broken up, like couples sometimes do, and moved on with our lives. Maybe I also don’t bring it up because I don’t like thinking about it.
“You really don’t like hiking?” he asks, emphasizing the last word just in case I was confused and thought he was talking about biking or maybe spiking…
“God, no. I’m never in the mood to break a sweat or find a dead body in the woods.”
Pete rolls his eyes. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. Statistically speaking, do you even know how many hikers find severed body parts every year?”
He’s still between my legs and even though he traipses through the woods for fun, I have to tamp down the urgeto lean forward and kiss him. And not just because it would provide a sexy distraction. Whether I want to face it or not, I’ve caught feelings for Pete Santos, and it’s not going to end well.
Pete’s unbothered by my logical take on trudging through the forest.
