“Ok, it’s my turn!” I blurt out excitedly.

Unfastening my seatbelt, I pull the door handle, moving to get out.

“No, just slide over,” he tells me. “I’ll get out and come around.”

I stop and turn, seeing him open his door, and instead of stepping down, he pulls himself up and swings around into the bed of the truck behind us. I quickly slide across the seat and in front of the steering wheel. The perk of his truck being so old is that it has a bench seat. I don’t need to hop over a console.

I fasten my belt and gaze out the windshield, a surge of heat coating my stomach as I smile.

“Watch out for the mud!” I call out the window to him.

I have no idea how deep it is outside the passenger side door.

But I wait as the truck rocks with his movements in back, and then the passenger side door opens, his hand appears at the handle, and he leaps inside, never once touching the ground.

Sliding into the seat next to me, he slams the door and runs his hand over his now-drenched hair.

My eyes fall to his T-shirt molded to his chest, defining his collar bone and the muscles of his pecs and broad shoulders.

He turns to me. “What?”

I blink and clear my throat, recovering. “Nothing. You’re just still pretty nimble for your age, huh?”

His eyes flare. Swiping his hand outside the door of the truck, he brings it back in and whips it at me, mud slicing across my face.

I gasp, closing my eyes on reflex and twisting away. “Stop!” I laugh, holding my hands out as more mud comes flying. “I’m just kidding!”

“Since when did thirty-eight become a goddamn senior citizen?” he growls, but I can hear the amusement in his voice.

More mud flies at me, and I cower with my back turned to him, trying to protect myself. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

But I can’t stop laughing.

Two hours later, the sky is dark, and I’m blissfully relaxed. I can’t think now even if I try. Cole’s and my bills sit in my room, the tuition that I’ll go further in debt with student loans to pay is coming due in a couple months, and the nudge I feel at my back, knowing I can make more money if I just have the guts…. Everything is miles away right now. I’ve been smiling non-stop the entire afternoon.

“That was fun,” I tell Pike, both of us veering around his house toward the backyard.

We’re muddy and don’t want to track it in though the living room, so I suggested cleaning off with the hose in the backyard a little first.

Glancing up at Pike, I see mud on his neck and his eyes staring off, unfocused, as if he’s lost in thought. A small smile plays on his lips.

“What?” I ask him.

He finally blinks, taking in a deep breath and shaking his head. “I just realized I never do anything,” he says, pushing the wooden fence door and holding it open for me. “I haven’t laughed like that since…I don’t even remember when.”

My heart leaps. I’m glad I’m not the only one who enjoyed it. I’m glad he liked spending time with me, because…

Because I’m getting used to him.

I find myself looking at the clock and getting more excited the closer it gets to five every day. I look forward to him, and I wish I didn’t. I’m going to leave eventually. I don’t want to get attached.

The shower flashes through my mind, and I remember his loofah, and my cheeks warm.

I feel good with him, and I’m glad he feels good with me. I just can’t feel that good.

We come around the back of the house, toward the back door, and I bend down to twist the faucet. Water pours out of the hose, and I pick it up off the ground.

Standing upright, I run my hand under the hose, thankful the water is still warm from the day’s sun.

I hand it to him, and he takes it.

“Thanks for coming today,” he says quietly. “We needed the help.”

I nod, pulling off my sneakers and hat. “It’s my town, too.”

He rinses off his face, arms, and construction boots, and I notice the water pouring down his clothes and still leaking mud.

We’re just making it worse.

“There’s some towels in the dryer,” I say absently. He can go inside and change into a towel while I stay out and rinse off.

He pulls his shirt off over his head, and I take it, twisting it in my fists to force out the water, while he runs the hose over his shoulder and down his back.

“Is all the mud gone?” he asks.

He turns around, still holding the hose and showing me his back, and all of a sudden, I can feel the heat of his body next to me. My blood starts heating up under my skin, and I’m afraid to look at him.

“Yeah,” I say, barely audible.

I pull out one of my rubber bands and start to take apart a braid, my skin is burning. He’s looking at me.

I close my eyes for a moment, absorbing it.

I want him to look at me.

I hear him chuckle, though, and I open my eyes to see him reach over and take my other braid in his hand. He raises the hose and rinses off the tail.

Oh, the mud…

“Yeah, thanks for that, by the way.” I force a sarcastic tone.

“You asked for it.”

Yes. I did. He’s fun to tease.

My scalp tickles at his touch, and while I’m no longer relaxed, I’m smiling again. He’s only touching the ends of a few hairs, and I’m lightheaded.

I swallow the lump in my throat and slowly turn, whispering, “Would you check my back?”

I wait a moment, my pulse racing in my ears and the sound of the water spilling from the hose onto the ground.

But then I feel him. The soft, barely there brushes of his fingers across my shirt and the cool water seeping through the fabric as he clears away the mud.

He’s so quiet, and it’s so loud, it’s throbbing in my ears.

At first, he’s quick. I hug my arms to the front of my body, nervous like this is the first time I’ve ever been touched.

But then it gets slower, his hand staying on my shoulder blade longer and growing in pressure as he presses into my curves and runs his fingers down the slope of my neck, my spine, and then my hips.

The pulse between my legs begins to throb, and my eyelids flutter.

His hand hits bare skin at my hip, lingering for a moment, and I breath out, so nervous right now but excited.

I’m not imagining this. I’m not imagining the way his touch feels.

Gulping, I slowly look to the side, seeing his form over my shoulder, and I reach down, grabbing the hem of my shirt, hesitating only a moment before I pull it over my head. Then quickly, I reach over and pick up a clean towel off the stairs, hugging it to the front of my body.

I want him to look at me, but I’m so scared he’ll push me away.

I drop my soaked shirt and stand there, fear and desire eating away any rational thought. For a while, the steady stream of water just falls, burrowing a hole into the grass below.

And then, it’s on me. Cascading over my shoulder, down the blades of my back, as his hand follows its fall, clearing away any dirt still lingering. I close my eyes, dizzy.

It’s warm at my back, and I realize he’s closer now, towering over me from behind.

I hear him swallow. “Towel’s going to get wet,” he says, his voice raspy.

A smile pulls at my lips, but I don’t let it out.

Opening my eyes, I pull the towel away from body and toss it back on the stairs, excitement like an electric current under every inch of my skin. I don’t remember ever wanting something this much.

He cleans my back, my arms, and tilts my head for me side to side to make sure there’s no dirt there, as well. I finish unbraiding my hair and comb my fingers through it, feeling some wet strands mixed with the dry ones.

I want to see him and know what he’s thinking, but I’m afraid to break the spell, and if I look at him, we might both get scared off.

And this feels so good.

“Are my legs clean?” I ask over my shoulder.

I know I’m being wicked, but I don’t want him to be done yet.

It only takes a moment, but then I feel the water hit the backs of my legs, and slowly, he takes a knee, trying to get a better vantage point.

I close my eyes again, diving deep into my head where everything I want in this moment but am too afraid to voice is safe. It’s not only his touch. It’s how he does it. The long, languorous caresses down my thighs and the way the tips of his fingers trail just a centimeter higher than they probably should. And how he tries to avoid the insides of my legs, but he keeps flirting close like he wants to go there and is struggling to hold himself back.

He finishes my calves and my feet, and I finally look over my shoulder and down at him.

“My turn,” I say.

He raises his gaze, his chest moving up and down in shallow breaths. His lips are parted, and there are a hundred different emotions in his eyes. But I recognize the same ones I’m having. Fear and longing, turmoil and need.

We want it, but we know we shouldn’t.

I turn and take the hose from him, and his gaze falls to my breasts right there for him and only covered by my thin, pink lacy bra with roses on it.

I’m a girly-girl at heart, and I think he likes that.

Without a word, he rises and stares at me, unflinching as I bring up the hose and start to rewash him. Neither of us had much mud on us in the first place. We could easily make it into the house and to the showers, and we both know it.

I run my hand over the smooth skin of his chest, tracing the mural he has inked across his shoulder, pec, and down his arm.

I don’t look into his eyes, but I know he’s watching my face.

“Did you get all these tattoos when you were younger?” I ask quietly.

“Most of them,” he says, raspy. “Back when I didn’t have other things to spend my money on.”

“Do you regret any of them?” I see mud under his ear and arch up to my tiptoes, putting us chest to chest.

“No, I…” He stops, his heavy breath falling on my cheek as I hover close.