Page 22 of All of You

“It’s hotter than balls. Do you have to be home right now? Technically, my mom doesn’t expect me home until five.”

I glance at his profile. “What are you getting at? That you have a curfew? And five really? That seems pretty early.”

“I can go out whenever, but I have to check in first, if my plans change. She thinks I’m working until four thirty, so she’s not expecting me to check in until five. Not all of us have hippy parents.”

I smack his bicep. Hard.

“Ouch.”

I huff out a sigh and stare out the window. The air conditioning feels good. “My mom is not a hippy.”

“I was home the other day. I heard my mom call herClover. You live out of a van and move every year. How is that not hippy?”

Great.“Whatever. We don’t have to talk, you know.”

He snorts. “True, but that’s boring.”

I reach out and spin the volume knob up until the music blares inside the cab. He shakes his head but smirks. We drive not talking, until we’re off the main drag and approaching my road. He shoots me a devilish look. Instead of banging a left down my road, he goes straight.

With lightning speed, I turn the volume down and screech, “You missed the turn!”

Langdon only smirks. “I did no such thing. You don’t want to talk. Fine. But that means I don’t have to ask forpermission to do what I want. You’re at my mercy.”

“Excuse me?” I seethe. “What kind of bullshit logic is that? Take me home. I’m tired and sweaty.”

He turns the volume back up and shakes his head. My stomach flips with unease and anticipation. This is how horror movies start. How new kids get hazed. How popular kids bully the not-so-popular kids. This is also how love stories begin.

Without warning, Langdon bangs a right and we careen down a tire-mark only lane. Through thick trees that block out the sun and then to a small clearing where he finally slows and then parks. He doesn’t speak or turn the volume. I sit with my arms crossed over my chest seething. He kills the engine and hops out of the truck, slamming his door behind him.

I attempt not to look where he’s going. My door opens, startling me and Langdon reaches over me. A squeak of surprise peels out of me.

He unbuckles me. “It’s going to get real hot, real fast in the truck,” he says and walks away.

I bite the inside of my cheek as my foot taps the floor incessantly. He’s got a lot of nerve. I watch as he walks, until I can barely see him anymore and then I start to freak out. Just a little. I hop out of the truck, slam the door closed behind me, and start power-walking after him. When I catch sight of him again, I suck in a deep breath. He’s at the river’s edge.

Shirtless…and soon to be shorts-less.

“Come in. Water’s warm!” he calls out when he sees me.

Facing me, his shorts drop, pooling around his ankles and he stands there in only boxers. He. Is. Glorious. Absolute perfection. And I say that coming from spending my winters with speedo-clad male swimmers. His body rivals the best of the best that I’ve seen. Muscles contract and release. He’s tan and smooth and I want to run my hands all over him. Except I don’t. He’s arrogant and rude. And devastatingly hot.

“Come on Delia. It’s just a dip to cool off.”

I stand rooted in my spot, physically unable to move. I’m terrified if I move I will either lunge at him and maul him in a rage of hormones, feeling his body, sexually assaulting him or, I will shrivel up and retreat to the truck, frustrated and lame.

“Delia! Hurry the fuck up. I don’t have all day,” his voice echoes.

Just be cool. Be cool.I force myself to walk down to the water’s edge slowly—like I don’t care. Like the water doesn’t call to my soul. Like the water doesn’t house a scantily clad Greek god in it. I clamp my hands to my hips, subliminally trying to restrain myself.

Langdon’s wet.

Beads of water drip from his hair, landing on his shoulders and chest and dribbling down, down, down until they hit the water again.

It’s mesmerizing.

Twelve

Langdon