Page 26 of Hideaway Heart

“Stop it,” she panted.

“Stop what?”

“Racing me!”

“I’m not racing you.”

Jaw clenched and eyes forward, she gave one final effort, surging ahead of me as if she’d catapulted herself from a slingshot. I hit the gas as well, until we were running side by side.

It wastotallyunfair—she probably ran three steps for every one of mine—but I loved how determined she was, like if she just kept running and praying, she might actually beat me. Her arms pumped and her face turned red and her breath came in short, loud pants. When the clearing appeared ahead of us, I dropped back, letting her burst out of the woods first.

She lost her footing trying to slow down and tumbled onto the grassy patch behind the fire pit. Ending up on her back, she splayed her arms and legs like a starfish, her chest heaving.

“You okay?” I asked as I reached her.

She nodded. “I won.”

That made me smile. “You won.”

“Did you let me?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“No.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t breathe. I’m going to die now.”

I dropped to the ground beside her and draped my arms over my knees. “Not on my watch.”

She popped one eye open and aimed it at me. “Would you give me mouth to mouth to save me?”

Was she fuckingflirting? “I’d do whatever it took,” I said evenly.

“Hmm.” She closed both eyes again.

We stayed like that for a few minutes, just resting in silence, our hearts slowing down, our breaths lengthening. The breeze was deliciously cool on my hot skin, and it ruffled the bottom of Kelly’s shorts. My eyes traveled over her body, from her small feet up her pale thighs to the curve of her hips to her bare stomach to the sweat-stained sports bra covering her breasts. Her nipples were hard. I pictured them—lemonade pink—and my parched mouth longed for a taste. I could practically feel the shape of them on my tongue, their pebbled tips brushing against my lips. When my gaze finally reached her flushed, sun-kissed face, she was looking at me.

Fuck.I glanced toward the woods. A long beat passed, during which I waited for her to accuse me (rightly) of staring at her inappropriately.

Instead, she asked a question. “So what’s your story, Xander Buckley?”

“My story?”

“Yeah.” She rolled to one side and propped her head on her hand. “Your story. Where’d you grow up, how many siblings do you have, were you always so bossy? Your story.”

I leaned back on my elbows. “I grew up not far from here, in a town called Cherry Tree Harbor. I have one older brother, two younger brothers, and one little sister. As far as being bossy, Austin—he’s the oldest of the five of us—waswayworse. I didn’t like being told what to do, so I never told anyone else what to do. I was more rambunctious than bossy. A daredevil.”

She played with a few blades of grass in front of her. “Single? Married? Girlfriend?”

“Single.” I paused. “What about you?”

She peeked up at me. “You mean you haven’t done your research on my personal life?”

“I did, but the truth and the internet are not the same thing.”

She snorted. “They sure aren’t.”

“That said, I did see quite a bit about you and Duke Pruitt.”

“That’s been over since last Christmas. He just can’t wrap his brain around the fact that I won’t come back to him this time. But that’s my own fault—I went back plenty of times before.”