Page 4 of Wild Skies (Rugged Loners #3)

Four

Greg

T hree days and nights pass, and I keep a careful distance from Maren Olsen for all of them. Whenever I feel her gaze on me up at the viewing point, I stare up at the night sky. Whenever she wanders in my direction at camp, I find an urgent task to do on the bus. It’s ridiculous, but it works.

I need to stay away from Maren. I clearly cannot be trusted with her up close, and we still have over a week together on this trip.

Keeping my distance is the only way I won’t cross any lines.

“Hey, Professor!”

A soaked football flies at me, water droplets spraying off it as it spirals. I catch it easily from the river bank, then toss it back at the students in the water. Rex jumps for it like a leaping salmon, then crashes beneath the surface with a splash.

Shrieks and laughter fill the air, but my smile feels forced. Unnatural.

Maren is in the river, wearing a pale blue bikini, her blonde hair braided back. She’s slender and lithe, with cute little curves and a toned stomach. The sight of her is more wickedly arousing than any fantasy I could dream up.

Two of the male students keep watching her, trying to swim closer and splash her, coaxing her into playing around.

So far, she hasn’t gotten too close to any of them, but it’s only a matter of time before they start scooping her up against their bare chests, throwing her up in the air to make her laugh. Wet skin against wet skin.

Teeth grinding, I look away and scan the riverbank instead, waving stiffly at a group of locals on a picnic blanket.

It’s an event for the nearest town today—the first big cookout of spring.

Everyone swims in the river then lazes on the bank and eats fresh burgers from the grill.

I brought the students along to mix with the locals and make nice, and to give everyone a break from camp, but now I’m questioning my own sanity.

Maren. In a bikini. With guys her own age panting over her perfect, tight body, trying to mess around with her and get her to flirt back.

Heart pounding, I roll my stiff neck.

“You’re not going in?”

One of the local men stops on his way past me on the grassy bank, a little girl perched on his shoulders. The guy is big and bearded, with a deep tan that says he spends most of his hours outdoors—so different from the sun-starved academics back on campus.

“No. I mean—I’d better keep an eye on them.”

It’s true. So why does it feel like I’m making excuses?

“Really?” The man turns and squints at my splashing crowd of students, holding his daughter’s ankles in a loose grip.

She’s up there chattering to herself, tugging on two handfuls of her dad’s dark hair.

“Because those all look like grown adults to me. Besides, there are plenty of folks keeping an eye out today. Live a little, man. The water’s great. Right, Ellie?”

His daughter blows a raspberry.

I laugh uneasily and nod. “Maybe.”

The man pats my shoulder and walks on.

And… it does look inviting—crystal clear and fresh.

Especially with the hot sun beating down on the back of my neck.

It’s the hottest day of our trip so far, and the weak, lukewarm showers at the campsite didn’t really cut it this morning.

Now my shirt is sticking to my lower back, and my clothes feel itchy and hot.

Should I?

Would it be such a terrible idea?

“Professor Carter,” a group of my students call, whooping and climbing all over each other. “You have to get in here!”

Maren doesn’t call out to me. After my careful avoidance of her over the last three days, she barely even looks at me. She’s facing the opposite bank, sunk down to her shoulders in the water, floating calmly while the others roughhouse.

One of the guys brushes past her again, tugging playfully on her braid, and when Maren glances up at him… she’s blushing.

My hands move without instruction from my brain, flicking the top few buttons of my shirt open. Whoops echo from the river, but I barely hear them. There’s too much static fuzzing up my brain; too much blood rushing in my ears.

Does Maren like that guy? Tommy, I think his name is. Is she into him?

My shirt drops in a messy pile on the bank, next to a heap of my students’ clothes. A cool spring breeze washes over my bare chest, so welcome in the hot sunshine. My boots are next, kicked off unceremoniously as I keep staring unblinking at the river.

Tommy splashes her again, flicking a few droplets right at Maren’s nose. She laughs and waves him away, but he’s inching closer, hunkered down in the water.

You know, I felt like an idiot when I dressed in swim trunks instead of underwear this morning, but now I’m glad I hedged my bets. My belt buckle clinks, and my pants drop, and then I’m striding across the spongy grass to the water’s edge.

“Cannonball!” Rex yells, but I ignore him, slipping into the river with barely a ripple, my teeth gritting at the sudden shock of icy cold.

Goosebumps pebble across my bare skin, and my toes are already prickling and going numb. It’s freezing in this river, and it slaps me awake—stops me from prowling over to Maren and Tommy like some territorial animal and tearing them apart.

Instead, gut clenched, I splash river water on my face and try to calm my racing pulse. It doesn’t really work, but it’s enough to keep me rooted in place, far from Maren and Tommy.

“Heads up,” someone calls, then the ball spirals in my direction again.

It slams into my hands, spraying droplets everywhere, and I don’t know who threw it this time but I’m so fucking grateful for the distraction.

Maren and Tommy are still swimming near each other, and I can’t tell whether she wants him closer or wants him gone.

Christ, I hope she wants him gone. If she makes even the tiniest noise of unhappiness, I’ll be over there so fast their heads will spin.

Muscles flexing, I toss the ball into the crowd of students.

On and on we play, throwing the ball back and forth, all of the students so eager for my attention that it would be sweet if I weren’t losing my sanity.

All I can focus on is Maren. She’s still facing the opposite bank, still floating peacefully while Tommy tries to coax her into playing, and I’m not sure that she even knows that I’m in the water.

Would Maren care? Would she swim over? Or is she done with me after being ignored for three days?

I only did that to protect her from my own shitty self control—but it’s hard to remember why that mattered so much right now, with my heartbeat booming in my ears.

Every instinct in my brain, every cell in my body, is in full agreement right now: Maren Olsen is mine.

And Tommy is too close, too bold, too boyishly handsome for me to stand.

My teeth grind together as I catch the ball again, and I’m burning up so much in my agitation that soon I’m gonna heat this whole river into a warm bath.

Finally, after what feels like a geological age, Maren glances back over her shoulder. When she sees me bare-chested in the water, her blue eyes go wide.

And— that is a blush. Hell yes. She’s not the faint pink color she went when Tommy tugged her braid, not when she looks at me. Now, my girl is bright crimson red, and it’s so fucking cute that I want to slam my head against the rocky river bank.

Maren spins fully to face me. Tommy’s still trying to talk to her, but she’s not even listening.

Poor guy. I’d feel sorry for him if the territorial animal inside me weren’t still growling.

“Professor!”

I catch the ball easily and toss it back without looking, then sink down and start swimming toward Maren. Already, there are a few whispers carried on the breeze; a few weird looks making the back of my neck itch.

But right now, with another guy sniffing around Maren, I don’t care.

Self control is overrated anyway.