Summer Sweat (Spruce Texas)

Between our kisses, he breathes a question. “Can we …?”

Well, half a question. “Can we what?”

“Go inside? I don’t think I’m ready to go to the bunkhouse.”

I thought this might happen. I was nearly certain of it the whole ride home, feeling him cling to me like a lovesick puppy.

I’ve always longed for a guy to cling to me like that. For a guy to put me first, above all. For a special, amazing guy to want me in ways I never thought anyone could.

Maybe I’m not ready to retire to my bed alone, either.

I take him inside and shut the door. Hoyt slinks in, kicks off his shoes by my bed, then slowly pulls his shirt off. I’m stuck at the door, glued to the sight of his body as it reveals itself to me. Then he unbuttons his pants, slips them off, and drops them at the foot of the bed. I think he’s done when he then pulls down his boxer-briefs, steps out of them, and tosses them casually onto my desk on his way to my bathroom. His tight buns dance for my eyes as he slowly saunters inside, then leaves the door wide open as he turns on the shower. He pulls open the shower curtains and peers at me over his shoulder. His eyes are sharp and determined. His jaw is set, tight and strong. His youth in this moment is only present in his pretty face, the rest of him full of knowing confidence, virile and strong. The tiniest smirk teases its way onto his lips before he steps in, and the curtains sweep him out of sight.

Tonight, my soul is alive. I’m set free, in every way I’ve ever dreamed of being set free.

I take off my clothes piece by piece. Then, heart drumming, I walk into the bathroom, pull open the curtain, and join my man in a cloak of steam, water, and his sweet, sweet kisses.

Chapter 20

Hoyt

We stayed up so dang late.

We cuddled on his bed, stared up at the ceiling, and talked on and on about our lives, sharing the most random things.

I told him about the ghost story game I always play with my sister. I told him about a time I almost burned down the house trying to cook breakfast. I told him about this time I snuck friends over and had a party when I was supposed to be babysitting.

I had Harrison in tears of laughter, as we cuddled against one another, his warm body enveloping mine.

We kissed a lot, too.

A lot.

“Remember to set your alarm,” he told me at one point. I took my phone off the nightstand to do it, then suddenly remembered a story I’d forgotten and had to tell him.

There’s no telling when we finally drifted off.

But when we wake up …

“FUCK!” shouts Harrison, bolting up so fast, I nearly fall off of my side of the bed. He’s on his feet scrambling around the cabin, fumbling through drawers for his clothes. “Get up, Hoyt!”

I rub the sleep out of my eyes. Sunlight pours in through the windows. “Shit, it’s mornin’ already?”

“I can’t believe we slept through both of our alarms!” he snaps as he hops in place, tugging a pair of socks on.

I glance at my phone, then am struck by guilt. “Oh, shoot. I … I must’ve forgotten to set mine.”

“Fucking forgotten,” mutters Harrison, furious, as he pulls on a pair of pants so fast, he nearly tears off a leg. “Damn it.”

“It’s alright!” I assure him as I get out of bed and start to put on my clothes from last night, with no other options. “Turtle does the animals pretty much every day, too. They won’t starve.”

“They won’t starve,” parrots Harrison, annoyed. “You can’t just trust everything will get done, or that others will pick up your slack. You can’t—”

“Dude, I know that. I said I’m sorry.”

“Actually, you haven’t yet. Not that it makes a difference.” He pulls on a shirt, slaps a hat on his head, then heads for the door.

I can understand being pissed, but what the hell? “Harrison.”

He stops.

I pull on my shirt, then get to my feet, my pants dangling in my fist. “I’m sorry, Harrison. I got caught up last night, and … and maybe I took things too far. But I was havin’ fun. Weren’t you? I think you deserve to have some fun in your life.”

He closes his eyes. Harrison’s effort in gathering his patience and cooling off from his kneejerk explosion of anger is obvious.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, softer.

His eyes snap open. “It’s nearly eleven, Hoyt. Get your pants on, and …” He lets out a sigh, then closes his eyes again.

I toss my pants at the bed and come up to him. Standing in front of him, I feel his slow, steady breaths on me. I reach and take hold of his hand. He lets me.