Working out with her was.
In the five years of being friends with her—being friends with her while also being in love with her—I'd never felt the tension between us like I had in the gym today.
I wanted to lick the sweat off her collarbone. Prowl over top of her and take her mouth with mine while gripping her hips for an entirely different reason.
And even if it had only been for a split second, I saw how still she became before I lifted her up, when my hands were on her. Joss was holding her body so tightly, with such control, because something had popped open, air hissing from a split seam, and there was nothing I could do to undo it, even if I'd wanted to.
It would have been so easy to lean forward and touch my lips to the back of her neck, to wrap my arms around her and bury my nose in her hair and inhale her like an addict would a neatly tapped line of drugs.
Which was why it was so ironic that I now couldn't figure out what to do next. For as much as Joss gave me shit about my ease with women, she was the puzzle I couldn't figure out how to put together. The edges were connected, the majority of the picture clear and assembled and snapped in place, but you needed the missing pieces to see the full picture. Without them, you couldn't quite figure out what it was.
Did I think I was the best man for her? Hell yes.
In a very masculine and non-pathetic way, I'd love her for the rest of my life, no matter whether she ever realized it or not. The Buchanan men had never done it any other way.
The story was told that when my Great-Great-Grandmother Kathleen died of pneumonia at the age of thirty-two, leaving my great-great-grandfather a widower with two sons, he never once thought of remarrying. His heart was done for long ago, it was said. It met its match, found the one that changed his life, and he never regretted the years he spent alone because he had twelve years with the person he loved.
It was as good as gospel in my immediate family. Anyone who met my parents viewed them as the holy grail of partnerships.
Maybe that was stupid. My dad's brother, Uncle Glenn, thought the entire thing was "twice-baked bullshit," which was why my cousins, Grady and Grace, thought we were insane for buying the stories.
Easy for them to say. They'd never felt their heart leave their body at the mere presence of the right person.
Joss still had that effect on me, five years later.
When she worked the next day, we texted but didn't see each other.
And as I sat, staring at the blank computer screen since I'd closed out the window I'd used for my video interview—something that I'd thought it was only a favor from my oldest brother, but now it felt like a real opportunity, one I'd be a complete idiot to turn down if they offered it to me—I knew I'd have to find a way to stick those opened cinnamon rolls in a hot oven.
Groaning at the stupid, stupid comparison, I dropped my head on my desk and banged my forehead against the hard surface a few times.
When Hunter called favor, he called in a favor.
I have a family at my school that would probably talk to you, he'd said in a text. Let me see if they'll look at your resume.
That family owned an NFL team in Seattle. The wife was the owner. Of a professional football team. The professional football team that won the freaking Super Bowl the previous year. Her husband was the retired quarterback. And I'd spent an hour chatting with their head trainer because the daughter of the owner was a student at my brother's school.
It was a dream come true. Working with athletes of that caliber had my mind racing and my heart thudding in my chest at an uncomfortable pace, like someone had replaced that simple organ with a bass drum mallet and was hammering away at the insides of my rib cage.
And if they offered me a job, I'd be a fool to say no. An absolute, utter fool.
But the only thing I could think was how wrong it felt to even consider living across the country from Joss. The idea made my stomach curl with acid. Might as well chop my arm off and leave it back in Tennessee.
How did I explain this to her in a way that would make sense that I'd want her to come with me if it happened? The trainer, Brian, all but promised me that they'd want to fly me out to Seattle for a final interview.
I rubbed at the aching spot in my chest when I imagined trying to tell her.
Yesterday, she sent me a picture from the kitchen at Donner Bakery, her nose flecked with flour and an annoyed expression on her face when a batch of pastry dough cracked open during baking. She was holding her middle finger up to one of the offending baked goods.
Joss: Asshole pate a choux didn't bake up right. Joy can't figure out how I learned so many swear words during my young life, and I had to try to explain how spending my impressionable teen years with the Buchanans gave me the vocabulary of a drunken pirate.
Me: That's cute. You say that like you weren't the one to prove to me how many times someone could use the word 'fuck' in the span of sixty seconds. You made my ears curl in on themselves.
I scrolled past my response to the picture and stared at her face, a strange combination of helplessness and desperation making me twitchy and uncomfortable. Was it as simple as sitting down her with, holding her hands with mine, and admitting that I loved her?
"Yeah, right," I muttered, shoving back from the desk after I slammed my laptop shut. Roughly, I unbuttoned the dress shirt I'd put on for the interview and tossed it onto my bed. I flopped back and scrolled through our texts, randomly stopping at the pictures she'd sent me.
When that felt like nothing but an exercise in frustration, I dropped my phone and stared at the ceiling. Joss had come over after her PT because she felt restless and in need of an outlet for the type of energy that made her feel good and strong and competent.
She was always good and strong and competent in my eyes, but that didn't mean it felt the same way in her head. I'd long ago noticed how she favored the activities that made her feel strong after something poked at the places she felt were her weakest.
I sat up, an idea floating up like a bubble.
It was one of the hottest days we'd had all summer, so I knew exactly what she and I could do that afternoon. Something that I just might be able to capture some of that snapping tension from the gym.
Five minutes later, I hung up my phone with a grin on my face and sent Joss a text.
Me: You're done with work, right?
Joss: I am. Just got back from taking Nero for a walk. It's stupid hot outside.
Joss: What do you have in mind?
Me: I'll pick you up in twenty minutes. Wear your bathing suit and leave the beast at home.
The GIF she sent me of a woman staring suspiciously at the camera made me laugh. This was either completely genius, or it would explode messily in my face. But at this point, I was willing to risk it. I'd probably risk anything as long as it got me Joss. Maybe that should have scared me, but as I pulled on my swim trunks, I knew it didn't.
The only thing I was really scared of was living a life without her in it.
"Oh great," she mumbled from behind me. "Now we can add breaking and entering to the list of horrible ideas you've had."
Over my shoulder, I gave her a pointed look. "It's not B and E if you've got the code to the lockbox, Sonic."
"Whose house is this?"
"Someone who loves my dad and said we could use their pool while they're out of town this weekend." I glanced to the side of the garage and told her to wait in the driveway while I checked the backyard, so she could decide whether she wanted to go through the house or the yard.
The sprawling home, one that my dad had been trying to sell for about four months, sat along the winding Tennessee River in Maryville. Our drive out there, farther than I remembered, consisted of Joss singing off-key to country music and me quietly obsessing over what the hell I was trying to accomplish with this little outing.
We could've gone swimming somewhere in Green Valley, but I wanted time with just her. I didn't want to worry about who we might see, or who might be
jotting down the comings and goings in order to satisfy the local gossip wheel.
As I jogged down the slope of the side yard, I knew she'd be able to navigate that in her chair just fine because of the pitch of the grass. I shaded my eyes with my hand, grimacing at the flight of stairs going up to the pool. The view would be worth it once we were up there.
The hills of green were a gentle rise and fall, leading down to the tree-lined river, which hooked in curves and angles through the valley. The sun's rays reflected off the water's surface in a way that made me squint. I only took another moment or two to look at it before I ran back up to the driveway, only to stop in my tracks when I saw Joss maneuvering her chair down the grass. I shook my head, smiling at the way she'd mastered this. I'd seen it before when we were on trails around Green Valley.
The best way I could describe it was that she took the slope in one long wheelie. She knew how to lean back just enough to suspend her small front wheels in the air, the larger wheels held all her weight, and she released them in a slow, steady grip of her hands on either side.
From where I stood, hands on hips and a smile on my face, I saw the pink of her tongue pinched between her teeth in concentration.
By the time she made it to where I was, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright.
I leaned down to stop her with my hands on the armrests.
Joss grinned up at me. "I'm wheelie impressive, huh?"
It took every shred of self-control not to lean down and kiss the hell out of her right there.
"Yeah," I said with a smile.
If anything was plastered on my face that gave away what I was feeling or the way my body was drawn to hers, then she either didn't see it, or she was really good at pretending she didn't.
Joss grimaced when she looked over my shoulder and saw the stairs. "Whoops. Guess I should've been patient, huh?"
"And act completely against your character? What fun is that?"
She flicked my arm.
"Ouch."
"That did not hurt." Her eyes met mine briefly. "Around to the front, or do I get a piggyback ride up the stairs?"
"That's up to you," I told her.
My vote was easy to cast, but when it came to matters like this, I'd never, ever make the decision for her. Joss' ability to get around as normally as possible was a huge source of pride for her.
She shrugged. "Might as well stay in the back. Hard to say what's inside the house."
I kept pace alongside her while she pushed through the blessedly short grass. If it had been overgrown, getting through it would be an even bigger pain in the ass than it was for her.
Our bag of towels was hooked over one of my shoulders, and I dropped it at the bottom of the white stairs.
Joss snapped her fingers. "Turn around, pack mule."
"Why you gotta bring donkeys into this? They've never done anything to you," I said as I turned around. Her chair locked into place, and I heard her stand. I swallowed heavily when her hand touched my back and slid around to the skin over my heart. Joss clasped her hands over my chest, and I closed my eyes, desperately committing the feel of her body to memory.
I squatted down, sliding my hands back until they were under her thighs. Boosting her up onto my back was easy, as was hooking my hands into place behind her knees so that they were flush against my sides.
Joss rested her chin on my shoulder. "I really should make you carry me more often."
My laughter was strained but not from her weight. "Yeah?"
No, any strain I was feeling wasn't because of her weight, I thought as I took the first step. It was all of it. I got such fleeting glimpses, touches, moments with her that even came close to what I wanted, so this felt like an embarrassment of riches.
It was the way she smelled, warmed by the sun.
It was the tickle of her hair against the side of my face.
It was her breasts pressed against my back.
It was the way she trusted me like this.
"Yeah," she said, slicing neatly into my ruminations before I could get carried away. "It's like you're my servant. I enjoy the way it makes me feel."
"You know, if someone told me five years ago that you'd thrive on humiliating me …"
She smacked my chest. "You'd still be here with me."
I couldn't help but sigh. "You're right. I would."
Large teak loungers topped with bright red cushions surrounded the pool. Carefully, I lowered Joss's legs until she could stand next to one of them, using the back of the chair as a hand rest.
While I turned the metal crank to pull the pool cover back, I saw Joss slide her black skirt off her hips until she could step carefully out of it.
As the water revealed itself, one foot at a time, the custom tile, a dark royal blue, lining the edge looked like a punch of summer brightness against the drab brown of the deck. Just as I did every single time I saw a color that even remotely approached her eyes, I tagged it onto my list.
Pool tile on a summer day blue.
Once the cover was in place, I stripped off my shirt, slid my feet out of my flip-flops, and took a running leap into the pool, tucking my legs up under my arms for maximum impact.
The water was the perfect temperature, bracing and painful for a moment until I surfaced in a rush and felt the heat of the sun on my face. I slicked my hair back and grinned over at Joss, who was glaring at how much water I'd splashed on her.
She was sitting on the foot of the chaise only a short distance away from the edge of the pool. With two hands, she pulled her tank top over her head and tossed it behind her.
I sank under the water, eyes pinched shut, because her simple blue swimsuit shouldn't have given me such a visceral reaction, but damn if there was anything I could do about it. Suddenly, I wished that I was swimming in ice cubes.
When I resurfaced, she'd lowered herself to the deck and slid herself across until her legs were in the water. I'd expected her to sink into the pool right away, but she leaned back on her hands and angled her face to the sun. Her hair was twisted up into a messy knot, curls poking out haphazardly as they caught the light.
Now that her eyes were closed, I took a greedy look at her. No, nothing about her held the artifice of trying to entice or seduce. There wasn't a single inch of her coated in gloss or the manufactured sheen of someone trying to push or tuck or highlight.
The sexiness that I saw in her was just her.
If the simple V of her swimsuit gave me a teasing glimpse of cleavage, the twist of the fabric on the side made me notice the curve of her waist, or the color somehow made her skin glow golden, it wasn't intentional.
"Are you swimming or not?" I asked; my voice rougher, deeper, and lower than I intended.
Before Joss, I never thought someone could roll their eyes with their eyes shut, but believe me, it was possible. But she got in, and I saw the way her eyes went soft and gooey, the way her shoulders relaxed and her chin lifted when she started gliding through the water.
In the water, she could walk easily and confidently and smoothly. To keep myself from staring at her with a giant dopey smile, I dove under, swimming around her and tweaking her side as I passed behind her. When I came up for air, she was ready, shoving her hand forward and catching me in the face.
Water went up my nose, which had her cackling.
I narrowed my eyes at her, and she held up her hands. "Come on, we're even now. Let's play nice."
"Fine." I pointed a finger. "Though we're hardly even. I had water up my nose, Sonic."
As she threw her head back and laughed, I knew that an afternoon in the pool was exactly what the doctor ordered.
She floated on her back and let the sun kiss her face. I swam lazy laps around her. We talked about the bakery, what recipe she wanted to try next, and the funny way Joy seemed to be very much in love with Cletus Winston.
With the chill vibe we had going, the two topics that I actively avoided was PT guy and my interview.
Occ
asionally, like now, she'd hoist herself up onto the edge to let her suit dry off. The water beaded on her skin, drying quickly in the hot sun.
Which was good because then I couldn't spend too much time thinking about how I wanted to lick it off her.
Whatever tension had been present in the gym was nowhere to be found, but I couldn't figure out whether I was disappointed by that or not. Here was the confusing thing about my feelings for her: I wanted to be with her, but I couldn't imagine losing my best friend either.
The current state of our friendship was one of the most certain, unwavering things in my life.
If Joss experienced the proverbial light bulb moment, if the blinders fell off and she suddenly looked over at me with giant red hearts for eyes, how much of that friendship would disappear?
As I did another lap, pushing myself a little bit faster and a little bit harder, I had to recognize that it was one of the biggest reasons I'd kept myself clipped to a self-imposed leash. My arms churned furiously through the water as it sliced over my body.
I'd never thought of it that way. My own ridiculousness, the one I'd readily admit to even if my brother had been reticent to point it out, was fueled by a fear of how our friendship might change.
I was cursed. But she wasn't.
What if I was the first person in five generations of Buchanan to fall in love with someone who wouldn't love me back?
When my fingers touched the edge of the pool, I turned and pushed off with my feet for another lap.
Harder this time, and faster by just a smidge.
I was probably nearing the midway point of the pool when her hand touched me. I stopped, shaking the water out of my hair as I caught my breath.
"Okay, Michael Phelps." Her eyes searched my face. "What's chasing you in that head of yours?"
My chest heaved, and her gaze flickered down to it briefly. "Nothing," I lied.
You.
It's always you, and I have no fucking clue how to tell you that.
My mouth opened to say something, anything, but no words came. A drop of water slipped down her face and disappeared into the line of her neck. I reached out to wipe it away even though it was gone. Joss swallowed but didn't move.
The Love at First Sight Box Set Page 11
