True North

by Liora Blake

  Trevor walks over to the door glass, gives the dog a scratch on the head, and kisses his snout. I do my best not to melt into a puddle of hormones right on the sidewalk. “Don’t be rude, Dax. I’m on a date, for Christ’s sake.”

  Trevor opens the passenger door and gestures for me to get in. Dax slides his head over the side of the seat I’m in, sniffing around my neck with his cold nose, and I let out a small snorting giggle before reaching my arms back to nuzzle his head. When Trevor reaches the driver’s side and gets in, he shakes his head jokingly.

  “Jesus, Dax. I leave her alone with you for fifteen seconds and you’ve already got your disgusting muzzle all over her.”

  When we reach the trailhead, Dax is pacing in the back of the SUV and whining as Trevor pulls into the parking lot. It’s clear they come here a lot, and I’m quickly worried that Trevor’s familiarity with this trail is going to make me look like a complete amateur behind him. Deep down I want to put him to shame, but now I’m not so sure of myself. A cute outfit and good shoes will only take you so far. You still have to keep up.

  Partially hidden by a few clouds, the light sunshine makes the air perfect, just a bit brisk and cool. I busy myself by doing a few gentle stretches and look around to see if I can gauge how miserable this is going to be. The parking lot is empty; we’ve driven so far up and deep into the open space preserve that there is no city noise to compete with our shoes crunching on the gravel or the sound of Dax’s jingling dog collar. After letting Dax out of the car, Trevor tries to get him to drink a little from the bowl he pulls out of the back and fills with his water bottle. Dax obliges him with three quick gulping laps of water and then sits down with his hind legs shaking in anticipation.

  I move to stand in the middle of the parking lot and although I can hear him shuffling behind me, when Trevor steps in so close that his chest presses to my back, I flinch a little. He mumbles an apology and puts his hands on my hips for a moment. Raising his arm over my shoulder, he points to a barely visible trail to the east.

  “There’s a five-mile section that goes up that trail there, and then feeds into a loop. The first section is a bit of a killer, close to a mile on a decent grade, but once you hit the top, it flattens out for most of the way. Then, of course, it’s downhill on the way back.”

  My legs start to feel shaky, a bit from his description of what lies ahead but mostly because he is standing too close, letting his sweet breath flow out over my neck. I tighten my belly in hopes I can respond without my voice cracking and giving me away.

  “Lead the way. I’m sure I can keep up.” As I answer, he puts his lips against my neck, grazing over my skin. Not kissing, just teasing. When my next inhale hitches audibly, I feel him pause, before his lips curve into a grin. My shoulders loosen and he steps somehow closer, pushing his hips into my backside.

  “Come on, let’s go or we’ll never make it out of this parking lot.” I step forward, away from the length of him, and start toward the trailhead without looking back.

  The hill is miserable, mostly because my muscles have zero chance to warm up before they start to burn on the ascent. The trail is relatively well groomed, but I still have to force my focus onto the path, picking out each step so I don’t turn an ankle and embarrass myself. Just as I start to feel my legs wanting to explode, we crest the top of a hill to a gorgeous trail. Each side is nestled by knee-high native grasses and a few wildflowers. The view is perfect, with one side sloping down to the city and the other leading up grassy hillsides dotted with small trees.

  The view in front isn’t bad, either. A never-ending series of finely tuned muscles sculpt Trevor’s calves, each stretched and toned by every graceful step he takes. I can just barely see glimpses of his back muscles under his shirt, evidence that each part of his body is perfectly honed.

  Dax is off leash, darting back and forth in front of Trevor, dancing between the trail, where he can gallop at full speed, and the tall grasses, where he can veer off to follow any scent that intrigues him. If he disappears for too long, Trevor lets out a short whistle and within seconds Dax appears and falls back in line on the trail. A few times Trevor slows and turns back to check on me, smiling when he sees that I’m keeping up. All I can do is thank the heavens we’re at sea level, where my lungs get all the air they want, compared to the altitude at home. Trevor maintains a tough pace and without that advantage, I would have started crying halfway up the trail.

  I’m typically a solo runner. I don’t sign up for races and I don’t train with a running group. I never even went running with James. It’s never been about camaraderie for me; running is mostly about fitting into my jeans and shutting off my nonstop inner dialogue. Evidenced by the way Trevor maintains just enough distance without leaving me behind, coupled with the fact that he hasn’t said a word since we started up the trail, it’s apparent that he is used to going it alone, too. With nothing but easy silence between us, running with him is surprisingly comfortable.

  As we hook over what appears to be the last part of the loop, the trail starts to descend and we slow our gait to compensate for the slope. As we leave behind the open meadow, heavy bushes and trees start to crowd the trail. When we drop onto the original trail we started out on, my legs are just starting to express a bit of fatigue and I’m relieved to have survived without making a sad spectacle of myself.

  Trevor slows to a stop in the middle of the parking lot and turns to watch me take the last few steps while propping his hands on top of his head. I’m secretly thrilled to see his chest heaving as he slows his heart rate. He made it look too easy the whole time, with an enviable gait that’s relaxed and efficient.

  “Way to keep up, Mosely.” He swings his arms down from over his head. “I dialed back a little on the way up the hill, but you were on my heels like a bloodhound. You’re like a little goddam racehorse; no wonder your body looks like it does.”

  Too spent to blush or feel weird about his pointed commentary on my body, I walk around in a few wide circles, waving my tired arm toward the trailhead.

  “That hill is ridiculous. The only thing that saved me was a sheer force of will to not drop in front of you.” I gesticulate toward him. “As I stated the last time, you are a terrible date. Instead of chasing and tossing me to the ground, this time you make every attempt to put me into cardiac arrest.”

  “Yet here you are again. Must be all that sexy, funny, charming, amazing stuff about me you mentioned yesterday,” he says, while walking away to open the rear gate on the SUV.

  Of course. He would remember that part of our phone conversation verbatim. After pouring some water for Dax, he wanders over to me and hands me a water bottle. I take a long slug and then head toward the vehicle, safely away from where he is, all sweaty and sexy.

  Drinking a bit more, my muscles start to tighten up and I realize I need to stretch out before every part of my legs starts to seize up. Trevor remains standing in the middle of the lot, drinking and staring up at the hillside and the sky. I’ll happily confess to gawking at the display while his back is turned. It’s a fine sight, even if it only lasts a handful of moments before he turns back toward me to load Dax into the rear cargo area and shuts the gate with a thud.

  I brace my hand against the SUV and pull my leg back toward my behind so I can stretch out my burning quads. Switching from one leg to the other, I let out a tiny moan at the relief in my muscles. Trevor moves in behind me and gently tugs on the end of my ponytail.

  “You had fun, though, right?” The apprehension in his voice is thick and the words roll out softly.

  Releasing my leg and letting it drop to the ground, I turn to him and raise my sunglasses up so he can see my face when I answer him.

  “Absolutely, it’s a beautiful trail.” I unabashedly let my gaze wander down his body. “Great views.”

  His mouth tightens at my words, his jaw clenching infinitesimally and I can see his throat move, swallowing reflexively. Stepping closer, he puts one hand on my hip and the
n slides it around toward the small of my back.

  “I missed you.”

  An eye roll comes automatically, and I shift my weight so that his hand can’t settle against my back anymore. “Come on, you can’t have missed me. You don’t even know me. We’ve had one date, three phone calls, and a handful of exchanged texts.”

  Trevor steps toward me again. Instead of reaching for my hips, he extends each arm and braces them against the SUV, blocking me where I stand.

  “It sounds like somebody’s really keeping track. That’s a pretty specific list you just rattled off, sweetheart.”

  “It’s a short list.” I tap the side of my head with my index finger. “Even I can memorize a list like that.”

  He doesn’t even try to match my snarky comment. Instead, he merely lowers his head to meet my face and then presses his lips to mine. It starts gently, a few long, tantalizing kisses that leave his soft mouth barely brushing mine at the end. In the seconds when his mouth is poised just over mine, the centers of our upper lips grazing together and his stance still hovering above me, I recognize exactly how much I want this. How long I’ve been waiting to feel like this again, all those restless and impetuous cravings that come with wanting a certain man’s affection. Because I can’t say any of those things aloud, I impulsively let my tongue dart out to sweep across the spot where our lips meet.

  When Trevor grunts at the contact, his hands drops from the side of the car and land around my waist, pitching himself forward until there isn’t any remaining space between our bodies. His hands begin roaming, one drawing down my back to land against my ass, the other moving up until he has the back of my neck in a firm grip. As his mouth travels across my jaw and down toward the shell of my ear, I hear a whispered guttural curse when his hips push demandingly into my belly.

  Feeling him against me like this, his body unmistakably wanting, drives my thoughts into incredibly sharp focus. I need my hands all over his bare skin. I need to see what lies beneath all the annoying clothes he insists on wearing, because based on those web pics and the fantasies I’ve indulged in, I’m guessing I would prefer him far less covered on a routine basis. My hands move up his shirt, fingers dancing underneath for a few seconds, dragging my nails down his chest and his back. Pushing the fabric up, I want him to be clear on what my aim is. To get this stupid, unnecessary shirt off. Immediately.

  Instead of just yielding to my desperate moves, he chuckles a low soft sound and murmurs against my neck.

  “What? Are you planning to strip me naked right here in the parking lot?”

  “I really don’t care where. I just need more of you. Now.”

  With a rough-sounding groan, he pulls back from my body, putting one hand in mine, and then opens the door on the SUV. Crawling into the backseat, he drags me on top of him so that my legs are straddling his. Before I can make a snide comment about acting like horny teenagers, he leans forward and kisses my neck, teasing and laying tiny bites against the skin.

  Great. Now I’ll have hickeys on The Evelyn Summers Show. The horny-teenager concept seems perfectly fitting.

  Beating me to the punch, his hands are quickly under my top, forcing it over my head and then dropping it to the floorboard. I refuse to let Trevor trump me at this because I’ll combust if I don’t get something off him. Since I’m tugging and grabbing at his shirt, this time he bends forward so I can finally get it off. Underneath, he is everything I imagined: lean and chiseled. A large tattoo covers the inside of his left forearm, a black-and-gray piece with some kind of writing edged by intricate filigree work, but other than that, he’s just a smooth expanse of taut ridges and angles.

  Once I drag my eyes away from his bare skin, I find Trevor’s eyes hardened into mine, fierce and impatient, like he’s trying hard to resist tearing the rest of my clothes off and fucking me senseless right there. That look, the reckless urgency he’s fighting against, becomes everything I need to keep going. I slide my hand down his chest until it rests against his cock, then curl my fingers to give him a tentative stroke over the fabric of his shorts. Dropping his head back, he groans for a millisecond before sitting up ramrod straight and kissing me hard, so much that my lips start to burn a little from the way he nips at them with his teeth. His hands come to cover my breasts, almost clumsily because of the thick material of my sports bra, until the burden of the fabric frustrates him enough to prompt a few rough, full grasps. When my nipples harden enough for him to notice, he eases up, but only slightly.

  Slipping my hand into his shorts, I stroke the full length of him for the first time, hard and pulsating in my palm. My fingers move to trace the tip, dragging the tiny drop of wetness over the head. He lets out a low muttering. “Fuck, baby, we can’t do this here.”

  I don’t stop. “Why? I thought you were some sort of rule-breaking bad-boy thug.”

  His mouth finds my collarbone and travels as far down between my breasts as possible. Then his head flops back to roll against the seat again. Leaning forward, I start kissing across the side of his jaw, up to his earlobe, which I take between my teeth.

  “And I thought you were a good girl from Montana. But you’re doing an excellent impression of a bad girl right now.”

  As my mouth leaves his earlobe and works down to his neck, I feel a warm, not Trevor-esque, wet lapping on my cheeks. Grimacing, I open my eyes to find Dax inches from my face, panting and tired of our shenanigans. He licks my face and Trevor’s neck, and we both let out groans and then crack up completely at the absurdity of a goofy dog ruining the moment. I roll off him and lie back on the seat with my head against the door trim.

  Trevor drops his head again, closing his eyes, and I get the impression he’s trying to will his erection to subside. With my legs splayed out haphazardly, it’s frankly not a very feminine posture. One leg bent at the knee, resting against the seat, the other stretches out to the floor. When he opens his eyes and turns to me, I let my lips curl into a small smile before running my pinkie finger over my bottom lip.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Kate.” Trevor starts to run one hand up the inside of my leg, slowly, until his thumb rests between my thighs. “You’re making it fucking impossible to make good choices right now.”

  Sliding his thumb back and forth across the skintight material, he presses teasingly harder with each pass. I squirm, raising my hips a little to meet his touch, needing more and wanting everything. After I’m rewarded with a few more determined strokes, my back curves upward and I end up letting out a quiet moan.

  With that, he pulls his hand back like it’s suddenly ablaze, grabs his shirt off the car floor, and throws open the door opposite me. He actually leaps out to put his shirt on, leaving me aching and confused on the seat. Once his shirt is on and he readjusts his shorts, effectively hiding all the good stuff, he leans back in and tugs on my ankle with a decent amount of force.

  “Come on, get out. Out. Now.” His voice is clear and direct, so I crawl out and stand there like a moron. “We have to get out of here before I take you hard and dirty right in the backseat.”

  “How romantic,” I utter sarcastically. Although I really want to beg and plead until he makes good on those words.

  “What would be worse is getting cited for indecent exposure by some Barney Fife park ranger that wanders up here. Or having a paparazzo find us instead.”

  Yikes, I hadn’t thought of that. Lacey would have a conniption fit if pictures of us in the back of an SUV ended up in a gossip magazine in that horrifically blurry style those photos always seem to have.

  Leaning back in to drag my shirt off the floor, I slip into it and walk back toward the passenger side. He smacks my ass as I stride by with my arms outstretched to pull the shirt over my head. It’s a taut effort that stings just enough to make me jump, squealing a little.

  “That’s for questioning my badass reputation. You’ll understand soon enough just how wicked I can be. Ideally, it’s going to involve you barely being able to walk in the morning.”<
br />
  “Promises, promises. You’re all talk.” I wave my hand in the air to brush off his claims. “Perhaps Simon can show me how it’s done.”

  In a split second, he grabs me roughly around the waist, his chest pressing against my back and his mouth against my neck. He bites down, adding yet another mark to the ones he already put there.

  “If he’s smart, Simon won’t get within fifty miles of you. Not unless he wants to lose all his teeth, his job, and his balls.”

  Once he releases me and I stumble into the passenger seat, Trevor starts the car and rolls all down the windows. The fresh air is appropriately cleansing, sweeping away the unquenched desire that billowed in the backseat a few minutes ago. He reaches over and takes my hand, resting our intertwined fingers on the center console between us.

  10

  During the afternoon, I am entrenched with a handful of Evelyn Summers’s annoying production assistants, all of whom keep talking to me in voices reminiscent of preschool teachers, saying things like “Of course!” “That’s fabulous!” and “We feel so privileged.” I try not to say anything too acerbic for fear they might spring some kind of therapist or life coach on me. All in a positive, life-affirming, help-you-find-your-passion kind of way, of course.

  Maintaining my equilibrium is even harder when I let my unruly mind wander to this morning. Recollecting my shameless behavior, I feel my cheeks heating. Less from embarrassment, despite the fact that I probably should be mortified for acting like a woman who just emerged from some kind of solitary confinement in Siberia. The sensation is more about how I can still feel every single kiss and touch on my skin. Dear Lord, I want to confess these sins, but talking about it would probably just make it worse. Instead of guilt or redemption, I would end up squirming in my seat from arousal.

  My brain keeps shouting at me that I need to figure out where all of these irrational behaviors are coming from. The surging desires, the longing to crawl all over him and let all kinds of crazed impulses take hold. He’s beautiful, for sure, but it can’t be that basic. I’ve never had a penchant for bad boys or trouble, so there is nothing in that old story. How I went from zero to essentially a backseat hand job is a conundrum.