His grin made her want to melt up against his body, which wasn’t too far away since he was still holding her arms. “Don’t get too stupid.”
“I’m trying not to do anything stupid.”
He was staring at her mouth and, with a shiver, Liz realized he wasn’t talking about four-wheeling anymore. As much as she’d resolved earlier he needed to be all in or stop touching her, she couldn’t bring herself to step back. Instead, she inched closer.
“What are you doing, Liz?” he asked in a low, husky voice.
“I’m trying not to do anything stupid.”
His hand moved from her elbow to her hip and he tugged a little, pulling her up against him. When he brushed his cheek over hers, his breath hot against her skin, she shivered.
“I shouldn’t kiss you,” he whispered.
“I shouldn’t let you.” She tucked her arms under his so she could run her hands up his back. Even through his T-shirt, she felt his muscles quiver at her touch.
“Why can’t I stop thinking about you? Why do I have to touch you?”
She could hear the battle he was waging with himself in his voice. He obviously felt like he was doing something wrong, but didn’t have the strength to stop doing it. Maybe it was up to her. If she shut him down, that would save them both some angst and drama.
But she thought about him, too. She wanted him to touch her. Before either of them could do what may or may not be the right thing and back off, she turned her face and pressed her lips to his.
“Where the hell is Miller?” Mitch yelled, and Drew physically flinched.
“I have to go.”
She pointed at his shirt. “Your shirt’s a little damp. From my bathing suit, I guess.”
“I’m putting a sweatshirt on before we go out, anyway.” He took a couple of steps, then paused and looked back, as if he was going to say something else.
“They’re waiting.” She didn’t want to hear whatever it was. An apology. A reminder nobody could know Drew had been kissing Mitch’s little sister at the bathhouse.
She wondered if that’s how he thought of her in his head while he was beating himself up. Mitch’s little sister. Screw that. She had her own identity, thank you very much.
Without saying another word, she ducked into the closest bathroom and bolted the door. After a few minutes, she heard the gravel crunch as he walked away. She stayed where she was until she heard the roar of the four-wheelers driving away.
*
Pounding through the woods, Drew had no room in his head for woman or best friend issues. His concentration was focused on the trail—every rock, bump, rut and corner rushing at him—and it felt damn good.
He leaned through a tight corner and then came to a rise in the trail. Goosing the throttle, he enjoyed the brief sensation of all four wheels leaving the ground. Then his headlights were cutting through the trees as he leaned into a hard left turn.
When Evan’s taillights dropped in front of him, Drew slowed down for the waterbar, and then they were running hard again. They’d been out two hours and they’d already done more than twice the miles they’d done as a group earlier in the day.
By the time they slowed for the last bit of trail into the campground, Drew was tension-free and ready for a shower and a beer. Then he was going to sleep like a baby.
After pulling the ATV into the overflow site they were using for parking, Drew took a back path to his tent to gather his things. Luckily most of the other guys who’d been out had RVs with private showers, so it wasn’t a race.
Outside his tent, he pulled off his boots and sweatshirt. He debated on dropping his pants, too, since it was fairly dark, but the presence of a teen girl somewhere in the campground sent him inside. Trying to keep his filthy pants from brushing against anything, he gathered what he needed and shoved his feet into sandals for the walk.
Drew grimaced when he saw the light shining out from under every door along the front of the bathhouse. Between sweating and the dust on the trails, he felt as if dirt had been ground into every nook, cranny and pore of his body, and he was desperate for a shower.
Before he got there, though, a door opened and Sean—who’d been riding at the front so had beat him back to the campground—walked out, framed by a billow of steam. The guy’s skin was practically pink from the heat and scrubbing, and Drew silently vowed to kick his ass if he’d used all the hot water.
Sean waved to his wife, who was talking to a couple of the other women over by the clothesline they’d strung to cope with endless wet towels and then walked off toward his camper. Drew ducked into the steamy bathroom before anybody could beat him to it and bolted the door.
He’d stripped down and was about to turn on the shower when he saw the sticky note stuck to the frame of the still-foggy mirror.