Page 97 of The Path to Loving Him
“Fuck, are you okay?” he asks as I take deep breaths.
I don’t answer.
Because I’m floating like the clouds above me.
The angels are pulling me into their tunnel of another dimension.
“Gabby.” He shakes my arm. “Are you okay?”
On another whisper, I say, “This . . . is . . . death.”
“You’re not dead,” he says.
He’s right. If I were dead, I wouldn’t be subject to the blistering agony between my legs.
I slightly turn my head to the side to look him in the eyes. Him. He’s the one who did this.
“Why would you sneak up on me?”
“I wasn’t?—”
“Look at us. You’re covered in paint, I’m covered in paint, and I’m pretty sure I just removed all skin from my inner thighs by sliding down that pole.”
He glances down at my legs, then back up at me. “There’s skin still.”
“Probably the thinnest layer.” I scowl at him. “Why did you scare me?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose. Why were you out here alone on a sixteen-foot ladder? That’s not smart, Gabby.”
“Uh, I was painting, checking things off the list that you gave me. I already cleaned out the visitor’s dugout, removed all the gum, and polished the bench. I was tackling this task before heading home.” I sit up to get a good look at my legs. As expected, they’re beet red.
That’s going to be very unpleasant.
Sex was awesome, but I’ll probably never experience it ever again because nothing and I mean nothing is pulsing between these legs.
“I told you not to worry about the list.” He strips out of his shirt, and then uses the back of it to wipe at his eyes. I attempt to keep my eyes off his chest, but I find it really hard as it ripples under the sun, like a Greek god ready to . . . to . . . I don’t know what Greek gods do, but you get the idea.
He’s hot—even when he’s covered in paint.
When his eyes are finally clear, he blinks a few times and then makes eye contact with me, a stern set in his brow, as if he’s about to lecture me.
Repeating himself, he says, “I said don’t worry about the list. This was stupid, Gabby.”
“Uh, I was doing fine before you showed up.” His scowl grows. “Plus, I wanted to show you how dedicated I am to this team, and those things had to be done.”
“Yeah, and they’re things I would have made the boys do.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have put them on a list for me.”
He shakes his head and places his hands on his hips, looking so ridiculous covered in yellow paint. “You’re going to be stubborn, aren’t you?”
“Not stubborn, just right.” I attempt to stand but find it hard as my legs rub together.
“Don’t move,” Ryland says as he notices my struggle.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” He drops to his knees and then, in a flash, maneuvers between my legs and spreads them wide.
