Page 87 of Two-Step
“They eat anything that moves. Even other alligators.” No point in sugar-coating it.
She looks at the alligator, who’s a good fifty feet away, and then back at me. “And you’re sure he’s not going to climb up here and chase us?”
“Impossible,” I say, keeping my smile under as much control as I can. “Alligators can’t scale trees or bridges or boardwalks.”
She stares at me for a while. I stare back.
“Okay.” She drops her right shoulder and slips off her pack. “Grab onto me,” she says, dropping my hand.
I choke on air.“What?”
“Grab me.” She reaches into a side pouch on her pack and pulls out her phone. “Hold onto me so I don’t fall in.”
My first impulse is to reassure her. She’s not falling in. But when a woman like Iris tells you to hold her, you thank God and hold her.
So I send up my prayer, loop the dog’s lead around my wrist, stand behind her, and plant my hands on her waist. “I’ve got you.”
Iris lifts her phone and searches for the alligator through its screen. I try to focus on the image, but I can’t. Standing behind her this close is too much. My eyes make demands.
She’s bound her hair in a ponytail and braided its length, leaving her lovely neck exposed. Her skin here, too, is misted in sweat, glistening. If I kissed her right there, I’d taste salt.
My mouth waters, and my abs clench.
I shut my eyes, trying to get a hold of myself, but without sight, my other senses take up the slack. The perfume of her skin—Tupelo honey and sweat—teases my nose. I’m only inches away from burying it into her hair.
My nostrils flare to pull her in, and when her atoms flood my head, I hunger for more. For intimacies I’ll never have. The sudden urge to thrust my nose between her thighs and know the secrets of her scent has me biting back a moan.
With my eyes still closed, I feel Iris step forward, closer to the edge. I grip her tighter, opening my eyes, and find her struggling to steady the phone for a crisp shot.
She takes another step, and on instinct, I wrap my arms around her. “Easy,” I warn, holding her against me.
Iris gasps softly, and I don’t know if it's from my embrace or the realization that she’s standing at the edge of the boardwalk. She glances down. Maybe at the water. Maybe at my arms. Who knows? Her nervous laugh provides no clarity.
“S-see what I mean?” she asks, her voice shaking. “I’m a disaster magnet.”
“You’re okay,” I promise. “I won’t let go.”
Her next rush of breath is jagged, giving nothing away. She’s motionless for a long moment, her arms in front of her, phone between her hands. Then she adjusts the focus and takes several clear shots.
She lowers her arms slowly, and this time takes a step back.
We stand on the edge of the boardwalk, her back pressed to my chest, my arms locked around her middle. I want to hook my chin over her shoulder, tuck her snugly against me, turn this into something it’s not. But that’s not why we’re here.
What is she even doing with me?
Iris puts a hand on my arm. “Thank you.”
I don’t want her to thank me. I take two steps backward, bringing her with me until she’s safely away from the edge, and let her go. Iris’s hand stays on my arm, glides down my wrist, and clasps my hand again.
Right. We’re still on the bridge. I hold on while I can.
We start to walk, but Iris stops us. “Hang on.” She plucks the mouthpiece of her Camelbak, flicks open the valve with her thumb, puts the mouthpiece to her lips, and drinks.
Just watching makes my tongue feel like sandpaper. I swallow dryness.
She pulls the tip from her lips. “Thirsty?”
“Yeah.” The word is a husk of air, so I nod.
