I turn to hiss at him, but stop when I see his expression. Is he teasing me again? For the second time? In a day?
Whatever. I climb up, which proves to be a nice distraction. Because you know how I mentioned that my body likes to faint? Well. Heights make it like to faint even more. I’m halfway to the top, and my head starts spinning. I clutch the sidebars and take a deep breath. I can do this. I can maintain normal blood pressure without passing out. I’m not even that high up. Here, if I look down I can—
“Don’t,” Levi orders.
I turn to him. I’m a few inches taller, and he looks even more handsome from this angle. God, I hate him. And myself. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t look down. It’ll be worse.”
How does he even know that—
“Look up. Take one step after the other, slowly. Yes, good.” I don’t know if his advice works, or if my blood pressure naturally spikes when I’m told what to do, but I make it to the top without crumpling like a sack of potatoes. At which point I realize that the worst is yet ahead. “Just lower yourself from the edge,” Levi says. He’s standing right below me, arms raised to catch me, his head a few inches from my dangling feet.
“Jesus.” Forget fainting. I’m about to barf. “What if you don’t catch me? What if I’m too heavy? What if we both fall? What if I break your neck?”
“I will, you’re obviously not, we won’t, and you won’t. Come on, Bee,” he says patiently. “Just close your eyes.”
See? This is what you get yourself into when you work out. Stay in the safe harbor of your couch, kids.
“You ready?” he asks encouragingly. Trust falls. With Levi Wardass. God, when did this become my life? Dr. Curie, please watch out for me.
I let myself go. For a second I’m suspended in air, sure that I’ll splatter Humpty-Dumpty style. Then strong fingers close around my waist, and I’m in Levi’s arms for the second time in ten days. I must have pushed from the wall a little too forcefully, because we end up closer than I intended. My front rubs against him as he lowers me to the ground, and I feel everything. Everything. The hard muscles of his shoulders under my hands. The heat of his flesh through the shirt. The way his belt bites into my abdomen. The dangerous tingling in my lower belly as he— What? No.
I step back. This is Levi Ward. A married man. A father. A camel dick. What am I even thinking?
“Are you okay?”
I nod, flustered. “Thank you for getting here so quickly.”
He looks away. He may be flushing. “You’re welcome.”
“I’m so sorry to disrupt your evening. I tried to call Rocío, but she was... I’m not sure where.”
“I’m glad you called me.”
Is he? I seriously doubt it. “Anyway, thank you so much. How can I return the favor? Can I pay for gas?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll drive you home.”
“Oh, there’s no need. I’m just five minutes away.”
“It’s pitch black and there are no sidewalks.” He holds the passenger door open, and I have no choice but to get in. Whatever. I can survive one more minute in close proximity with him.
The inside of his truck is pristine and smells good—not something I believed possible—with a handful of Lärabars in the back that make my stomach cramp with hunger, and a half-full CamelBak that I’d risk his germs for. He also drives a stick shift. Hmph. Show-off.
“You’re staying at the lodging facilities, right?”
I nod, pulling at the hem of my shorts. I don’t like how high they ride when I sit. Not that Levi would ever voluntarily look at my thighs, but I’m a bit self-conscious, since Tim used to make fun of me for being bowlegged. And Annie would defend me, growl at him that my legs were perfect and his opinion was unnecessary, and I would—
The truck starts. A familiar voice fills the cabin, but Levi quickly switches to NPR. I blink. The anchor is talking about mail-in ballots. “Was that... Pearl Jam?”
“Yeah.”
“Vitalogy?”
“Yep.”
Humph. Pearl Jam’s not my favorite, but it’s good, and I hate that Levi likes good music. I need him to love Dave Matthews Band. To stan the Insane Clown Posse. To have a Nickelback tramp stamp. It’s what I deserve.