Page 76 of Jonas

“We need to get back to the big house,” he told me something I’d already guessed. “You got the shower first.”

I wasn’t going to argue with that. I was starting to itch and I didn’t want to think about the possible bacterial infection growing on my flesh from the dirty pond water.

Jonas’s thumbs flew over his screen while still managing to navigate the dirt path.

“Impressive,” I mumbled.

“What?”

“You being able to text and walk and not trip.”

His gaze tipped up as did his lips. When his eyes went back to his phone I figured that was it.

I was wrong.

“Got you to make sure I don’t walk into a tree.”

It wasn’t just silly, it was ridiculously silly, because it meant absolutely nothing. But hearing Jonas say he had me to stop him from walking into a tree made my stomach twist in a way that was both a warning of danger and a sign to proceed with abandon.

I already knew the shower stall was small. What my sneak peek hadn’t informed me of was that the water pressure was shit. I would’ve been better off using the hose outside. And, in my haste to get into the shower, I’d forgotten to get my shampoo and conditioner out of my backpack. Not that either were going to do much good when it would take a millennia to wash them out of my hair.

I spied the only bottle in the shower—men’s body wash, which meant Jonas used it as an all-in-one. I could see this. He didn’t strike me as a man who primped. More like a shower-and-go kinda guy who would rather shave his head than be bothered with something as sissy as conditioner.

I, on the other hand, needed conditioner or my hair would be a rat’s nest.

That left me in a dilemma; dry off mid-shower and walk to the bedroom I’d stayed in last night in a towel—something I’d have to do anyway after my shower since I wasn’t going to put my dirty clothes back on—or yell for Jonas, hoping he was in the house, and ask him to get me my bag. Or I had a third option—finish up and use the hose outside to wash my hair.

It was the lukewarm water trickling over my head that made my decision easy.

Outside hair washing it was.

Less than three minutes later, I bemoaned my choice. I did this loudly when I stepped out of the stall and was reaching for the towel I’d set on the toilet seat. My foot got tangled in my jeans and when I kicked them free, my toes hit the corner of the vanity.

Even though I’d spent very little time with him, I channeled my inner Zane Lewis and spewed more curse words all at once than I’d said in the last four months combined.

The bathroom door banged open, hit the wall, and bounced back. But before it could slam closed, Jonas’s hand reached up and stopped it.

“What the fuck?”

“Goshdarned, motherfucking cabinet.”

“What?”

“I think I broke three toes,” I grunted.

“Three?”

I zeroed in on Jonas to tell him he could shove the humor I heard in his voice up his ass. His naked, very broad, very muscled, mouthwatering chest stole my grievance. And if that wouldn’t have done it, which it did, his shoulders, biceps, and the fact he was only in a pair of tight black boxer briefs definitely would’ve. But since his chest stole the show, the sight of all the rest left me panting.

“Fuck me,” he growled.

Yes! Please.

My eyes were still glued to the tattoo over his left pec when he reminded me, “You’re naked.”

Oh shit.

On instinct, one hand covered my downstairs lady bits and my other arm went over my chest.