Page 58 of Gunnar

She’s already there. In the shed, rooting through some boxes.

The sight of her bent over like that stops me cold.

She has the peachiest ass I’ve ever seen in my life, perfectly displayed in those tight stretchy pants.

For a moment I just stand and stare.

Then I remember my manners.

Remember that I’m not just a feral beast.

“Help you with something?” I call, keeping my voice soft so I don’t startle her.

She looks around.

A strand of hair has escaped her ponytail and is stuck to her cheek. Her face is slightly flushed from the cold air.

“I was wondering if you had a washing line.”

“A what?”

She blinks at me.

“A washing line.”

I stare at her blankly.

“You know,” she says patiently, “something to hang clothes on? So they dry?”

“Oh.” I scratch the back of my neck. “We usually just… hang stuff over chairs.”

She stares at me. “You dry clothes… on chairs?”

“Works fine.”

For bears.

She presses her lips together, like she’s trying not to laugh.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “Well. I thought maybe we could rig something up.”

She gestures around the shed. “Maybe with some rope? Nails? Something like that?”

“Good idea,” I say quickly.

I drop down beside her and start digging through the boxes.

Our arms brush. The contact sends a jolt straight through me. Heat spreads across my skin.

Her body stiffens too.

I glance sideways.

She’s suddenly very focused on the contents of the box.

“Oh!” she says quickly, pulling out a dusty ball of twine.

“This could work.”