Her Dirty Archeologists by Mika Lane

10

FLEUR HOLMES

I hadn’t met any of the people in our neighboring camp, but the guys went over there a lot, pow-wowing over something or other. It was no surprise because everyone in archeology knew each other. In fact, I needed to start doing my own networking. But the way one of the guys in the other camp stared at me made my skin crawl. So I stayed put.

Drake had actually been over there all morning, having told me to wait for him, so I was basically sitting around twiddling my thumbs.

Actually, I couldn’t complain. Under the tarp we’d erected over our kitchen area, it was quite pleasant in the shade. And I had loaded my Kindle with new books before I’d left the US, so I was flush with good reading material. All I had to do was choose my next read, since I was done with the paperback Soleil had given me, Hot Days in the Desert.

She’d thought it might give me some ideas.

But that’s not what this trip was about. At least it hadn’t been until Jonas kissed me.

It had been nice. No. Actually, it had been great. His lips were full, and he’d kissed me softly at first, and when I didn’t resist, he went for it—well, I did, too—our tongues tangled, and he tasted so good.

The guy I’d been dating—well, booty-calling with—until right before I left for the dig had actually been a shitty kisser. But he was good-looking and nice enough that I was willing to fuck him on a dozen or so occasions.

He’d kept telling me he liked me, so I figured he wanted more, until he didn’t. Which was fine. I wasn’t sure I liked him enough to keep him around long-term.

But now, I was surrounded by men. Not boys. Not stupid college boys who thought they knew everything and could set the world on fire with their newly minted college degrees and no experience under their belts.

My father, when he was alive, had always told me that getting a degree was just the beginning. After that, no matter what the profession, there were still years of learning ahead.

And how right he was. Here I was, about to finish my PhD in archeology, and I didn’t even know until today that only a dork bought a leather tool belt from the back of Archeology Monthly. I had a long way to go.

So I might as well make the journey as pleasant as possible, and today that meant sitting in the shade, at least until Drake appeared, watching Penn and Jonas Keller work.

A good gig, if you asked me.

And when I say work, it would be more accurate to call their movement a sort of ballet, that’s how beautiful they were. The sweat of their labor poured off their shirtless bodies like it was raining on them. As they moved, first raising their pickaxes, and then bringing them down on the ground with all their strength, they grit their teeth and even occasionally grunted on contact.

The brothers had started the day with a ground penetrating radar machine, a giant thing they’d lugged over in a wheelbarrow that used radar to examine whether anything might be buried in the ground. When they were pretty convinced there was something worth checking out, they cordoned off the area into a square grid, and set to work removing the top layer of dirt.

The gamble was that the machine might sense an ancient artifact, or just a big, boring rock. You didn’t know until you muscled the first layer of dirt out of the way, and then got in there with more delicate tools. That’s where I would come in.

But until the first layer was cleared, I got to watch the show.

And what a show it was.

So. Freaking. Hot.

Their muscles stretched and contracted over and over, from their rippled abs up to their rocky shoulders, and down their muscular backs.

Every now and then, one of them would stop to push the sweat out of his eyes with his forearm, take a deep breath, and get back to swinging.

“Hey, guys, anyone like some water?” I called, jumping to my feet.

It was the perfect excuse to get closer.

Wonder if Jonas had told his brother we’d kissed.

They looked my way. Guess they hadn’t even noticed I was there.

“Um, yeah, sure,” one said.

Since Penn had shaved his facial hair, there was no way to tell them apart. I’d hoped they’d at least have tattoos or something that I could identify them by. No such luck.

I filled two canteens with water. I was so excited, I spilled half of one on the ground but finally got the lids on securely and headed over to where they were working.

They’d stopped attacking the earth, having set aside their pickaxes to relax against the side of their trench. One pulled his T-shirt out of his back pocket to wipe off his face, and another took the bandana tied around his neck and put it around his head.

By the time I reached them, my legs were like jelly.

“Um… hi… here… you go,” I said, handing each their canteen.

As they chugged the cool water, I stood there, watching rivers of perspiration run down their temples to their chests, their skin deliciously wet and glistening in the sun.

Maybe they needed me to wipe them down?

“Hey, which of you is which?” I asked.

Catching their breath after chugging in one long draw, they looked at each other and laughed.

Cripes, why did they have to smile when they were sweaty and half naked, dammit? As if this weren’t already hard enough.

“What do you think?”

Ugh. Of course. They had to turn it into a game.

“You know what? I bet you guys have been doing this all your lives. Testing people. Hell, I’ll bet you’ve even switched before. Fooled a girlfriend or two.”

“I plead the fifth. I will not incriminate myself,” one of them said.

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, guys. Whatever. See if I bring you water again. And it’s awfully hot under the sun here.”

More laughing.

“So, before I go back to my very important job of reading in the shade, do you guys need help with anything?”

They shrugged. “We’re good.”

I grabbed the empty canteens and stomped back to the shade.

I knew what they were thinking. That I had nothing to contribute—aside from being a water runner, that was. In fact, I’d even overheard them talking about me. I’d been returning to my tent after hitting the latrine for a pee late at night.

“Yeah, man, she’s good-looking, no doubt. But what is she bringing to the table, work-wise? I mean, she looks like she’s afraid to break a nail.”

Wrong. That was so wrong.

But here I was in broad daylight, hamstrung from showing them how I could contribute all because Drake was socializing at another camp.

Fucking A. Why did I have to wait for him to come back, anyway?

And with that, I turned my back to the site, no longer interested in watching the twin Adonises.

I was getting tired of waiting for Drake, as well.

Fuck them all.

* * *