Walk on the Wilder Side by Serena Bell

16

Rachel

Brody turns down a side road that gives way to dirt.

“Were you messing with me when you said you didn’t know where you were going and would know when we got there?” I ask.

“’Fraid so,” he says.

I punch his arm, and he laughs. It’s a pure, rich, molasses sound, and I want to wrap myself up in it.

He drives down the road until he reaches a gate, then parks. We’re the only vehicle here. I think we’re in the low foothills of the Cascades, but geography has never been my strong suit, and I was too busy freaking out to keep track of how we got here.

He pulls the tarp from the truck bed.

“Can you walk a couple hundred yards?”

I glance down at my sandaled feet. These are relatively sturdy sandals, the kind you could walk around town in, or Disneyland for a day, but I’m not sure how well they’ll do with the woods.

“It’s just like this,” he says, gesturing at the ground, which is a cat track. “No rougher.”

That turns out to be true; I get a few pebbles in my sandals, and my toes are dusty, but that’s the worst of it. And it’s worth it when we step out into an open area, a high rock outcropping overlooking a lake. The lake is a beautiful ice-blue color, surrounded by sunlit trees.

“Oh!” My voice reveals my delight. “This is beautiful!”

He spreads the tarp out. I look down at my dress, and at the tarp, which is—to put it kindly—dusty. Then I sit, because, well, dang it all to heck, as they say. My dress will launder, and Brody is right. I never do anything without a plan, and it feels good.

Besides, the dirt on the tarp is nothing compared to what the cherry juice is going to do to my white, yellow, and orange sundress. We sit side by side, facing the water. When Brody puts an arm around me, I scooch closer to him. He’s warm and muscly. My body gears up for more of that goodness by melting.

We eat jerky and cherries and drink water. The salty-sweet combo is so good, I can’t stop.

“This is really great, Brody,” I say, after a while. “Like, really great.”

I get a Brody smile.

“I know,” he says. “Do you think it would have been better if we planned it?”

I punch him. Mostly because his arm is like a brick wall, and it’s satisfying. Then I relent and say, “Nope.”

He kisses me with his salty-sweet mouth. Then he draws back and strips off his shirt.

“That’s pretty forward, don’t you think?” I tease.

He tosses his shirt on the tarp, and I stop teasing because, wow.

The last time I saw Brody without his shirt was years ago. He was, maybe, sixteen. And it was a beautiful sight then. But now? He’s a wall of tanned, muscled perfection. Broad shoulders, cut, inked pecs, ridged abs, just the right amount of dark-gold chest hair, and a matching trail disappearing into his jeans.

“See something you like?” he asks, amused.

I put a hand out and stroke the pretty. His abs flex under my touch, a small groan escaping his mouth. He captures my hand with his as I find his waistband.

“I want to show you one of my favorite things,” he says, stripping off his jeans. Now I really can’t take my eyes off him. He’s wearing gray cotton boxer briefs, and my touch has apparently positively affected him, because—yeah. The bad boy is big.

“I want to see it.”

His eyes follow my gaze and darken, but he says, “You can see that later.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Ah, Rachel,” he says. “If I’d had any idea how much fun you’d turn out to be, we would have been doing this years ago. C’mere.” He leads me to the edge of the rock outcropping we’re sitting on.

“We’re going to jump.”

“Are you out of your mind?” I demand, stepping back from the vertiginous drop.

“Nope,” he says. “Do you want to go first, or should I?” His eyes rake over me, appreciative. “You could lose the dress.”

“What if someone comes out here?”

“I bet your underwear’s pretty.”

I roll my eyes at him. “There is no earthly way I’m jumping off that cliff.”

“Okay,” he says, and shrugs. “See you in a few!”

And with that, he’s gone over the edge, yelling.

“Brody!” I call. My stomach lurches, and I peek over the edge, my heart pounding. But when I look down, he’s in the water, pumping his fist and howling with joy. It’s as much emotion as I’ve ever seen Brody express, and it fills me with delight.

“It’s so awesome!” he yells up to me. “Join me!”

It’s like there are two parts of me, the one whose heart took flight over the edge when Brody jumped, full to the brim with Brody’s happiness.

And the other part, which is full of objections: things that could go wrong, reasons I need more time to think about this. Like, a year.

Maybe if I’d known ahead of time. If I’d worn a bathing suit. If I had a towel.

If I knew the temperature of the water…

“You don’t need a plan! Just do it!” Brody calls.

I feel seen.

I’m not sure I can totally explain what happens next.

Or, well, maybe I can.

Most likely, the part of me that’s full of Brody pushed the other part of me off the cliff.

I slide the straps of my sundress off my shoulder. I let the dress pool at my feet, exposing my underwear. It’s nothing special, but it’s not granny panties either. A nice pair of light brown cotton bikinis and a matching lace bra.

Good.

I take a tentative step toward the edge, close my eyes, and jump.