Free True Divide by Liora Blake Page A

stay here because you wanted to, or because you didn’t know how to leave?”
    I close my eyes. He has always been too good at this: asking questions that are hard to answer and making quiet observations that reveal more than you ever wanted anyone to know.
    I give him the only answer that makes sense.
    â€œBoth.”

    An hour later, I show Jake my pruney fingers and we agree that staying any longer means risking complete liquefaction from the sulfur. Thankfully, his earlier overly serious inquiry was immediately followed by him staring at me earnestly for a moment after I answered, then nodding somberly.
    â€œLacey?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œDo you know what one hat said to the other?”
    I was still stuck on his previous question, so all I could do was scrunch my face up in confusion.
    â€œYou stay here, I’ll go on . . . ahead.”
    Then we were back to the brand of fun I remember having with Jake. Corny jokes to make me laugh, him giving me grief about my taste in music, the threat of tickling and dunking in the hot springs.
    I make him leave the spring first, promising I won’t stare at his naked body as he does. Total lie. I stare and he takes an extraordinarily long time to put all his clothes on, which leads me to believe he knows I’m cataloging his grown-up body and doesn’t care. After enjoying an indecent inspection of his tight ass when he walks away, the shift of his back and shoulders as he pulls his T-shirt on, and the way his hands move across the flat of his stomach to zip and button up, it’s all I can do to stop from allowing an embarrassingly breathy moan to escape my mouth.
    Once he laboriously slips the heavy wool sweater over his head, he stands there eyeing me while I remain in the water. I tip my head and wait until he turns away.
    â€œNo fair, Shoelace. I gave you an eyeful. You took it; I know you did.”
    â€œNot my fault you like showing it off. Or that you fell for my don’t worry, I won’t look ruse. Amateur hour.”
    â€œWell, just so you know, I’m imagining you naked right now. Drawing a very detailed picture in my mind.”
    â€œGo ahead. How do I look?”
    A frustrated manly grunt is the only response, followed by him resignedly clasping his hands atop his head and sighing.
    But he does the right thing and stays turned around while I slither out and dress, leaving my wool tights off because trying to tug them on over dry skin is hard enough. The drag of cold damp skin would make it an exercise in futility.
    Halfway down the path back to the truck, I realize that I have what feels like approximately ten pounds of sharp little pebbles and dirt inside my wellies, dragged in as a result of barefooting my way out of the spring and over to my clothes. In my zeal to get clothed, combined with the need to get back to the heater inside the truck, I shoved my feet in the boots without even stopping to brush off the bottoms of my feet. Every step hurts and once we make it to the truck, Jake holds open the door and I hop over to perch on the very edge of the bench seat, the skin on the backs of my thighs rubbing against the rough texture of the saddle-blanket seat cover.
    As I slip one boot off, careful to keep my foot off the ground while I tip it over and shake it out, Jake stands there with one hand on the top of the still-open truck door and shakes his head.
    â€œDid you walk all the way back down here with a bunch of rocks in your boots? All you had to do was ask me to stop. We could have saved your little toes from the beating just inflicted on them.”
    â€œIt wasn’t that bad.” With one foot handled, I lift my other leg up and stand flamingo-style, toes pointed unnaturally, and start in on the opposite side. Just as Jake starts to chuckle and offer another smart comment, a tight, squeezing sensation runs through my calf. A wicked muscle cramp seizes up the entire length of my lower leg, from