Remembering that spectacular failure had me more than a little nervous. I made sure not to look down as I reached for the last branch—the one perched just outside Meg’s window. She had left it open. I could see her curtains billowing through the opening.
Was I going to just crawl inside like some deranged serial killer? That felt all kinds of wrong.
I wrapped my legs around the thick branch and held on for dear life. “Meg,” I whispered loudly.
Nothing.
“Meg,” I called out a little louder.
Still nothing.
I tore a piece of bark off the tree and winged it through the open sash. I could hear it fall with a thump. “Meg, damn it, it’s me!”
The sound of crickets greeted me. I groaned, realizing what a superbly dumb idea this was, then I made the mistake of looking down. Fuck me; it was a long way to the ground. My thighs started to clench up, and I was having a really hard time holding on.
“Meg!” I bellowed.
Finally, I heard some movement followed by an angry grumble. Seconds later, the curtain pulled back to reveal a very sleepy, very pissed off Meg Galloway.
Even in my precarious position, I felt my groin stir at the sight of her in a tight-fitting cami with no bra. I could see the dark ring of her nipples through the material, and the memory of them in my mouth brought about a total hard-on. Just great. Her thick red hair was in tangled disarray, falling into her face. Her shorts were tiny and barely covered her gorgeous ass.
She looked amazing.
When she saw me clutching the tree, her eyes widened. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, her voice rough from sleep.
I tried to sit up in order to retain some of my dignity. It was a lost cause.
“Oh, you know, I like climbing random women’s trees first thing in the morning,” I replied with perfect deadpan delivery.
“You’re going to wake up half the neighborhood, including my mother. Do you want to explain to June Galloway why you’re climbing a tree in her backyard at—” she glanced over her shoulder— ”at 5:45 on Sunday morning?”
The branch beneath me elicited a loud cracking noise. “Um, do you think you could give me a hand? I’m not sure how much longer this thing will hold my weight,” I asked nervously, trying to remain perfectly still.
Meg crossed her arms under her breasts. I tried not to salivate at the way the action pushed them upward, revealing so much creamy, white skin that I wanted to touch and taste and—
The branchlet out another groan and shook.
“Fuck!” I yelped. “Please, Meg. Just help a guy out here.”
She cocked her head to the side and regarded me. “I don’t know. I’m finding this whole scenario really amusing. I may let you sweat it out a bit.”
The branch cracked, and I had to scramble back toward the trunk where the wood was thicker. “You can mock me to your heart’s content. Inside,” I said through clenched teeth. Sweat beaded my forehead. “Meg, come on.” My voice went high and thready.
With a shake of her head, Meg stretched out a hand. I took it quickly, and she helped heave me over the windowsill. I inelegantly scrambled through the opening, falling into a heap on the floor.
This had to be up there as one of the top three most humiliating experiences of my life.
“So you want to tell me why you’re playing Joey to my Dawson all of a sudden?” Meg asked dryly, switching the overhead light on. She retreated to the opposite side of the room, clearly putting as much distance between us as possible.
Let me tell ya, nothing made a guy feel wanted like being treated like a leper.
I didn’t answer her right away. I was too busy looking around the space I used to know as well as my own room. Shit, it was exactly the same as it had been when we were teenagers, down to the Leonardo DiCaprio poster.
“Is it still there?” I asked, crossing to the far wall. I lifted the edge of the poster and peeked beneath it, my chest became tight. The crooked lines were faded but were still dark enough to see. I quickly counted the tallies. “Wait a minute; this isn’t right.” I frowned.
“What are you talking about?” Meg approached cautiously. I noted how she kept a respectable distance between us. What did she think I was going to do? Maul her?