Until the World Stops - L.A. Witt Page 0,48

did, even if it was during the least normal, mundane period we’d ever experienced.

Last night, we’d gone out and had Olive Garden in the truck and shot the shit about whatever. Now we were barbecuing.

And I…

I liked it.

I had no idea what that meant. I had no idea what the hell was going on between my ears or between Tristan and me.

But I liked it.

“How rare do you want it?” Tristan glanced over his shoulder as he put a couple of burgers on the grill on our back deck.

“Eh, little pink in the middle.” I sat back in a deck chair with a beer in hand, watching him barbecuing burgers and corn on the cob. I wasn’t being a complete lazy ass—I’d already made some coleslaw with my mom’s secret family recipe, and I’d sliced onions since I could do it without burning my eyes. Or so I’d bragged. Joke was on me, and Tristan had been thoroughly amused.

Now there was nothing left to do except grill the burgers and corn, so Tristan manned the grill while I lounged with a beer and enjoyed the view.

Because goddamn, it was a good view.

Winters in Maine were a bear, but spring and summer were nice, especially this close to the water, where the wind kept it cool enough to be comfortable. Today was a hot one, and between that and standing at the grill, Tristan had peeled off his T-shirt.

And what could I say? He was gorgeous when he had clothes, on but half-naked? Damn.

Might have to keep this in mind next time I’m having trouble sleeping.

I tore my gaze away from him and shifted in my chair. I really needed to get a grip. Er, pull myself together.

I let my eyes drift back toward him as I took a deep swallow of beer to cool me down. Yeah, he was hot. And with all the places my mind had been since last night…

Oblivious to me ogling him, Tristan put the tongs down, laced his hands behind his head, and twisted one way, then the other. Something in his back popped audibly, which drove a low groan out of him, and I almost dropped my beer.

Hands still behind his head, he twisted again, this time enough to look at me. And the fucker grinned.

Wait. Was he oblivious to me ogling him?

Or did he think I was just grossed out from the way his back cracked?

Well, whatever. I was definitely checking him out, and the sound his back made didn’t faze me at all. Not when I’d been way too busy enjoying smooth muscles and lightly tanned skin. He’d been out running without his shirt lately, hadn’t he? Good God. I hoped he was never running alongside the highway when I was on my way home from work. I might hit a tree or something.

“And, done!” Tristan’s comment pulled me out of my thoughts. “Dig in!”

“Awesome.” I put my beer aside and got up. We each dressed our burgers and helped ourselves to the small side dishes we’d put together. Then we sat back down in the deck chairs and started eating.

He toed off his sandals and put his feet up on one of the empty chairs. As he moved, the long scar above his left foot caught the light, and a memory flashed through my mind. Back when we’d worked together, it wasn’t all that uncommon for us and our coworkers to start comparing war wounds and war stories, so I knew the story behind the scar on his ankle. Or at least, I knew the version he told his buddies at work.

“Okay, I gotta know.” I sipped my beer and then gestured at his foot. “That story you always told about how you busted your ankle—was that true, or was it bullshit?”

Tristan laughed. “Hand to God, it was true.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded. “Seriously.”

“But…how?” I inclined my head. “I mean, it’s the physics of it that I can’t get figure out.”

“Here.” Tristan got up and put his plate on the chair where he’d been resting his feet. “I’ll show you.”

“You’ll show—wait, what? What are you doing?”

Before I could stop him, he hoisted himself onto the deck railing. He paused, arms out as if to make sure he’d caught his balance, and then he stood up. “So, I was standing on the side of the truck bed like this.”

“Uh-huh.” I cringed, worried he was about to bust his ass or his other ankle. “Why were you standing on the side of the truck bed like