Gemotions

He’d been mowing the lawn, shirtless, when she came over. Sweat beaded on his chest, tracing the outline of muscles. “Hey, could I maybe put in a little herb garden along the fence?” Mark asked, his voice low and gravelly.

She was already halfway through the iced tea when she saw him. Her pulse kicked against her ribs, a frantic rhythm against the quiet afternoon. She gripped the glass so tightly, her knuckles were white.

He leaned against the fence, the worn wood pressing into his back, and the sun illuminated the fine hairs on his arms. Her breath hitched. A thrill shot through her, settling low in her abdomen. “Sure,” she croaked, the word sounding like a broken promise. “That’d be… fine.”

He smiled, a slow, easy curve of his lips. She felt a shiver snake down her spine, and she shifted her weight. She suddenly needed to be somewhere else, anywhere else. She needed a cold shower.