: ̗̀➛ part three of the
one for the road series
SNOWFALL / CL16
in which two childhood friends reunite. a formula one driver wants to learn how to snowboard and it just so happens that the daughter of his mum's be...
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✧ ˚ · . CHAPTER EIGHT . · ˚✧ religion's in your lips
TW: mentions of body dysmorphia & body insecurities
palermo, sicily, summer 2014
Sweaty.
That was the only word to describe this afternoon. The harsh Italian sun was beating down on my forehead, perspiration rolling down my body in places I didn't know even had sweat glands. This wasn't what I had expected when Charles whisked me away this afternoon, only hinting at a 'brisk workout'.
There was nothing brisk about an hour long hike—and we had only just started our way back. I let out a shaky breath as Charles handed me a lukewarm bottle of water, my fingers trembling slightly as they reached to grasp it and move it to my lips.
"Do you want to kill me?" I asked after a long sip. "You know I don't train like you do, right?"
Charles' booming laugh sounded from behind me. "You're the one trying to kill me in those shorts."
I twisted my body to gaze at my ass, which was covered by a pair of dark purple shorts. I didn't see what he was talking about—there was nothing special about them, except that they had a little pocket on the small of my back where I could slip my phone into. Whoever had designed that deserved an award.
Before I could speak, Charles' hands snuck around my waist, forcing me to a stop. He pulled me back into him, my heart stuttering in my chest. It took me a second to process the rock hard torso I was now pressed up against, my hands flying to Charles' hands, trying to—what was I trying to do? Get him off of me? Definitely not that.
Gently, Charles turned me around to face him. His jade green eyes met mine before scanning my features. Knowing him, he would be trying to read my mind. "Don't try to wiggle away from me," he mumbled as his lips pressed against my sweaty temple. "Your ass looks amazing."
I rolled my eyes, pushing him off of me. "I want nothing more than to get home right now, Leclerc. If I feel one more bead of sweat roll down my neck I will throw a tantrum, and you complimenting my ass isn't helping my mood."
"Why not?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. His white Puma shirt stretched deliciously across it, only accentuated by the rigid posture he had trained himself to have. The scrunch in his eyebrows that expressed his concern annoyed me—my sports bra was digging into my skin and I wanted nothing but to not think about how my body looked right now. Sweaty and flushed was probably the two words that would best fit.
What didn't help was the fact Charles was barely panting, and every time he wiped the sweat off of his brow with his t-shirt, a sliver of skin was exposed. The deep v that dug into his skin and led to the edge of his dark green shorts was enough to make me drool. It made me feel even more insecure about all the loose skin hanging in all the wrong places and I was severely regretting having chosen to only wear a sports bra and biker shorts. There was nothing to cover myself up with.
