Page 86 of No Place Like You

I gesture toward Nat flapping her hands in front of her to shake off her nerves. “Apple.” I turn toward my dad, who’s wiping a runaway bead of sweat off his forehead. “Tree.”

I look at Dexter, only to come face to face with a bright smile that makes the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle. “You know my mom’s the one who puts up the Christmas lights on the roof?”

His brows shoot up. “I hear acrophobia is no joke.”

“But apparently ‘joke’ enough to willingly go ziplining.”

I adjust the helmet on my head, loosening the strap and clicking it in place under my chin. Dexter does the same. The helmet sits on his still short hair a little lopsided, and he looks adorable. A crooked grin cuts across his face, and his cheeks are flushed from the heat and the strenuous act of hiking up the hill. His deep brown eyes gleam when he takes in my appearance: harness criss-crossing across my torso and my hair matted to my sweaty forehead.

A crease forms between his brows, and his lips straighten into a frown of disapproval. “I don’t think they did a very good job.” He reaches for the buckles resting on my hips, his hands tugging at the straps and my body jerking with each pull.

I rest my fists on my hips. “I think you should leave that to the professionals.”

“You can never be too sure with these things,” he claims seriously. His fingers brush over the area of bare skin below my crop top more than once, and I smile through an eye roll.

The frown on his face changes, only one side lifting into a sideways smirk that says he knows exactly what he’s doing. And I can’t help the laugh that has me pushing a hand into him and my chin ducking downward. Dexter laughs too, and his hand slowly glides to my waist before he coolly rests his hand there.

When I look up, I catch a glimpse of my dad looking in our direction. Sweat is still trailing down the side of his face, but his eyes linger on my hand pressed against Dexter’s chest and where Dexter’s is on my side. I drop my hand, and Dexter peers over his shoulder, where he meets my dad’s observant gaze.

Dexter clears his throat, stepping to my right and extending a hand in the universal “ladies first” signal. I reach Nat’s side, where she’s actually whining. “Why the hell are you putting yourself through this?”

She huffs. “I thought it would be fun.”

“Babe, we can go back down,” Hayden offers, standing on the other side of Nat. We all turn to look at the edge of the platform, where a woman has a running start to jump off the edge like she’s casually cannonballing into the deep end of the pool. She shrieks before taking the final leap, and her body careens down the zipline. Nat’s eyes turn to saucers the same time my dad crouches with his hands braced on his knees.

“No, no,” Nat answers firmly. “I said I was doing this. We’re doing this. Come on, Marshall,” she says to Hayden, shoving him forward. “It’s our turn.”

“One iced macchiato they both back out.” It’s Dexter, his hushed words close to my ear so only I hear. And I wipe away the glum smile on my face as quickly as it appears at the sound of his husky voice and replace it with something more rousing.

I turn and jut out my hand in his direction. “Make it a mint and chip milkshake, and you have a deal.”

38

Dexter

“Now, this is much better.”

Hayden, David, and Ashton, our old college friend who flew in last night, eye Mr. Marquez, a driver held upright with his fingers tracing over the sole of the metal.

“I’ll take eighteen holes over ziplining any day.” He chuckles, positioning himself over the golf ball nestled on the tee. His shoulders square, and his feet settle into the lush grass before he launches the dimpled ball across the golf course.

After spending the prior day partaking in activities that gave us enough adrenaline to fuel a triathlon, we decided to spend today doing something more relaxing. So while the guys decided to hit the golf course, the women are having a spa day.

“If you get a hole in one, Dexter’s the godfather.”

Ashton peers at Hayden over his shoulder as he takes his turn and positions his tee. “And if I don’t?”

“I get to be godfather,” Hayden answers. “Duh.”

“What?!” I argue. “I did not agree to this.”

Ashton rolls his eyes. “You guys are going to have to consult Carly before making bets on who gets to spiritually guide my unborn child away from immoral sins like pirated music and refusing to use your turn signal.”

“I have a sixteen-page PowerPoint explaining why illegally downloading music is the eighth deadly sin,” Hayden announces. “Choosing me would be the responsible choice.”

Ashton shakes his head before taking a hefty swing, his amateur wrist action angling his ball to land in the thick of some bushes pointing east. He groans, and Hayden hisses a quiet “yesss.”

We start to make our way to the next hole, returning to our golf carts on the narrow pavement area of the course.

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