Page 7 of Tourist Trap

“I had one drink and two shots over a two-hour span. June? June is hammered, Lainey is pretty sloshed, but I’m not drunk. Buzzed, yeah. But not drunk.”

“You were dancing on a bar.”

She shrugs. “It sounded like fun and our song came on.” I bypass that explanation, moving to my next example.

“You ran into the ocean.” This time, she splashes cold water at me with a giggle. I wipe it out of my eyes as I tread water.

“It also sounded like fun.”

“You disappeared under the water, Claire,” I say through gritted teeth, partially from the frigid water and part from irritation that she isn’t taking her safety—or the concern of others—into consideration.

Just like Paul, she refuses to care about how her choices impact those around her.

I shift back toward the shore until my feet are on sand, done with this game of hers.

“I was on the swim team. I can hold my breath for a while.” Her smile widens, and she elegantly swims over to me as if we’re not in freezing cold water before putting an arm around my neck. Her body is warm against mine, a relief in the frigid cold of the water, but I force my mind not to focus on that. Not even when her hand is moving up to my cheek, her eyes zeroed in on my face as her thumb brushes a drop of water from my mustache. “Were you worried about me, Miles?”

She says it so softly and so sweetly, it takes me aback.

A beat passes before I answer. “I wouldn’t want something to happen to you,” I tell her honestly, but the words come out like a deep growl.

Suddenly, this moment feels so much more intimate than it should be. I don’t know if it’s in my head, but if we’re being honest, sometimes that’s the most dangerous type of intimacy.

“You’re cute, you know,” she says after a moment.

I sigh and shake my head, taking a step backward, closer to the shore, and taking her with me. “Claire, come on. Clearly you’re starting to lose it. Let’s get you out of this water before you freeze to death.” I soften my words, trying to take the irritation out of them that’s simmering in my veins.

“I’m serious, I always thought so. Ask June.” She lets go of me as I attempt to take another step toward the shore, swimming a few feet away.

My pulse skips a beat at her words, but I shake my head again. I don’t care what she says, I’m convinced Claire is drunk off her ass, or else she would not be acting like this.

“Well, I always thought you were a pain in my ass, so,” I say, hoping I sound the least bit convincing, considering it is a huge fucking lie.

I reach for her again, fully prepared to drag her to shore if I have to, but she shifts out of reach once more before I can.

“Claire, you’re going to put the man into cardiac arrest!” June says with a laugh. Her words and Grant’s following laughter snap me out of whatever trance Claire had me in.

“Come on. We really have to get you out of this water,” I say in earnest now. “I’m fucking freezing.” I tip my head toward the sand where Grant, June, and Lainey are now standing.

She rolls her eyes, but finally her soft hand slides into mine, and she follows as I start to trudge toward the shore, the cool night air making me shiver as more skin breaches the water.

“You’re insane, you know,” June says to her friend, and Claire shrugs.

“Life’s short.”

“Shorter when you’ve got a death wish,” I grumble, and she lets out a small laugh.

“You’re a fun one, Claire,” Grant says, and I glare at him for encouraging her. “What? She is!”

“She’s gonna freeze,” I say, looking at the woman as she bends in her fucking underwear, ass aimed at me, twisting her long blonde hair and wringing the water from it before she reaches for the shorts June is holding out for her. She grabs a clip from the belt loops I didn’t see before, pinning the wet locks up with it.

“I’m not going to freeze,” she says with another roll of her eyes, but shivers a bit despite herself. When she reaches for her top, she finds it soaking and covered in sand before she cringes at it.

“Your lips are blue,” I say, looking at her, and a bolt of unwanted alarm rushes through me.

“I’ll be fine,” she says as she slides her dry jean shorts on. “Nice to know you’re looking at my lips, though.”

How does she do that? Turn everything into some kind of taunt or flirt, some proof that I’m looking at her, thinking about her.

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