Page 63 of The Beach Trap

He gets a mischievous look in his eyes. “That could be fun.”

The thought of being in the swimming pool with Noah makes my stomach flip again. “Don’t get your hopes up. I didn’t even bring a swimsuit here.”

Noah’s mouth falls open; he’s aghast. “Wait a second—are you telling me that you haven’t been in the pool at all?”

I shake my head. “I’ve been busy working. I know that’s a foreign concept to you, but—”

“So this means you haven’t been swimming in theGulf, either?” When I shake my head, he climbs out of the pool. “Okay, no. This is unacceptable. We’ve got to do something about this. Immediately.”

“Huh?”

“We’re going swimming. Right now.”

I shake my head, alarmed. “I just told you—I don’t have a bathing suit!”

His eyes glint. “You don’t technicallyneedone.”

“I’m not going skinny-dipping!” I say, horrified but also a little intrigued. I wouldn’t mind seeing Noah in the buff.

He shrugs. “Just go in your underwear. I can’t believe you’ve spent the past six weeks living on one of the prettiest beaches in America and haven’t gotten in the water once. How embarrassing for you.” He says that in a teasing tone. “Come on, Blake. Don’t be boring.”

He’s daring me. And I don’t like backing down from a dare.

“Fine,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “Just a quick swim, in and out of the water. Let me grab some towels.”

•••

Soon after,we’re stepping across the cool sand in the darkness toward the water. We set our towels on the dry sand, andthen it’s time to get undressed. Thanks be to the underwear gods, I’m wearing a decent set today—my UnderRooneys bra and boy short set with the smiling pineapples. More modest than a typical bikini, I remind myself as I shuck my clothes.

I slide a glance over at Noah, who is pulling his shirt over his head, revealing a gloriously toned, lean, muscular torso. He unbuttons his shorts and my mouth goes dry. Then he stepsoutof his shorts and I stop breathing. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of shorty-short boxer briefs, and dear mother of all that is holy, he looksdamngood.

“Still with the ogling?” he says, grinning at me. But it looks like he might be doing a little ogling of his own, his eyes drifting down my body. “Nice underwear.”

I blush. “Stop. You’re the one who said it would be fine.”

“No, I mean it. They look nice.Youlook nice.” His voice goes husky on that last sentence, which makes my insides go squishy. He holds out a hand. “Let’s go.”

I take his hand and we run into the cool water until it’s up to our thighs, then together we dive into a wave. It breaks over my head, engulfing me in silence for a few seconds. In an instant, all my exhaustion from the past few days washes away. When I resurface, Noah is shaking droplets out of his hair.

“Okay, you’re right,” I say, spreading my arms out wide. “I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

The water is the perfect temperature, cool but not cold, and even standing half out of the water, I don’t shiver. The soft breeze caresses my skin and moonlight dances across the waves.

“I wouldn’t steer you wrong,” Noah says, before diving under another wave.

We hang out there for a while, kicking our feet and floating in silence. The waves feel like gentle, rolling hills that lift me up and set me back down on the sand. I try to imagine all theworries and stress of the past several weeks dissolving from my body and drifting away.

Noah is stealing glances at me, and I’m doing the same to him, but I don’t know what the rules are after you make out with a guy and then he leaves town and you text each other nonstop. Maybe he decided I wasn’t worth the trouble and this is just a platonic late-night underwear swim? Maybe I’m misreading all the tension and electricity between us?

Then he reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me toward him until we’re less than a foot apart. All the air leaves my body in a rush. He’s so much taller than me, I have to tilt my head way up to meet his eyes.

“I missed you,” he says quietly. “I just needed you to know that.”

My heart pounds. “I missed you, too. I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad you’re glad,” he says. Then he kisses me, putting his hands around my waist to lift me to his level. I respond by wrapping my legs aroundhiswaist, and he smiles against my mouth. The kiss gets deeper, and when he sets me down, I’m breathless and light-headed.

Maybe that explains why I say the next thing that pops into my mind: “Are we ever going to have sex?”

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