Page 65 of Stroke of Fate

She’s wearing the same California sweatshirt I pulled out of her box of stuff. I can’t believe that was a few weeks ago. It feels like only yesterday when she showed up outside my door, yet now, I can’t picture my life before her.

Bear shuffles her feet toward the pool's edge, a shy smile playing on her lips. “Hey, Whiskey Eyes.”

“Hey, Teddy Bear.” I wink from my spot in the water.

The nicknames have stuck and may be corny, but man, I love it when she uses it on me. If Mack and the twins could hear me now, they’d have a field day with this information.

Jutting my chin toward the bag, I ask, “You making my year and staying the night with me?”

The slightest blush dusts her cheeks before she shakes her head. Even though I was only half joking, it still takes effort not to let the disappointment show on my face.

“I still owe Macy one for covering for me, so I’m taking her shift tonight. Figured I’d just get done here before I have to go in,” Bear explains, placing her bag next to mine. “Speaking of, is this about the project?”

Her blue gaze finds mine in the water, and I’m struck dumb by how striking they look today. She tilts her head slightly, and I realize she’s waiting for me to answer.

“No,” I say honestly. “I just wanted to see you.”

Her gaze softens, and for once, she doesn’t try to hide the effect my words have on her. It feels like some damn good progress.

“Well, in that case, am I coming in, or are you coming out?” she asks, eyeing the water warily.

“Oh, you’re definitely coming in,” I say with zero hesitation.

One perfectly sculpted brow raises. “What if I didn’t bring a swimsuit?”

I shrug, raking my teeth over my lip. “You wouldn’t see me complaining.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile remains firmly in place as she slips off her shoes and socks.

What happens next will forever be burned into my memory. And if irony strikes me down and I die drowning, let it be known I went happily.

Bear starts by sliding her leggings down one leg. Once she’s discarded them on the floor, her delicate fingers grip the hem of her sweatshirt. As she slowly lifts it over her head, I momentarily forget how to breathe.

Fuck. Me.

She’s stunning—I always knew she was—but seeing her like this is a whole different level.

The straps of her pink bikini bottoms sit high on her hips, extenuating her long legs. I can’t tear my gaze away. My eyes eagerly drink in every inch of her.

And then she does something that would have my dick hard if it wasn’t already. She adjusts the triangle parts of her bikini top, causing her perky breasts to shift slightly with the movement. My dick is begging for attention of some kind to ease the ache.

Oblivious to the turmoil she’s causing to my poor friend, Bear sits her perfect ass down on the edge of the pool, letting her legs dangle in the water.

“It’s warmer than I thought it would be,” she says nonchalantly, kicking her legs back and forth.

“They keep it at eighty degrees.” My voice is hoarse, and my swim shorts feel painfully tight in the front.

She slips a hairband from her wrist, gathers her long, thick strands in her hands, and secures them into a messy bun.

Now that she’s within touching distance, I notice a faint scar on the lower right part of her toned stomach. Curiosity pulls me forward until I'm standing between her slightly parted thighs.

My finger traces the raised skin, and she shivers under my touch. How did I not notice this the night I put the heating pad on her stomach?

“What happened here?”

“Had to get my appendix removed,” she says softly, gripping the edge of the pool.

My jaw clenches, thinking about how much pain she must have been in.

---