Page 41 of Second Tide's the Charm
“Aren’t the protein bars breakfast?”
The stare I give her is rendered ineffectual by the darkness, so I settle for a heavy sigh. “Granola bars aren’t even a snack.”
“Then why’d you bring them?”
“Survival.”
She laughs, a loud burst of sound that she smothers with her palm, and I want to pull her against me, to feel her vibrating with suppressed giggles, to dip my nose and breathe in the dewy tickle of her curls. Laughter is not supposed to be this sexy, but everything about Hope is an aphrodisiac, from her luscious curves to her gorgeous mind.
Lowering her hand, she says, “Breakfast is a boring bet.”
“What do you have in mind?” It’s a challenge, but we don’t need a bet for what I have in mind.
“I want to drive the boat if I win.” Her answer is a one-eighty from my thoughts, saving me from myself.
Most days I’d prefer to be a passenger, so I never considered that she might want to be captain. Bet or no bet, I have no problem with it, but now that she’s brought it up, the wicked side of me is having too much fun goading her to stop now.
“No bet.” I start walking again, but she jogs to catch up, outpacing me and planting herself in my path.
“Why not?” She’s walking backward, and I have to fight the urge to take her elbow to keep her from tripping over the uneven sand. “It’s low stakes. No money is changing hands.”
“Not going to happen.”
“But you know I learned how to navigate years ago.”
Playfully, I dodge around her and catch a whiff of coconut and vanilla underscored by the tang of ocean air. My steps wobble and she’s beside me in an instant, keeping pace.
“It’s selfish not to share,” she huffs.
That brings me to a halt. “I am not selfish.” In my mind, I can almost hear her rapid breaths, the ragged brush of her exhales against my ear as I lay beside her, one hand between us...
I halt that train of thought before it goes off the rails, and look over my shoulder at her, gaze dropping down her tall frame. “I gave you that hoodie, didn’t I?”
“This—” She looks down, then her hands fly to her cheeks. “Why didn’t you mention it earlier? When you didn’t say anything, I figured you didn’t notice.”
I notice everything about her, but that’s definitely not an approved topic. Instead, I say, “That thing comes down to your knees. It’s pretty conspicuous.”
“Mid-thigh at most.” She tugs at the hoodie, and the hem slips over her shorts, making it look like she’s not wearing any bottoms.
I ball my fists. “Can we not talk about your thighs?” The words come out in a growl, and I check myself. “Sorry, it’s just...” I’m worn down from keeping up the façade. “We did so good yesterday. But every time I’m with you, there’s a flood of memories. And the pressure keeps building—”
“What kind of memories?” she interrupts, eager, like my answer is the cipher to a puzzle.
“Right now, the kind that makes things...difficult.” My voice slips on the last word, and her breath catches.
“Technically,” she says, voice low, and I tip forward to listen, lean in, because I’m helpless to stay away, “this is outside working hours.”
I keep still as stone, worried if I move, I’ll do something reckless that obliterates our carefully-drawn boundary. “Technically.” The word scrapes past my bone-dry throat.
“We could call it an experiment,” she says, louder now, more certain, or perhaps trying to convince herself. “Maybe this would even make things easier. Not wondering about what it would feel like to kiss each other again.”
“You think about that?” It’s reckless to invite this moment in the dark, knowing dawn will come, and with it, a reckoning. But I’m losing the battle against years of want. Grateful to surrender, if she wants to fall along with me.
“Sometimes.” Sunrise isn’t far off, and I catch sight of the flash of white as her teeth sink into her lower lip.
“Right now?”
She dips her chin in a nod, looks up at me. “I don’t know how to stop.”
