Page 23 of Cross Check Daddies
There’s a message on my phone when I get back to the couch. Daisy’s already booked the London flight. I type back a short reply, then sit in the dark for a few minutes, watching the city move through the window.
Everyone’s got their role to play. Mine’s not to flirt. Not to pose for photos or brainstorm character designs. Mine’s to win. That’s what matters.
I close the laptop and lean back, watching the lights flicker in the distance like a game just waiting to be played.
CHAPTER TEN
Tanner
The sunset is ridiculous tonight.Like something out of a painting—cotton candy pink and honey gold streaking across the horizon, water reflecting all of it in molten swirls.
Brooke is laughing, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun as we stand in front of a tiny beach café window. The wind picks at her sundress, tugging it against her legs. She’s barefoot, toes curling into the sand like she’s always belonged here.
I hand her the cake, double chocolate with some kind of mousse frosting. “All right. You said it’s on your list. Dessert before dinner.”
“We just ate.”
“The burgers? That was a snack.”
“That makes no sense.” She laughs, and the sound unspools something in my chest.
“C’mon, I am trying here. We tackle the list slowly. So, let’s say the burger was a snack… Now cake is dessert.”
“That’s cheating.”
“Who said so? We make the rules, Brooke.”
She squints at me. “You’re really not letting this go.”
“I’m persistent.”
“You’re annoying.”
I shrug. “You’re still eating the cake, though.”
Her mouth curves slightly before she takes a forkful. Her eyes flutter shut for half a second. “Okay. That’s stupid good.”
“I told you.”
We drift a few steps away from the café and sit on a low blanket I threw into the bike’s back compartment earlier, toes nearly in the surf, the cake between us on a paper plate.
She’s licking chocolate off her bottom lip and not even trying to make it seductive, which somehow makes it worse. I shift, adjusting the waistband of my shorts, clearing my throat like it’s going to do a damn thing.
“You actually planning on ticking all thirty off that list?” I ask, tearing into my own slice.
She leans back on her elbows, hair falling behind her shoulders. “I think some of them were more aspirational than realistic. Like the surfing one? I told you I tried that once and swallowed half the Pacific.”
“I told you I’ll teach you. I’m good.”
“Of course you are.”
We both laugh, letting silence sit between us after that. It’s comfortable. Easy. Dangerous.
“Okay,” I say, standing. “Next item.”
She watches me, wary. “Which one?”
“Dance barefoot on the beach. No music.”
