Page 97 of The Best Men
“Yes I do. Also, stop talking about fucking right now.”
“If I must.”
He’s quiet for a second. And I’m about to change the subject, when suddenly, Asher grabs my waist in a tackle. I take a gulping breath before he plunges me underwater. And when I almost choke anyway, it’s from laughing. “You dick,” I say.
“You love my dick.”
True. But I fight back anyway, sweeping his feet out from under him.
Although it’s hard work horsing around with a professional athlete. He rolls, gaining the upper hand, and I have to take another quick breath before he dunks me again.
I’m outclassed in this wrestling match against all his battle-hardened muscles. But my God, theview. I may be losing, but I’m winning at life.
We goof off in the ocean for a long time, and everything about this beach date is perfect.
Including the hammock we find at the edge of the sand when we get out of the water.
“Let’s dry off,” he says.
“Code for make out in a hammock?” I ask.
He curls his hand over my ass as we walk. “You know me so well.”
Maybe I do.
And maybe I like that.
* * *
“I think this was made for one person,” Asher announces as he sinks down into the hammock, which hangs between two palm trees.
“Then you better get out,” I tell him.
He scoffs, then reaches for me. “Get in here and get next to me.”
“So bossy,” I say, then slide next to him, the woven rope smushing us together, shoulder to crushed shoulder. “This is comfy.”
“Do I detect a note of sarcasm, Banks?”
“All the sarcasm.” But I’m not going anywhere. This is exactly where I want to be. “I could spend the whole day here.”
It comes out like a joke, but it’s all true.
“Same here,” he says, a dry note in his voice too. And he’s not moving either.
Maybe we’re both saying the same thing—that we don’t want to go.
Or maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part.
I’m honestly not sure what’s happening in my mind anymore or my dumb heart. Everything just feels good with Asher. Like a drug, a hit of the best stuff.
And all I want is to stay intoxicated.
So I shift my body, a task which isn’t the easiest while lazing in a roped swing. But I soldier on, the hooks of the hammock creaking as I turn toward him, then brush my lips along his neck.
“Mmm. Do that again,” he rasps out.
“With pleasure,” I say, and I rub my jaw across his.
