Her eyes widen as her mouth hangs open. “You’re gross!” She attempts to pretend to be offended before waving toward the water. “Go on, big guy. Show me what you got. Let’s determine if you’ll get your spank-bank version of me or the real thing.”
I do my best to seem unsure of myself, not wanting to lead on that I’m stupidly competitive. Growing up, I was always the rock-skipping champ against my brothers. Maybe it’s from having siblings or playing sports throughout my high school days. Either way, I can’t stand to lose, so I try to make it a point to never do that.
Walking to the edge of the beach, I turn to the side, curve my wrist just right, and skim the rock against the water. I stand there and watch circle after circle appear at the top of the water.
“Eight?” she yells. “Eight on the first try? I feel hustled.” She shakes her head. “That doesn’t count. That was a practice one.”
“You never asked if I was good at it.” I shrug, taunting her. “Care to make it ten skips?”
Her mouth hangs open, and she puts a hand on her hip. “Ten?” she gasps. “Fine. You know what? Ten it is!”
Taking the other rock into my hand, I get in my stance. But this time, instead of looking out at the water, I lock eyes with her. “I’m so nervous,” I say sarcastically in a smart-ass tone. “So much on the line here.”
Keeping my gaze on hers, I haul back and skip the rock. Her eyes dart from mine to the water, and she gulps again. Her lips move as she counts the skips.
“Who are you, Nathan Scott? Trying to lock eyes while taking an important shot?” she barks out. “Twelve. You freaking got twelve.”
“I have no idea who Nathan Scott is, but if you tell me how many rocks he skipped, I’ll make sure I put him to shame,” I say truthfully. “Was it some crazy number like thirty though? If so, I may need more practice rocks.”
“He’s from the television series,One Tree Hill, you moron,” she says, shaking her head. “Anyway, you got twelve. Now you can stop showing off.”
“Oh good. I thought he was my competition or something,” I admit. “And first, you said six. And then ten. Since I got twelve, I think I should get a little something extra.”
“Oh, yeah?” She folds her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes, but it’s clear as day she’s fucking excited. “Like what?”
I tap my chin. “Like … a blow job in the truck. Or maybe I can eat your ass.”
I watch her shiver, and I know it’s not from the cold air. She’s a filthy girl, and I wish she could stay longer so I could see just how fucking dirty she likes to get.
“What do you say, Fireball?” I prod, stepping closer to her and putting my arms around her waist. “You’re leaving tomorrow, and I still haven’t gotten my fix.”
I say it like we’re both treating this whole thing like it’s light and a joke, but something about what I just said actually fucking hurts too. There’s an elephant in the room. One that needs to beaddressed. But I guess we’re both too proud to say it out loud and ask where the fuck we go from here.
Her expression grows somber, and she gazes up at me.
“It wouldn’t have mattered if you hadn’t gotten any skips. I still would have been in your bed—or on the living room floor—tonight.”
Standing on her tippy-toes, she waits for me to bend down and kiss her. I don’t keep her waiting long before pressing my lips to hers. And when I’m done, she slides her hands against my sides.
“Next destination?” she whispers.
“Next destination,” I say back. Excited to show her so many places, but also dreading each one because it’s that much closer to her leaving.
I take her hand in mine as we walk back toward where my truck is parked along the road. I’m glad she has the boots on that I got her because even though the snow didn’t amount to much once it got blown around in the wind, there are still some drifts, and since it’s above freezing today, everything is melting, making it a wet mess.
Exactly like I hope she is for me tonight.
As we reach my truck and I go to open the door, a voice stops me.
“Just on a romantic walk, coz?” the deep voice calls out, and I grin when I see my cousin walking toward us.
“Holy shit,” Stella whispers. “That’s Knox Carter. As in … retired NFL player Knox Carter.” She looks up at me, eyes wide. “He’syour cousin?”
“He is, but don’t get too excited. He’s married, and I’m suddenly a jealous man,” I murmur playfully just before he reaches us.
“Yeah, now my big-shot cousin is here to show me up!” I grin at him. “How’re Sloane and the kids?”
“They’re good,” he says proudly. “They’re up at the house, taking down the Christmas tree. As much as Sloane loves to decorate—way too fucking early, likebefore Thanksgivingearly—that woman hardly lets the last present be passed out before she starts putting shit away.”
