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Sounds about right.
Her chest heaves with her inhale. She's flushed and sweaty. From the exercise, but that's not where my head is going. "Any other lessons?"
"Show me your best paddle."
"I was on the swim team for four years."
"You swim recently?"
"At the gym, twice a week." Her feet sink into the sand as she steps off the board. "I'm getting in the water."
I point to the wetsuit I rented for her, the one sitting on the sand. "Yours if you want it."
She eyes it greedily. "Are you wearing one?"
It's a challenge. I won't if you don't.
It's a stupid challenge—why freeze when you don't have to-but then I've never been particularly wise about knowing when to back down.
"I can." I nod to my backpack.
"What are you wearing under that?" She motions to my jeans.
I laugh. "Eager beaver."
"Don't call me beaver."
"If I can call you sunshine."
"Can I stop you?"
"No."
"Sure. Call me sunshine. But only because I know getting my permission will ruin the whole thing for you."
"That's where you're wrong, sunshine."
She makes a show of rolling her eyes, but it does nothing to hide her smile. She may have hated the pet name once. Hell, she probably hated it Monday. But all day, she's smiled every time she heard it.
It's growing on her.
And I could be—
Uh-uh. Not going there.
"You know what? I don't care." She pulls her tank top over her head and drops it next to her bag. "I'm getting in the water." Her hands go to her hips. She unzips her jeans and pushes them to her ankles.
She's wearing a tight swimsuit. A lap swimsuit.
Like she wore every fucking day on swim team.
Fuck, that brings me back.
Sends my thoughts straight to the gutter. I spent a lot of nights in high school thinking about stripping her out of that thing.
And now she's standing on the sand, staring up at me with that fire in her eyes, daring me to strip and chase her.
It would be heaven if not for one ugly little fact:
