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“Georgia, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. I get it,” she said softly. “You forget that I saw the way your parents paraded their not so significant others in and out of your life. I know you, Eric. We’re friends. That will never change. But other things might. If you’re willing to make the leap,” she said. “And then, after a while, we might be just friends again.”
“You make it sound so damn simple,” he said, shaking his head.
“Maybe that’s what I need. Simple.” She sipped another spoonful of soup. “Now it’s your turn.”
“My turn?”
“To ask the question,” she said, hoping to move the evening back into the strictly fun column. “Truth or dare.”
He laughed, the sound filling their near-empty corner of the restaurant, and Georgia felt some of the tension wash away.
“I feel like a teenager, playing this game.”
“Becoming a businessman and father doesn’t mean you aren’t entitled to a little fun.”
“OK, I’ll play.” Eric drained his beer and set his glass on the table. “Truth or dare.”
Georgia swallowed the last of her chowder, pretending to consider the question when in truth she already knew her answer. Questions might leave her vulnerable. Tonight was about fun. Responsibility and loss had chipped away the simple pleasures in their lives like a sculptor wielding a chisel. She needed a reminder that life wasn’t about the missing pieces. It could still be lived, enjoyed, and sometimes even cherished—especially here in this place that wasn’t burdened with her fears and nightmares.
“Dare.”
“We’re in a restaurant,” he said, pouring the last of the crackers into his bowl.
Georgia nodded. “Be creative.”
Chapter Seven
ERIC HEARD THOSE words and knew he should walk away. But desire mixed with that one word. Dare. His imagination ran in ten different directions. The things he wanted to do to her, the places he wanted to see his hands move over her body, and hers over his, raced through his mind. It was like watching a highlight reel of his sexual fantasies.
But this wasn’t about him.
Eric leaned across the table, keeping his voice low even though he’d demanded a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, just in case having others around them set off warning bells in her head. “I dare you to tell me your fantasies.”
Georgia’s eyes widened. “A dare is supposed to be an action.”
He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Feel free to demonstrate.”
She raised an eyebrow, and he wondered if she planned to take him up on his offer. If her fantasies were anything like his, a little show-and-tell would draw unwanted attention. And it might get them arrested.
She cocked her head as if debating which path to choose. Part of him screamed demonstrate. He could afford the bail.
“Are you done with your chowder?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Get the check,” she said. “I’ll tell you while we walk along the beach. Your condo isn’t far from here, right?”
“Five minutes on foot.” Eric withdrew his wallet and dropped a pile of bills on the table, more than enough to cover the meal and tip. “Let’s go.”
Watching her slide from the booth and head for the exit, knowing where this was headed when they reached the shore, the last shreds of his self-restraint snapped. It was as if he was waiting for her towel to drop again, unwilling to look away.
Eric followed her out the door and down the old wooden steps to the beach. Silently, they walked side by side. He couldn’t touch her. Not yet. This wasn’t a sweet stroll by the shore, hand in hand. One touch would set him on fire. He had a feeling it would do the same for her.
The sun was inching lower and lower in the sky, but it was still too bright. And even when it fell below the horizon, the lights from the condo buildings and hotels lining the shore would cast a soft glow over the beach, bright enough to illuminate two people stripping down in the sand.
Twenty paces from the Clam Shack, alone on the shore except for a man tossing a tennis ball for his dog, Eric leaned over, careful not to touch his lips to her ear. “Start talking, Georgia.”
