Our first excursion is snorkeling out along the reef, an activity Owen booked when he first scheduled the trip. He’d briefly told me about it weeks ago, his eyes lighting up as he mentioned how pumped he was to snorkel.
I remember smiling to myself, thinking it was adorable how much he was looking forward to getting up close and personal with sea life.
Wood creaks beneath our feet as the boat we just climbed off rocks gently against the pilings. A small radio from inside the boat playsIsland In The Sunby Weezer, the iconic song drifting onto the dock and setting the scene for a perfect day in paradise.
The guides had us strip off our cover-ups and clothes, asking us to stash them in our bags before disembarking to keep us from carrying too much onto the deck.
Once again, Owen and I are standing inches away from one another, in nothing but our swimwear. I tug at the hem of my lilac bikini top, feeling entirely too exposed standing this close to Owen with my tits and ass out in broad daylight.
Last night, the onyx sky had felt like a cover. A shield the night provided me as a kind favor.
Now, there’s nothing between us but humidity and salty air. The scorching sun might as well be a spotlight against my pale skin.
I risk a glance at Owen and instantly regret it.
All of him is on display.
Every heart-stopping inch.
Sunlight spills over his sculpted chest and abs, highlighting every lickable line. His swim trunks sit low on his hips, drawing my attention to the sharp V that disappears beneath the waistband. Fine blond hairs dust his arms, catching the rays and shimmering in a way that’s sending my Twilight-obsessed self into a full spiral.
And when he pushes a hand through his golden hair, causing the muscles in his arm to flex with the movement, I drool.
I actually fucking drool.
I quickly swipe the back of my hand against my lips, wiping away the evidence.
God.
One glance at him, and I’m already making a complete ass of myself.
I force my eyes away as the snorkeling instructor claps his hands together.
“Alright, folks,” he calls out, cheerful and loud. “Time to secure your masks and fins. Once we’re in the water, stick closeto your buddy and stay within the marked area. And remember, no touching the coral.”
To try to calm my racing heart, I focus on adjusting my fins and tightening my vest. My fingers tremble with nerves as I fumble with the straps.
I’m sure anyone watching me right now would think I look ridiculous. This is just snorkeling. I’ve done this before, years ago, on a family vacation when I was in high school.
But this time feels completely different. I’m all grown up now. A touch-starved woman with raging hormones, standing next to a man who looks like sex on legs.
I look down at the crystal-clear water, close my eyes, and inhale a deep breath.
You got this, Meadow.
Just get through this excursion, then reward yourself with an ice-cold margarita at the pool bar.
On second thought, maybe I should reconsider that plan—alcohol and unresolved sexual tension could be a dangerous combination.
“You ready?” Owen glances over at me, his mouth lifting into a charming grin.
“Yup,” I force a smile, hoping my voice sounds steadier than I feel.
As we shuffle toward the end of the dock, my mind replays last night in 4K clarity.
Our night swim.
Owen’s calloused hands cupping my shoulders.
