It’s so peaceful. A completely different world under the surface.
At one point, a huge fish darts past my face and startles me so bad that I yelp into my mouthpiece. I flail for a second before regaining my composure, hoping no one saw my dramatic freak out.
Because the universe hates me, Owen swims up next to me instantly.
He definitely saw.
His long fingers close around my forearm, anchoring me in place. He leans in close, his mask inches from mine, eyes crinkling at the corners with unbridled amusement.
“You good?” he mouths, holding back a chuckle.
“It’s okay, you can laugh,” I roll my eyes, smiling despite myself. “And yes, I’m fine.”
He lets out a low chuckle and playfully squeezes my arm before letting go, leaving an invisible handprint where his touch was. I try to focus on the reef and immerse myself in the excursion, but it’s useless.
My body is so tightly wound up for Owen that even the water gliding over my skin feels like too much.
By the time we climb back onto the dock, I’m completely spent, my exhaustion having nothing to do with snorkeling.
After the excursion,we’re both sunburnt and could probably use an afternoon nap. But first, we decide to stop by thepool bar and have a couple of drinks. I order a piña colada, the glass sweating in my hand, while Owen goes simple with a local beer.
We sit next to each other on the swim-up barstools as the bartender places our drinks in front of us. I’m kicking my feet back and forth beneath the water when Owen casually bumps his shoulder into mine.
“Hey, I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick,” he says. “Be right back. Guard my drink for me, yeah?”
“With my life,” I quip, raising my glass in mock salute.
He smirks and clicks his tongue.
“Alright,” he grins before standing from the stool. “It’s settled then. My beer is safe with you.”
“I can’t promise I won't steal the lime, though,” I call out as he turns his back to walk away.
He chuckles and shakes his head, walking backward as he turns to face me. “Don’t push it,” he warns, tossing me a wink.
He flashes me one last grin before disappearing into the restroom that looks like a tiki hut.
The moment he’s out of sight, someone else takes his place.
An older man—late forties, maybe early fifties—slides onto the exact barstool Owen was just sitting on. He’s handsome in a sophisticated way, the kind of man people call a silver fox. He has thick black-and-gray hair, a sharp jawline, and an intimidating presence, to say the least.
He’s clearly fit, wearing nothing but swim trunks and a slick smile as he leans one arm against the bar and turns toward me.
I’m suddenlyveryconscious that I’m in nothing but my bikini.
But it’s not the giddy, thrumming awareness I feel around Owen.
This feels…different.
Vulnerable. Uncomfortable. Icky.
I suddenly want to throw on a parka to hide my body from this man.
His eyes roam unapologetically, raking from my shoulders, down my chest, and over my waist before lowering beneath the waterline. My skin prickles with discomfort.
“Can I get you another one?” he asks in a thick, Southern twang. “My treat.”
I give him a polite smile and shake my head. “I’m good, but thank you.”
