Jules:I’m cooking something.
Rhys:I don’t even know what that means, sweetheart.
Rhys:But I like it.
Okay, so she’d grown bolder with him. Maybe she wasn’t texting him pictures of her tits, but perhaps she’d get there by the end of the two weeks. Until then, she had gotten pretty good at asking for what she wanted.
Jules:Got any thirst trap photos over there?
“Are you texting Rhys?” Abigail twisted from Jules to Rhys and back again. “What are you talking about?”
“Hmm? No. Nothing.” Jules shrugged, working harder than she should to maintain a blank face, and picked up her smoothie. If only she had Rhys’s level of nonchalance.
Her phone dinged. She sneaked a quick look, and her cheeks flooded with heat. Her heart stopped. There, on her screen, he smirked, shirtless, with an arm casually reaching behind his head. His muscles bulged. The dark stubble on his cheeks was utter perfection, and his midnight eyes smoldered.
Jules:Oh. My. GOD.
Jules:Why do you have that picture?
Jules:Actually. Never mind.
Jules:I don’t want to know. Don’t tell me.
Abigail frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Hm? Nothing.”
“You just said that.” Abigail’s scrutiny intensified. “Who are you texting?”
“Sloane,” Jules lied.
Her sister beamed. “You finally looked at the pictures! Christ on a cracker, you and Rhys look like you’re horny teenagers who can’t keep their hands off each other. Did you see that one—”
“I’m not looking at the pictures.”
Abigail tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “Not at all?”
“Nope. Haven’t seen any but one from the first day.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I’m sorry. But what the hell? Why not?”
Jules adjusted the broad brim of her hat, looking anywhere but at her sister. “We saw the first one and decided we didn’t need to see anything like that.”
“Girl, that would be the wallpaper on my cell phone if I were you.” Abigail leaned back to stage whisper, “Rhys, your smolder is hot enough to boil the ocean.”
Cosign.If Abigail had any idea what was on Jules’s phone right now, she’d scream.
Jules saw his lips twitch.
Abigail playfully harrumphed. “Rhys isn’t looking at the paparazzi pictures either?”
Jules shook her head and wished they’d had time to dish about what was really happening, but she couldn’t tell Abigail just yet. She would, just not on their first adventure out after she’d survived the flu.
Another message came from Rhys. Another thirst trap. Sitting on the edge of a bed, forearms resting on his thighs, he looked off camera.Who took that picture?Hell, she didn’t care.
Jules:Seriously?
Jules:Seriously!
