I yelp, barely suppressing my instinct to jump up. That would topple the whole canoe and put us both in the lake.
I shift my eyes from my wet shorts to Olivia, who’s smirking.
“Did you do that on purpose?” I ask. At least I’m wearing my quick-dry shorts today.
“Would I do that to you?” She rests her chin on her shoulder and blinks at me innocently.
I snort. “Yes, absolutely. One hundred percent.”
She grins. “You know me so well. But I know you, too, and Iknowyou won’t retaliate.” Again, she bats her eyes.
“Aw, Olivia,” I coo. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” With that, I dip my oar in the lake and launch a tidal wave of water onto her back.
She gasps and stands up, twisting to face me as she does. The canoe wobbles. “Sit down!” I bark. “You’re going to tip the canoe.”
Her expression shifts from one of shock to one of pure mischief. She smirks, looking me straight in the eye.
“You mean Ishouldn’tdo this?” She shifts from one foot to the other, exaggerating the movements to tilt the boat first to the left and then to the right.
I don’t want to take an unplanned dip in the lake fully clothed. We’d get wet, and our lunch would likely be ruined.
“I’m serious. Sit. Down.” My tone is commanding, much more assertive than I’ve ever used with Olivia before. To my surprise, she listens, dropping to her seat as if her legs are spring-loaded like the screen doors on the cabins that slam against the door frame every time they shut.
Within seconds, the canoe stops swaying, and we’re stable again.
My chest tingles, smug satisfaction curling the corners of my lips. Her immediate response to my words encourages me to hope that I might have power over her the same way she does over me. I’m not interested inoverpowering Olivia, but knowing how much her every whim and word control my life, it’s nice to think I might have even half as much of an effect on her.
I can’t hold back from murmuring, “Good girl,” and though my voice is low, I know she hears me. She’s facing forward again, but the tips of her ears turn an exquisite shade of pink that extends down her neck.
Olivia is unnaturally quiet as we paddle to shore and pull the canoe up on the bank.
I snag the cooler from the center of the boat and swing it by the handle in Olivia’s direction. “Thanks for not drowning our lunch.” I wink.
Her cheeks are still a little pink; I’m not sure if it’s from the sun or our exchange. But she’s still Olivia. “Thanks for not splashing me,” she snaps back. “Oh wait, you did.”
I set the cooler down and step closer to Olivia, wrapping one arm around her waist. Softly, I trace circles with my thumb on top of the wet spot on the back of her shirt. She shivers, and I’m once again enjoying the exhilaration of proving how much I affect her.
She tilts her chin up to look at me. “You’re dangerous,” she whispers, her eyes darkening.
“I would never hurt you,” I respond, silently willing her to believe me.
She pushes up on her toes and wraps her hand around the back of my neck. I meet her halfway to my lips, pressing my mouth over hers. Her lips are warm from the time we spent canoeing across the lake with the sun in our faces.
Despite the sharp energy between us, the kiss is slow and tender. It’s almost harder for me to handle than the hot and heavy make outs we’ve shared over the past month and a half. This kiss hints atfeelings. Feelings that I’ve had to repress so as to not scare Olivia away. Feelings that I’m getting more and more confident she reciprocates, if only she’d admit it.
I pour my feelings into kissing her now, hoping she understands what I’m trying to communicate without words.
When I can’t keep the soft pace a second longer, as soon as I feel the push to escalate my lips on hers into something faster and more frantic, I pull back. I take a couple of steadying breaths before pressing one last soft kiss onto her forehead.
“Ready for lunch?” I ask, surprised at the evenness of my voice despite how my heart’s pounding.
Olivia, her eyes anchored to mine and still electrified, bites her lip. Everything about her expression tells me it’s not the sandwiches she wants to devour.
Harnessing every speck of self-control I have, I manage to resist pulling her against me. I run a hand up my arm and pinch the skin near my armpit hidden beneath the sleeve. It helps redirect me.
I’m playing the long game here, wanting every signal I send to convey forever, not fling.
I take three steps back and focus my attention on the cooler of food I left sitting by the shoreline.
