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“Yeah.” I tip my head back and look at him. “I’m okay.”
He smiles and kisses me. “Good.” He reaches over and gets my wine, passing it to me before getting his own beer.
The hand not holding his beer rests against my stomach. His fingers start drawing circles over my skin. He’s always touching me, and I really like it. It makes me wonder if he’s naturally a tactile person or if he’s just like this with me.
And I really shouldn’t be thinking things like that. God, what is going on with me today?
“This is nice,” he murmurs. “I never get baths back home.”
“You not have a tub?” I ask.
“I do. But I never use it. Always just get a shower. Quicker. But this, sitting here with you, it’s nice. Obviously, the best part is that you’re naked and wet and your sweet ass is pressed up against my dick.”
“Obviously.”
“I have a question,” he says a moment later.
“That I might or might not answer.”
“You’ll answer.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I do.”
“Okay. Go ahead with your question.”
“So, I’ve been sitting here for a good few minutes, tickling your stomach, and you haven’t so much as twitched.”
“I’m not ticklish.”
“Told you you’d answer—and before I even asked the question.”
Fucker. “Ugh. Whatever.”
“Seriously though, how are you not ticklish? Everyone is.”
“Not me.” I shrug and take a sip of my wine.
“Maybe I should try tickling you harder.”
“You could try. But you’ll get nothing.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“So weird.”
“Also awesome.”
“No. Just weird. You’re a freak of nature, Double D. You know that?”
“Yep. And I wear my freak badge proudly.”
“As you should. Lucky for you, I happen to quite like freaks.”
I tilt my head back and look at him, my blues tangling up with his grays, and I feel this tug in my chest that I force myself to ignore.
I push a smile onto my lips. “Well, luckily for you, I like freaks too.”
His lips tip up into a sexy grin. “Then, it’s a good thing we met each other.”
And it is. For sure.
If only I could get my pesky heart to stop getting ideas around him … then everything would be perfect.
For the next seven days, of course.
nineteen
Dillon
The sky is bright blue and clear, and the sun is shining down. I’m snuggled up on a hammock with West, who is currently asleep.
We did some morning yoga and then went for breakfast. After, we took a walk around the island, and we ended up here at the hammock, which is set out on a stretch of sand that runs through a lagoon. It’s really peaceful and private.
West nodded off about twenty minutes ago, and I’ve just been lying here, listening to the waves of the ocean. The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear. Wishing I could stay here forever. With him.
Yeah, I know. I’m dumb.
I have feelings for him. But it’s just a crush though. Nothing major.
But it’s still stupid of me to even have a crush on him because I knew from the start what this was with us. A fling. A two-week stand. Nothing more. I won’t see him after we leave here. And I was on board with that. Totally. Because I’m not in the right headspace to even be thinking of another relationship. I’m still working through the debris from the explosion of my last relationship.
And it’s not even what he wants. West has given me no signals that he sees me as anything more than his fuck buddy that he’ll say good-bye to at the end of his holiday.
Therefore, I have to keep this little crush of mine to myself. I want to keep having sex with him. I want to spend the rest of my time here with him.
I just need to push down any little happy, wandering thoughts that I might have of West and me sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the baby in a baby carriage.
Yeah. None of that.
Act like I don’t have a crush on him. Keep on enjoying the sex and the time I have with him.
Then mourn my crush once I get back home.
God. Home.
I really do not want to go home. I know my city is fairly big. Maybe more medium-sized. So, it’s not like I have to ever see Tim or my mum again.
But it can also be a really small place. And I just know that Sod’s Law will guarantee that I bump into either one or both of them.
I’m so far from ready for that.
Maybe I’ll just stay here on the island. I could move here permanently.
And do what?
I could write. And earn not enough to even pay for a tent on the beach.
Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.
A crab skitters past, catching my attention, and I see it has the number ten written on its shell. I chuckle quietly to myself. Must be one of the crabs from the race the other day. Still walking around in its little numbered shell. Wonder where my number fourteen losing crab is. Probably off napping somewhere.
