“Something could have happened anyway.” He sets the fish aside, then stands, wiping his hands. He stomps to the edge of a group of scrubby trees and picks up a few dead branches. “Is there anything else you want to share? Some other medical condition you conveniently forgot to mention?”
“What’s the big deal? I have an EpiPen just to be safe, but it’s not like it’s a nut allergy or something. I have to ingest it, and it’s super easy to avoid. Like now.”
As I watch, he squats, digging a little pit and arranging the sticks inside. I guess we’re going full desert island today. I try for humor to wipe the irritation off his face. “Maybe I should get a tattoo of a pineapple on my thigh. That way if I have a reaction, you know where to stab me with the pen.” I inspect my leg, turning it from side to side. “It could be an upside-down pineapple. Give people something to think about.”
Shocker of shocks, he doesn’t laugh.
“You know, because an upside-down pineapple is a symbol for—”
“I know what it means.” He gives me another tight-lipped lookas he rummages in his bag, pulling out a lighter. “The menu won’t have pineapple on it.”
What feels suspiciously like butterflies tickle my belly. “It’s fine if I don’t touch it. It’s not like pineapple fumes will kill me.”
“Don’t use those words in the same sentence.” He rubs his temples, as if I’m the unreasonable one here. “And that tattoo idea is terrible. You’re not even married.”
“Do you have to be married to be a swinger?”
“I have no idea.” He lets out a breath. “Here’s today’s cooking lesson. Pay attention.”
He finishes cleaning the fish quickly. I hold back a gag when he pulls out the guts to discard. Inside the prepared interior, he rubs salt and lemon and a drizzle of olive oil from a flask. After a crack of pepper and some more salty lemon slices, he wraps the entire thing in a foil packet and nestles it into the hot coals, away from the flame so it won’t catch fire.
“Wow. If I had to be stuck on a desert island with anyone, I’d choose you.”
He snorts. “They’d discover our murdered bodies one day.”
“No way. I think we’d have a treehouse like inThe Swiss Family Robinson.”
“Really.”
“Definitely. Or we’d be like the couple fromThe Blue Lagoon. That movie is such a fever dream. Poor Brooke Shields.”
“I have no idea how these things come into your brain.”
“Trust me, if I knew, I’d tell you.”
He pokes at the foil packet with his fingers. He’s so used to the heat inherent to cooking, it’s no wonder he didn’t panic during yesterday’s accident. I shiver from the breeze; despite the hot day, my still-wet bathing suit is giving me the chills. With his attention occupied, I get a good look at him: the mostly-black ink spreading over his chest and arms, the defined muscles, the light smattering of hair on his chest. His damp swim trunks—plain, army green—cling to his groin in a way that, from this angle, doesn’t leave much to the imagination as to what’s underneath.
My stomach does a flip. I bite the inside of my cheek. I thoughtguys were supposed to shrink in cold water? If that’s true, then even with that, he’s exceptionally well endowed.
I wonder what he looks like with nothing on at all. If he has any tattoos that, even now, remain hidden. If I leaned over, and we tumbled onto the sand together... if I pulled his hair until he groaned... I wonder if he’d kiss me.
It doesn’t matter. There’s no one in the world I’d loathe kissing more than Jack. I must be dehydrated from all the heat, if my thoughts are wandering in impossible directions.
“Winfield.”
“What?”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re looking right at me.”
“I’m just thinking about how thirsty I am,” I blurt. He laughs, startled. I clap my hand over my mouth. “Not that kind of thirsty—I mean literal thirsty. Obviously. Don’t be a caveman.”
He laughs harder, finally wheezing out, “I packed some waters, too.”
I dive for the cooler, gulping half the water down in one go. Did his laugh always sound so nice? Maybe I just haven’t heard it directed at me until now. Whatever. It’s an objectively sexy laugh, the kind that feels like a physical caress. Warmth sparks in my belly at the sound. My nipples tighten, and I know it’s not from the breeze this time. I should have thought twice about this string bikini plan. My body must think we’re trapped here and is already giving in to the instinctual imperative to preserve humanity. Or more likely, I’m just relieved to have swept his bad mood away.
