Why did it feel so real when it was supposed to be fake? Why did his touch feel like it was rewiring her nervous system? And worse, why did she want more of it?
20
ILIAS
In The Water - Peter McCredie
Arrivingin Australia was always a long, hellish nightmare. After approximately 30 hours of travel, from Lisbon to Doha, then to Brisbane, once they parked the rental car—a Jeep, naturally, since both of them seemed to love the brand and TerraVive was footing the bill—they both sighed in relief.
Sofia had been on the phone with Elvira for the past fifteen minutes. Italian was as close to Spanish as Ilias could think, yet when she slipped into full-on Italian mode, he couldn’t quite keep up. Still, her voice was strangely soothing.
“Finally,” Sofia muttered, stretching as she stepped out of the car. The motion lifted the hem of her TerraVive sweater, revealing a teasing sliver of her tanned lower abdomen. Ilias’ gaze caught on the exposed skin, his thoughts instantly careening toward far less innocent territory.
Traveling with her had been a pleasure. And a fucking torture. They had to fake a relationship, and even though theynever kissed on the lips, they interlaced fingers, hugged, even when it wasn’t necessary. Ilias took every excuse to touch her, and surprisingly, she didn’t seem to mind.
Once they dropped their bags in the shared room—a problem for the Ilias of the future—they walked down toward the beach with his boards.
“So many people,” Sofia remarked, her eyes narrowing as they scanned the chaos of surfers dotted in the lineup.
“It’s one of the most crowded waves,” Ilias explained. “And during comp season? Even worse.”
She studied the wave with a grimace. “Are you sure you want to surf that mess?”
Ilias chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tugging her closer. “Are you worried about me, habiba?”
She shot him a deadly glare. The kind that had become one of his favorite things about her. She looked hot when she was pissed, and even hotter when she cared but didn’t want to admit it.
They moved down to the Athlete Zone, where security let them through, and Sofia barely had time to take a breath before Alejandra pounced.
“Mi mejor amiga del mundo mundial!” Alejandra chanted, hugging her and bouncing in circles like a child on sugar.
“Hello to you too,” Ilias muttered, raising an eyebrow.
“My best friend is here!” Alejandra beamed, clearly ignoring him.
“Yeah, I got that,” Ilias deadpanned. “Wasn’t I your friend too?”
“But you’re nobestfriend,” Sofia added, still clinging to Alejandra like koalas to eucalyptus.
“Ouch,” he mocked, feigning heartbreak as he finally got a hug from Alejandra once she let go of his—fake—girlfriend.
“Have you seen Amira, Coach, and Gretchen?”
“Yeah, they’re down in the water. Coach told me to tell you to join. I’ll hang with Sofi.”
“If you need to train, I can handle myself,” Sofia offered, gesturing toward a beachfront coffee shop.
“No way. I’m not missing the first tour I get to spend with my best friend in Aussie land,” Alejandra said, grinning mischievously.
“Where’s Edward?” Sofia asked, brow arched like she was suspicious. Ilias didn’t miss the shift, how Alejandra suddenly looked too bright, even for her.
His attention got snatched as he waved to a few surfer friends. Even Steven.Fucking Steven.Nose fully healed from the last time Ilias introduced his fist to it.
The Frenchman nodded his way.Alright, we’re civil now. For the moment.
“I don’t know. Somewhere,” Alejandra muttered.
Sofia gave her a long, assessing look. Something was up.
