“I regret both of you finding me in life.”
Bliss leaned closer, lowering her voice while pretending not to stare at Easton because she had the discretion of a woman who wanted the best for people and the patience of a caffeinated raccoon. “He has been looking over here since we got out of the car.”
“Then he needs a hobby.”
“He has one. Defense.”
“Not helpful.”
Briggs came charging over before Bliss could make it worse, his feet sandy, hair damp, and grin wide enough to cause property damage.
“Aura, gold was a hostile choice.”
“So was coming over here.”
“I love when you greet me like a hater in lip gloss.”
“You make it easy.”
He pressed a hand to his chest and looked at Charm. “She wounds me because she knows I’m emotionally accessible.”
Charm smiled. “You are emotionally available in all caps.”
“Thank you. I work hard at being legible.”
Ryan appeared beside him and passed Charm a bottle of water without comment. She looked at it, then at him.
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“You don’t have a drink. I was being a gentleman, mami.”
Her brow lifted. “Do you monitor everyone’s hydration, papi?”
Ryan’s gaze moved over her face, cool and unreadable. “Only people who look expensive enough to sue the lake if they pass out.”
Charm stared at him for half a second too long before taking the bottle. “That was nearly thoughtful. You should be careful.”
“I live dangerously.”
Rider looked between them and then down at the sand, his mouth curving in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes. I only noticed because it had not been long since he tried to shoot his shot with Charm and she rejected him immediately. She had been clear that friendship was all she could offer, and herespected that, even if his feelings had not disappeared simply because she was honest.
Anyone paying attention could guess Ryan had something to do with it, but Charm had never said that part aloud.
Easton stepped off the dock and started toward us, and every other observation in my head packed its bags and left.
Water slid down his chest in slow lines and disappeared into the waistband of his trunks. His shoulders were broad, his stomach cut in a way that suggested unfair genetics and worse discipline, and there was a tiny scar near his bottom lip that I remembered from the Hockey House porch because apparently my brain had been storing Easton details without my consent.
He stopped beside Briggs, close enough to be part of the group but far enough not to crowd me.
“Clarke,” he said.
My mouth almost smiled. I bullied it into submission. “Wade.”
His eyes flicked over the bikini once, controlled and quick, before returning to my face. “That bikini feels intentional.”
“It is.”
“Violent.”
