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Another surprise.
“You’re certain you can comfortably spend over two grand on a kayak?”
“I can easily afford it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she huffs out. “And um, can you not look at Ladybug like that? She’s not falling apart...”
Goddamn.
I can’t get over the fact that she named her car Ladybug.
Although, with the bulbous wheel arches and the arched roof, it’s almost fitting.
“It’s not that I can’t afford a better car.” Destiny spears me with a narrowed gaze. “I’m riding Ladybug into the ground because I love him.”
Him?
Her car is a fucking him?
I catch myself the instant I notice hot jealousy spiking my veins.
Shit, I knew this entire trip was a big fat mistake.
Then I see the corner of her mouth twitching.
It’s a tiny, quick movement. Blink and you’d miss it.
In half a second, she has her face back under control, but it makes me wonder if maybe she’s doing this to mess with me.
This little blonde pixie with her hair tied back in a ponytail and her face makeup free. She looks more like the sporty girl I saw on Instagram today.
Not the prim, hyper-focused, no-nonsense girl who came to my office and lured me into the unthinkable behind her pristine mascara and flawless poses.
I don’t want to fucking like it.
Yet, against my better judgment, I feel a smile brewing that makes me bite my tongue.
Damn, she got me good with the whole stupid car thing.
“It’s a good kayak,” I say, unstrapping it and lifting it from the roof, careful not to scratch anything. “One of the downsides is, it’s not easy to handle by yourself. Particularly if you don’t have much experience.”
“Lucky I have you then, right?”
Lucky.
That’s one word for it.
I take one end of the kayak and let her lift the other as we haul it back down to the beach.
There are a few other early risers milling around now, people dog-walking or recovering from the poor decision to stay out drinking until the wee hours of the morning.
While I follow her I decide I should have taken the lead. I wanted to let her set the pace, in case she needed to put it down and rest, but it doesn’t seem like she needs to.
There’s an honest fitness level behind her trim looks.
Instead, she marches on ahead, giving me a direct view of the peach masquerading as her ass.
That damnable wet suit cups it too perfectly, turning this into a proper death march.
How had I even missed an ass that magnificent?
