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I take my hands from his and slide my feet into some flip-flops. Tyler grabs his Ralph Lauren sneakers from the corner, and I wait for him by the door.
He wraps his arms around my waist from behind and I squeal. His body trembles behind me as he laughs into my neck.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Liar.” I reach back to tap his thigh and pull the door open.
He releases me, follows me to the elevator, and pushes the button. He taps the back of my hand with his as we wait. I frown at him, but he’s looking forward, his face expressionless. I tap him back. He does it again. We do this for the twenty seconds it takes for the elevator to get here.
By the time we step in, my straight face is gone and I’m fighting a bout of giggles. My eyes flick to him as we travel down, but he’s still not acknowledging me. Only to knock my hand.
“What are you doing?”
He ignores me and hits my hand again. Oh my god. I whack the back of his hand with my fingers—hard—and walk out of the elevator.
Tyler flicks his wrist, but instead of hitting me, he flattens his palm against mine and links our fingers. I half-smirk and glance at him. The half smirk changes to a full-fledged smile when I see the playful, boyish grin on his face.
“Such a child.” I shake my head.
As if to prove my point, he swings our hands between us. I laugh, nudging him with my shoulder, and he looks at me, his grin widening even further.
“It was a pretty smooth move. Admit it.”
“What? Nudging my hand like we’re in second grade and you’re too shy to just take it?”
“Aw, come on, Liv. You thought I was just pissing you off by hitting your hand. Then bam. I take it and you’re all smiley.”
“I am not smiley!”
He stops us and runs his finger along the curve of my mouth. “If it feels like a smile and it looks like a smile, it’s a smile, bitchypants.”
“Bitchypants? Did you get your brain switched with a second-grader? Are you about to take me to a café for milk and cookies?”
A loud laugh leaves him, and he tugs me onto the boardwalk. “No. I’m just in a good mood. That happens, you know? And sometimes, when I’m in a good mood, I get a little—”
“Idiotic?”
“I was going to choose silly, personally. Idiotic I save for a drunken good mood.”
I can’t help my smile. This is a side to Tyler I’ve never seen. A carefree, playful, mischievous side. It’s endearing and infectious and I like it. A lot.
“Okay.” I lean into him. “Where are we going then?”
“I don’t really know. I thought we could just walk and see where we end up. I figured if we went far enough, we’d end up in Mexico.”
Oh my god. I cover my hand with my mouth to muffle my giggles. “Honey, if you want to walk to Mexico, you’re going alone.”
He tries for a pout but completely ruins it by laughing. He makes a quick turn and leads us onto the beach. I let go of his hand to pull off my sandals, and no sooner have I straightened up than he links our fingers again.
His hand is warm in mine. I didn’t pay attention to it before, but here, on the beach, in the dark, I’m feeling it acutely. His thumb strokes the back of my hand, his fingers twitch in my hold, and he squeezes ever so slightly with every step we take. I wonder if he realizes that he’s doing it or if it’s subconscious.
“Can I tell you something?” he says after a minute of walking.
“You can tell me anything.”
“True, but don’t do that freaking-out thing you do.”
“I do not—” I pause. “I promise I’ll try not to.”
