Page 26 of Commit

Ah, jealousy.

It’s a beautiful thing.

Or a terrible thing if you’re the one experiencing it.

Cobie steps in front of us. He has a strip of zinc oxide on his nose and half his hand tucked into his swim shorts. Lucky for me, he pulls his hand out just in time to shake mine. “Do you sail?”

“Yeah, I sail,” I say, promptly wiping my palm on the side of my shorts.

He puffs his greasy chest out. “Because I’m about to take you down. Just call me Cobie Cat.”

“Cobie Cat?”

“Don’t you get it? These small catamarans are called Hobie Cats. Hobie Cat…Cobie Cat?”

“Yeah, I get it,” I grumble.

“Cobie Cat, it shouldn’t be too hard to take Matt down.” Remi smirks. “He doesn’t know how to use a sailboat.”

I shift my eyes to hers. “Maybe I do. You don’t know everything about me.”

“Unfortunately for you, I do.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

* * *

REMI

“Any questions?” the hotel guide asks after he gives us the sailing demonstration.

Honestly, I wasn’t even listening. Matt’s standing across from me with his shirt off. He’s a sight for sore eyes in turquoise swim trunks with pink flamingos all over them. They’re the volley kind that are short, showing off his man thighs. I know I keep coming back to them. In an effort to stop, I glance up, but the view doesn’t help much. Is it too much to ask for the man to swim with a shirt on? Doesn’t anyone believe in protecting their skin from the sun anymore?

Obviously, I’ve seen Matt shirtless before—like, ten thousand times.

Ten thousand times? Really?

We dated for two years. That would mean he would have had to be shirtless roughly thirteen times a day. Matt’s not the only one who can do math, but even I can admit that’s a gross exaggeration. But ever since I said I wasn’t attracted to him, everything is heightened now. He’s the forbidden fruit, and we all know how that story ends.

My stare drifts up his chest to his face. Annnd he’s caught me looking at him. I squeeze my eyes shut, rubbing them as if I have a grain of sand inside.

Dang!

War Tactics 101: never let your opponent see your weak spot.

I’ve already failed miserably on that one.

“I need everyone to get into pairs,” the hotel guide says.

I pop my eyes open—miraculously, I’m healed from the fake sand in my eyes—and look around. Everyone has a partner, leaving Matt and me standing alone.

“Excuse me?” I raise my hand. “Can we go in groups of three or four?”

“No, sorry. These are smaller catamarans, and we only allow two per boat.”

Matt walks over to my side. “Are you scared to go with me?”

“Only scared for my life.”

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