Page 36 of The Waiter at Table 6

I stand and spin, my grin growing even bigger. “Okay, that was way too satisfying.”

He lets out a laugh and jerks his chin at the next logical shot. “Go ahead, do another one.”

I spin and line up another shot, taking my time to slow my movements. I inhale, and on the exhale, I hit the ball. It just barely misses dropping into the pocket, but it’s a good enough shot that my excitement doesn’t fade.

“Hustler,” Ryder says with a chuckle, his voice coming from just behind me. When I turn around, he’s moved close to the pool table to get ready for his own shot.

And suddenly, I don’t want to play pool anymore.

Ryder must sense the change, because his eyes stay on mine as he leans on his pool stick. His expression challenges me to say what I’m thinking.

I don’t need the challenge. I’m not holding back any longer.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to try?” I ask. He quirks an eyebrow in answer. “I’ve always wanted to go swimming in the ocean at night.”

That makes both eyebrows rise. “Really?”

I bite into my lower lip and nod. When I look over my shoulder at the massive glass sliding doors that lead to a section of my private beach, I can see the way the moonlight illuminates the entire world outside. I can see the sand past the patio area, all the way to the waves crashing against the empty shore.

“Really,” I answer Ryder’s question. “I mean, I have the literal ocean in my backyard, and I’ve never taken full advantage of it.” I turn back to look at him. “I think that’s a shame. Don’t you?”

Ryder’s eyes dart over my shoulder to the beach behind me. “It’s definitely a shame. But I don’t have a swimsuit with me.”

Bull’s eye.

“That’s okay. Skinny-dipping is also on my list.”

And then I’m whirling around and heading for the beach.

10

RYDER

I watch her stride through the sliding doors with the confidence of a woman who knows what she wants. There’s a strut in her step, and no hesitation in her movements.

It takes me half a second before I’m following her out.

I’m not sure what she wants right now—beyond clearly wanting to live a little—so as I close the distance between us in the sand, I tell myself she’s calling all the shots. Whatever those are. As far as she’s stated, she still doesn’t want to elevate our relationship past friendship, so I’m not going to be the one who changes that.

When we near the water, Vanessa reaches for the hem of her tank top and seamlessly pulls it over her head.

I have to clear my throat before I can ask, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Her hands pause on the clasp of her jean shorts. She meets my eyes and says, “Someone very wise, and very handsome, once told me that it’s boring to live in a box.” She slowly slides her zipper down. “And I don’t want to live in a box anymore.”

God, this woman.

I don’t know what brought about this change in her, but fuck is it amazing to see.

I’m barely breathing as she pushes her shorts over her hips and down her legs. I don’t know if she wants to take this to full-on naked in the ocean, but I’m too mesmerized by the sight of her in a white bra and underwear to ask. I can only stare at the vision before me.

She doesn’t reach for her underwear, but she does bite down on her smile as she spins to give me her back. She unclips her bra and slides it down her arms. Then she strides forward into the water without another word.

I think I set a record for how quickly I strip my clothes off. I leave my boxer-briefs on, but everything else is ripped from my body and thrown in a heap next to Vanessa’s. By the time I’m sprinting into the water, Vanessa is already thigh-deep and slowing down.

I don’t take it slow. I just run in and dive headfirst into the water as soon as I’m deep enough to do it.

When I come up for air, it’s to the sound of Vanessa’s shriek of “oh my God, it’s so cold.” Looking around for her, I see she’s almost reached my depth, the water up to her collarbone. But she’s keeping her arms above the water, not wanting to commit to a full dunk yet.

---