Page 19 of Faking It at Sea

“Which would make you Missy, right?” he asked.

Her brow twitched up the tiniest bit. “I heard my girl took you for a ride today.” The way she said it, thick with innuendo, made me want to reach out and slap a hand over her mouth.

Sutton’s response was a low chuckle. “One I will never forget.” Except he wasn’t looking at her when he said it. His attention was squarely on me.

Missy nudged me with her elbow, and I peeled my gaze away from Sutton’s deep blue eyes to cast her a sideways glance. Her smile would have given the Cheshire Cat a run for his money. “I think I’m going to go find myself a drink and mingle.”

“We can go with?—“

She held up her hand. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m looking for a date. You already have one.” Then she dipped her head toward Sutton. “Take care of my girl or I will come find you and murder you in your sleep.”

“Missy,” I scoffed, but Sutton was smiling right back at her.

“I will treat her like a princess.”

She shook her head. “This woman right here is a queen.”

He arched a brow. “Duly noted.”

I waited until she’d sauntered out of earshot to open my mouth. “I’m sorry about her. She can be a little overprotective.”

“And you’re not with her?”

“I didn’t say that. I just usually wait until she isn’t standing right there to threaten murder. Fewer witnesses,” I joked.

“Plausible deniability. Smart.” He tapped his temple with the hand that wasn’t holding his very colorful drink and dropped a flirtatious wink.

“What, like you wouldn’t kill someone for your bestie?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.” He brought the neon pink straw to his lips, but before taking a drink, he lowered the glass. “What am I doing? I need to get you a drink. Everyone knows a queen drinks before her subjects, right?”

Again with that damned smirk.

I just stared at him for a few seconds. “You are not at all what I expected when I approached you last night.”

He motioned me toward the bar where two bartenders were busy pouring champagne into a tower of sparkling flutes. A few minutes later, holding a slushy drink that matched his, we made our way to a quieter, more secluded part of the deck. It was like our own private escape from the drone of conversation and the thump of bass-heavy music.

“So, what were you expecting?” Sutton asked. He leaned back against the railing and stirred his drink with that silly pink straw.

“What?” I was too busy watching how the simple movement made the muscles of his tattooed forearm flex to process his question.

“You said I’m not what you expected.”

“Oh. That.”

He tipped his head in a slight nod.

“I thought you would be...” Less charming. Less irresistible. Just less. “More awkward,” I finished.

He barked out an unexpected laugh. “Are you really saying I wasn’t awkward enough for you?”

I shrugged. “I mean, we both started out that way, but now I’m wondering if that whole foot-in-your-mouth thing was just for show.”

He brought his straw to his lips and took a long draw.

“Like that,” I pointed at his glass. “How can you make drinking this ridiculously festive cocktail through a pink straw look sexy?”

“I think it’s actually the drink that’s sexy, not me,” he countered. “Not to mention straws are inherently sensual.” When I scoffed at him, he lifted his glass in front of me, angling the straw toward my mouth. “Don’t believe me? Try it yourself.”

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