Page 95 of The Alpha's Pen Pal

I nodded and sat quietly while he worked, watching him with my legs swinging over the edge of the tailgate. The way his clothing stretched and strained against the muscles of his body while he set up the tent had my mind spiraling with delicious, dirty thoughts.

More than once, I found myself almost drooling when he bent down, and his jeans hugged his ass and thighs until I finally had to pull my phone out of my pocket to distract myself from ogling him.

I swear, though, somehow he knew exactly what I was thinking about, exactly what he was doing to me, because I kept catching him glancing at me with a self-satisfied glint in his eye every time.

He had the tent up faster than I expected and wiped his hands on his jeans as he walked over to me. I set my phone down, and on instinct, my legs parted so he could stand between them.

I wanted him to put his hands on me, to slide them up my bare thighs to my hips, but he put them on either side of me on the tailgate instead, leaning down to say, “Are you ready?” in a low voice.

“Ready for what?” I breathed back, scooting forward until I was right on the edge of the gate, my arms wrapping around his middle.

“To go to the beach.” He chuckled as I tilted my head up to look at him, my chin resting on his chest and my hair tumbling down my back with the movement.

I smiled at him, but my mouth froze when it was halfway to a full grin. “Um, Wes?” I asked.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t have a swimsuit. Or anything else, like extra clothes or—”

He just laughed again. “There are stores that sell swimsuits near the beach,” he said. “We’ll grab a quick lunch, then I’ll buy us some swimsuits and whatever else we need before we head down to the water.”

I bit back my refusal. I didn’t want him to spend that much money on me, but I knew it was futile to argue with him about it. He wouldn’t take my money, and he wouldn’t listen to reason if I told him he didn’t need to do any of that. That just being here with him was enough.

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay?” Wes asked, and I nodded. “Just like that? No fighting? No arguing?” I shook my head. “Hold on, let me document this momentous occasion—the day Haven Kenway didn’t try to argue about me doing something nice for her.”

“Oh my god, stop it!” I groaned, shoving him away from me so I could hop out of the truck bed. “You’re ridiculous,” I added, laughing and shaking my head.

He slammed the tailgate back into place, took my hand, and led me towards a small path between the trees. Once out the other side and around a few corners, we were on a street lined with restaurants and shops and bustling with people in the afternoon sunlight.

“Are hamburgers all right for lunch?” Wesley asked. “There’s a great little hamburger stand over there,” he said, gesturing down one end of the street. “Then I figured we could do fish and chips or clam chowder at my favorite restaurant on the pier for dinner?”

“That sounds perfect,” I smiled, and he led the way towards the stand he had mentioned.

We ordered and ate quickly, sitting on a bench, chatting and people-watching as we finished our meal. Then we made our way into the closest shop to purchase what we needed for the rest of the day.

Wes pulled me to his side and kissed my temple. “Get whatever you want or need. Don’t worry about the cost.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t respond, and he let me go so I could peruse the racks of swimsuits.

I took my time, searching through the assortment of swimsuits, searching for the few options that fit my parameters—a strapless swimsuit, either a one-piece or two-piece, to reduce potential tan lines showing in costumes, and no super skimpy bottoms held together by two strings or with no fabric covering my butt. I didn’t even know thong swimsuits were “on trend” again, as Maya would say.

I gathered up my meager choices and went into the dressing room to try them on.

With each suit I tried, I felt my frustration growing. One was too big. One made me look like a little kid. One had bottoms that cut into my legs too tight.

Tears pricked my eyes as I tried on the last one: a yellow floral bandeau top that tied between the boobs, with a small triangle cutout between the knot and the band, and regular bikini bottoms with a matching tie on each hip.

I bit back my groan as I looked in the mirror. And then I put my hands on my hips and shook my head, looking at the floor.

What the fuck was wrong with me? Why was I so worried about how I looked in a bikini? Why was I comparing myself to those tall, leggy, busty women in Wesley’s hometown when I was the one who was here with him? The one he had been giving all his attention to the last few weeks?

“You all right, Twinkle Toes?” Wes murmured through the fitting room curtain.

“Yeah,” I breathed, wiping the frustrated tears away. “I just can’t find a swimsuit that looks good,” I muttered.

“Can I see?” he asked with a teensy bit of hesitation.

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