Page 35 of Never Say Yes To Your Best Friend (I said Yes)

“You?” He steps off the walking path. His Chelsea boots don’t look like the kind of thing made for the beach. He must think the same thing at the same time because he takes his boots off and hops around, trying not to get a bunch of sand all over his socks. Then, he gives up and eventually just shakes everything out.

I take mine off on the path. Technically, we still haven’t even made it to the beach yet. Well, I haven’t. I’m still on concrete.

The first step onto the sand feels like warm velvet. I remember, as a kid, getting sand up in a bunch of spots where sand isn’t meant to go. Getting your arse crack sandpapered allthe way home in the car isn’t a great feeling, and I’m sure it’s not exclusively reserved for kids.

I wriggle my toes. There’s just something about an almost empty beach that makes me feel sort of free. The sound of the water crashing and lapping along the already wet shore is so peaceful, and the air smells exactly the way it did when I was little. Like salt and seaweed and just a little like lake mud. I’m sure it’s the mud that makes the lake smell so signaturelakeish.

“Yeah, no.” Crowds. He asked me a question. The least I could do was pay attention after he was nice enough to offer to give me a ride in his spanking amazing car.Spanking.I remember once thinking that this man would give amazing spanks. Jesus, that’s a bad word to ever insert into a sentence because of the mental imagery I can’t control. “No, I don’t like them.”

“I didn’t think there was anything that made you uncomfortable. No situation where you couldn’t handle yourself and shine.”

Shine? Did he really just say shine? Also, how much of what Connor said was true? I thought Mont only wanted the displeasure of my company because we were scratching each other’s backs. We both had something the other wanted. There was a lot of stuff Connor said that I don’t agree with. He was probably blowing smoke out of his ass where Mont was concerned as well.

Except…

Why is he looking at me like that? With a little bit of smoldering in his eyes? And why do those burning, golden flecks that stand out so well here in the late evening sunshine hit my lungs like a pack of arrows ripping through my chest?

Breathe.Yeah, good advice until it becomes impossible.

The dress I have on is best suited to not wearing a very obvious padded bra underneath, so I went with a more toned-down choice. Simple lace and fabric. No underwire. I like thesekinds better anyway since they’re so much more comfortable. The problem? It makes it very obvious when I have a nipple thing going on. And I have a nipple thing going on now. As in, they could rip their way right through a sheet of plywood.

Thankfully, Mont’s eyes sweep away, out to the water, and not down my chest.

I take advantage of the privacy that his heated gaze tearing away from me affords and step out into the sand. I angle my body in what I hope is the right direction to not showcase my rock-hard nipple problem. I still can’t breathe properly.

Especially not when I imagine Mont’s mouth closing over one nipple and then the other. Naked. Closing over my naked nipples while his hand strokes lower, igniting all the fires everywhere.

Christ.

That isn’t going to happen. For one, this was like a goodbye thing. It’s not a hello thing. Connor was wrong. He was wrong about me, and he was wrong about Mont and probably everything else. I wonder how Genevieve is doing with him. She’s always liked a challenge, and she generally picks the bad boys when she dates. Connor fits the bill ten times over, at least in the troubled department. Then again, maybe he just had a bad day. Or a bad week. It happens. If Mont kept the first impression of me that I made when we first met, he’d be sure I have zero redeeming qualities.

We fall into a comfortable pace, walking along leisurely, well away from the water. It’s pretty much impossible to walk fast in an abundance of sand. Dry or wet, quicksand or regular sand, it automatically slows you down. Maybe that’s why people are so drawn to the beach. The pace of life gets turned down a few notches, and you can just forget about all your problems while you’re there.

Mont in a henley is hot. Mont in anything would be gorgeous. But Mont in nothing would be…unthinkable. As in, don’t you even dare let your brain go there.

It’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone for real. I get the appeal of casual encounters, I really do, but they’ve just never been for me, so that means it’s also been a hot minute since my vagina has been acquainted with anything other than my fingers or my vibrator. Anything testosterone-related hasn’t crossed the threshold of my panties in…erm…almost a year. God.

Mont is all muscly, glorious, and gorgeous, but the long dry spell explains why I’m not having such a dry spell south of the border at the moment.

It wouldn’t happen for just anyone.

I happen to know that this man loves crabs.

He’s generous with his employees.

He cares about people.

He adores his family to the point where he’s willing to make absurd sacrifices not to hurt their feelings.

He doesn’t mind that his friends are kind of troubled, even though most people would go out of their way to avoid them. Instead, he probably sits there and truly listens.

He’s a ridiculously hard worker.

He’s shy when it comes to talking about himself, whereas most people just can’t ever shut up.

Okay, and on top of that, he’s also as hot as a scorching summer day multiplied by the power of a blazing sun multiplied by Mercury. Mercury is a hot, hot planet, people.

There’s no way Connor was right. This was just convenience, and now it’s him being nice and saying goodbye and thanks. Connor was not right. Connor was not right. Connor was not right.

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