Page 79 of That Island Feeling

And there it is. I want to shrivel up and die right here, like a bluebottle on the sand.

‘Do you want to jump on with me, Andie?’ Jack asks.

A charge of electricity crackles between us as our eyes meet; our gaze feels like it holds a new, intimate depth.

‘Maybe you should take Taylor?’ I offer, albeit weakly.

Jack flashes me a stern look that very much says, not this shit again.

I turn to Taylor. ‘Since we’re on this trip for you, you should get first dibs.’

‘Girl, please. I’ll be perfectly fine right here.’ She gestures to the glorious sweep of sand, spreads out her towel and begins unbuttoning her tiny shorts. ‘I have serious tanning to attend to. You go spend time with your man.’

I squeeze my eyes shut as a wave of embarrassment washes over me.

Holiday hook-up rule number ten: Play it cool. Play it cool!!!

When I open my eyes, Jack is hovering next to me. He extends an arm. ‘Shall we?’

I accept his outstretched hand, and he pulls me in, hooking his other arm around my waist and dipping me for a kiss.

The girls cheer.

My cheeks turn pink, but I’m secretly delighted that he hasn’t changed his behaviour in front of my friends. It’s clear this is a continuation of last night – or rather, very early this morning. With our time together quickly running out, it’s nice not to have to hold back and instead embrace the delicious fun of each other’s company while we can.

Holiday hook-up rule number eleven: FUCK ALL THE RULES.

‘Alright,’ I say, newly energised. ‘Let’s go!’ I turn and sprint towards the water.

Grace and Lizzie have dragged their board into the river and are already a metre from the shore.

Jack chuckles as he catches up to me, our board snug under his arm. ‘It’s not a competition, Andie.’

It takes a second to find my centre of gravity, and Jack offers a hand to steady me until I’ve stopped wobbling. He’s at the back and I’m at the front. I’ve borrowed a printed wrap skirt from Lizzie to wear over my swimmers, and I’m conscious of the way it hugs my bum – and what that means for Jack’s view.

We paddle in tandem, effortlessly gliding in a perfect straight line. I feel a sense of satisfaction at my coordination until I realise that Jack is matching my strokes and is also steering us.

Grace and Lizzie have rocketed a few board lengths ahead.

‘Nice job!’ he calls out. ‘Make sure you stick to the shoreline.’

They raise their paddles in acknowledgement before plunging them back into the river and pulling further away.

I double the speed of my strokes, determined to make up ground. But instead of picking up pace, it feels like we’re slowing down, like driving with the handbrake on. Is the current that strong? Then I realise that I can no longer see the orange flash of Jack’s oar pulling through the water.

He’s stopped paddling.

Confused, I stop paddling too.

‘Let them go,’ he says. ‘I want you to myself.’ His voice is all gravel.

My knees instantly weaken, and the board wobbles underfoot. I don’t dare turn my head, not even an inch, to look at him.

‘Don’t worry, the water looks clear of jellies today, so it’ll only hurt our dignity if we end up in there,’ he reassures me. ‘Here, let me help.’ His hands slip around my waist, and he gently guides me around.

‘Small steps, ah, there you go.’ His expression is triumphant when I finally face him.

‘Okay. Now get on your knees,’ he instructs.

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