Page 52 of Hot Saltwater Kisses

“Part of it, I guess.” He curled a hand around my shoulder. “I mean, it’s cool—I enjoyed it. The way it taps into a different part of our brains, you know? Or how it says so much about how we see the world. Like how Impressionism came out of the Industrial Revolution, and it’s all about capturing fleeting moments because everything changes from one minute to the next.”

He was beautiful.

I wasn’t sure why it occurred to me right then, when I could barely even see his face—just his voice and the line of his naked body pressed against mine.

“So, more than a rebellion?” I asked.

“Yeah. Didn’t stop me from partying and drinking too much, all that stuff. Eventually, my parents were fed up with it. Told me that sometimes, love means you tell your child to grow the fuck up.” His tone held more fondness than hurt. “Because if you don’t do it, sooner or later life will kick them in the teeth. Hard. And life doesn’t care if there’s lasting damage—but a parent does.”

If only mine had done that. Then again, I’d been so blinded I might have refused to listen. It wasn’t their fault.

“That’s...” I poked the inside of my cheek with my tongue. “You know. I’m with them, kind of. Like, even if it’s tough in the moment, it’s done out of love, and to help you have a better life in the long run.” Okay, this conversation had taken a fast plunge into the deep end. I considered grappling for some kind of joke, anything to lighten the mood. Instead, I slotted our fingers together and dropped my voice. “And, hey. You were willing to listen. Good on you.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t an overnight process.”

“But you got there in the end.” I framed his face with gentle fingers, just enough pressure to tug him into a light, close-mouthed kiss. It took him a moment to respond, his lips parting ever so slightly, tongue nudging against the seam of my lips. Something heavy and dark twisted through my stomach. I inhaled around it, and it settled.

Our kisses slowed, tapering off into shared breath. I drifted offwith my cheek pillowed on his shoulder, the black sky wide and vast in my chest.

The days spunby like stop-and-go traffic in the summer heat—slow like molasses, then stuttering forward in odd little jumps. Resort life had always been about rhythm, about the steady beat of tasks that came with running a dive center. Now, though, Logan’s presence added a sudden twist.

Oh, I kept busy with the usual—dive trips and snorkeling excursions, occasional shifts at the seaside bar and navigating the logistics of gear maintenance, measured by the mechanical hum of the compressor as it pumped air into the tanks. The resort hadn’t changed either—golf carts ferried guests to their next adventure, ice clinked in glasses at the bar, and laughter echoed off the pool’s surface.

But every night, I fell into a new pattern of urgent kisses and warm skin, of fingers digging into flesh and muscle, the salty taste of sweat mixing with sunscreen, and the spicy traces of Logan’s cologne. We talked about diving and the resort, about whether the Dolphins would ever make it back to the Super Bowl, about whether the golden age of superhero movies was fading into the rearview.

We didn’t talk about how our time came with an expiration date that loomed ever closer.

At least not until one night in my room, the ceiling fan moving hot, sluggish air from one corner to the other. Even then, it was in a vague, roundabout way—hinting at futures that didn’t intersect because reality was… It justwas.

“Places you’re gonna visit?” Logan asked. He was tracing lazy circles on my back, almost absentminded. Pleasantly sore after riding him into the mattress, I raised my head from where I was sprawled beside him, skin still damp from the shower we’d shared. I followed his gaze to the world map taped to the back of my door. Colorful pins marked different spots.

“Not exactly.” I dropped my head back into the pillow. “It’s silly.”

“I’m hardly one to judge.” He shifted so we were facing each other, a dimple teasing at his cheek. “I told you about that college party when I didn’t realize I had toilet paper stuck to my shoe.Andabout my first crush on the manny.”

Aww, yes—he’d been seven and had sweetened his declaration of love with a macaroni necklace. The manny, a recent college graduate hired to foster Logan’s athletic abilities, had told him it was very sweet, truly, but Logan was a little too young. After being thus rejected, Logan had set his sights on girls, only to realize a decade later that his seven-year-old self hadn’t been so far off base.

“Yeah, okay.” I let my smile slip out. “It’s amazing places for underwater photography. Like the Blue Hole in Egypt, or Cocos Island for hammerhead sharks. Truk Lagoon for the wrecks. Like a geographical bucket list, you know?”

He skirted a light hand down my arm, his tone casual but with an edge of something deeper. “And I guess the issue is money?”

“Yeah.” I focused on the shape of his mouth rather than the ever-changing blue-green hazel of his eyes. “Not like I’m raking it in as a dive instructor. I’m not complaining—it’s just the reality.”

“You could work there. Get them to pay for your flight, too.”

He wasn’t wrong. I had the qualifications, the experience, and, according to Nia, a face that drummed up business. But leaving here would sever the last connection to my parents, however intangible.

I shrugged, made slightly awkward by lying down. “Maybe, one day. But Nia needs me here. It’s just the two of us.”

“You really do need a third person.”

“Preaching to the choir, man.” I quirked up one corner of my mouth. “Richard claims he’s looking into it. But, you know, as long as we manage, there’s no rush. We’re not drowning, just treading water.”

“Right.” Logan’s hand stilled, cupping my elbow. Warm, humid air moved over our naked bodies. “You know,” he said, low and serious, “if I ever do run a hotel or resort—if I ever run anything, really… That’s not the kind of place I’d want it to be. I’d want it to be a place that’s good for everyone. Guests, sure, but also for the people who work there. Don’t treat them like crap; treat them with respect. Trust them to do their jobs.”

I breathed, in and out. “Yeah, well. I think that takes a certain amount of self-confidence, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

---