Page 21 of Beached Wedding

Ashley’s elbow was surprisingly sharp, even through the layers of terrycloth robe. She worked herself like a turtle on its back, trying to exit the hammock. She only made it sway while the blanket tangled around our legs. I felt the soft friction of her calf rub against my shin. My dick completely misread that and stretched more insistently.

“Is that lube?” Fliss accused, pointing at a basket next to a pair of champagne glasses, one empty, the other flat.

“Is it?” I couldn’t remember a damned thing. “Was I roofied? What happened while I was out?”

“It’smassage oil.” Ashley piled the blanket onto me and got her legs hooked over the edge of the hammock. “How do you even know what lube is?”

“It’s called the internet. It exists to destroy childhood.” Fliss turned the basket. “There’s chocolate. Can I have some?”

“Shhh!” came from across the patio.

Ashley scowled and asked in a whisper, “Who’s looking for me?”

“Everyone,” Fliss whispered. “Mom. Grandma. Shane’s mom. Izzy called and asked Mom if she should still come.”

“I texted her that Shane didn’t show.” Ashley informed me over her shoulder.

“Mom told Izzy she could help with the search party if nothing else,” Fliss said. “I said I’d look for you and Grandma got worried, like you were kidnapped or drowned and I would be too, if I left the villa. Where’s your phone? How come you haven’t answered our texts?”

“I left it in my room. Is Izzy coming or not?”

“I think she is. I’ll text Mom that I found you.” She thumbed her phone.

I worked at keeping my expression unchanged, but the vague apprehension that had been stalking me for weeks settled in like a bad cold. On the three or four calls Ashley had had with Izzy after Izzy had gone back to Canada, Izzy had been very flirtatious and suggestive, always offering to ‘meet me halfway’ if I had plans to visit the States.

She had also threatened to return to Oz, but never had, which had been a relief. Izzy was cute and funny. We’d had a good time for the few nights I’d known her, but we hadn’t had much in common. She liked fashion and clubbing and umbrella drinks beside a pool. I’m practical and active and would rather stand in as a dart board at a pub than subject myself to electronica.

When she had left so unapologetically to take her dream job, her departure had made for a clean end to a relationship that hadn’t had a future. I wasn’t that keen to start it up again.

“Grandma wants to know if you’re coming for dinner. The Holloways are already invited.” Fliss read from her phone. “It’s at seven.”

“What time is it now?”

“Four fifty-six.”

Ashley’s spine sagged. She peered over her shoulder at me. “What are you doing for dinner?”

I didn’t have much appetite for what sounded like an ambush but, “Being your wingman?”

“Fair—?”

“Don’t,” I ordered, cutting her off. “You’ll only embarrass yourself.”

“He doesn’t like it when I try to say ‘fair dinkum,’” she confided to Fliss, putting a hard ‘r’ in it purely to sound like a cretin and irritate me.

Fliss tucked her chin. “Pretty sure that’s a loonie into Grandma’s swear jar. She started one for Ryan.”

“Inflation much? It was a quarter when you were four. She’s punishing your mother. Don’t fall for that racket. Grandma cusses like a sailor when you’re not around.”

“Shhh!” someone hissed insistently.

Ashley tsked and tried to stand, seemed to struggle to find her balance, but—I realized after I had plastered my hand on her ass—she was only trying to get her slippers onto her feet.

I wound up with a generous impression of her butt that immediately found a space in my brain that had been sitting empty, waiting for that precise information about temperature and breadth and suppleness.

She found her feet and swung around, flushed.

“Don’t forget your lube.” Fliss picked up the basket.

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