Page 65 of Caught Stealing

“Yeah,” he says between chuckles. “And then we’d usually jump off right after.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing—”

He shakes his head and rebuts, “No more ridiculous than proposing.”

“I wasn’t proposing.We’re marriedis just what we said.”

“Doesn’t make it any better.”

Okay, fair point.

I roll my eyes. “You probably call shopping carts a buggy and shit too.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” he says, a big smile on his face. “And all soft drinks are called coke.”

“Soda.”

He shakes his head and winks at me. “Not in the South, baby.”

The term of endearment slips so easily from his lips, causing a strange sort of flutter in my stomach. It’s different hearing it now, away from a moment heated with lust and desire.

If only he didn’t clearly regret it leaving his mouth in the first place.

“I didn’t…you know—” He lets out an uncomfortable sort of laugh. “Do me a favor and forget I just said that.”

His cheeks have a pink tint when he meets my gaze, making me want to brush my thumb over them. Feel the heat of his skin radiating into my touch. Cup one in my palm as I drag his mouth to mine and make him forget the heights, the slip-up, his own fucking name.

Maybe that’s why the words spill out of my mouth, low and husky, before I can even attempt to reel them back in.

“Kiss me, and I promise I won’t remember a word of it.”

Phoenix’s eyes drop to my lips immediately, and I swear I’m watching the gears spin in his mind as he thinks about doing just that. And that’s how I know he’s in this just as deep as I am. There’s no use in either of us denying it anymore. Not when proof of this chemistry—these feelings—are staring us straight in the face.

But it’s clear he’s still hell-bent on fighting this when the flush on his cheeks deepens to red, and he glances away.

“You have to stop looking at me like that.”

My eyes follow the lines and planes of his face as I murmur, “I wish I knew how.”

“Holden…”

“Phoenix.”

“We’re being pulled in,” he whispers, keeping his gaze averted.

I glance out in front of us to find he’s right. I was so focused on his face and mouth and just him, I barely realized the line attached to our sail was slowly getting shorter and shorter.

“Nix—”

“No.” Our eyes meet, and I see the plea in his before he even speaks it. “Please, don’t.”

Blowing out a sigh, I focus my attention on the boat as we rapidly descend toward it.

“Stand up, stand up,” the crew member calls as we close in on the boat, and just as quickly as the deck disappeared when we were first released, our feet collide with the surface again.

The guys on the boat whoop and holler, just like they did the first time I went up, and Noah goes as far as holding up eight fingers to give us a score for our landing.

“Well then, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

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