Page 49 of Love on the Waiver Wire

In one swift move, Isla eats the entire hot pepper. Sure, it’s clearly spicy to her. She definitely chugs a whole glass of milk. But it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.

I was actually going to tell her she only had to take a small bite, but she had other plans. Before I cold tell her, the entire pepper was in her mouth.

I’m not going to say that watching the whole thingwasn’tone of the hottest things I’ve ever witnessed. And I was just with her when she got her nipples pierced.

She took it like a champ.

She stands in front of me, finishing off her glass of milk in just a pair of shorts and a tight sports bra she threw on after we got back, sticking her tongue out to show me that the pepper is gone.

Before I can stop myself, the words are out. “God I wish you were on your knees doing that,”

Her cheeks immediately pinken, but she doesn’t move. Instead, a smirk plays at her lips as she watches me from under her lashes. “Yeah?”

I wipe my face with my hands. “I shouldn’t have said that.” I check my watch. “I should probably get going.”

“You know you can joke with me, right?” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. I refrain from watching as her chest is pushed up in her bra.

“Yeah of course,” I say, but she cuts me off before I can say anything else.

“I’m not made of glass, and I’m not Leo’s innocent little sister. You can joke with me however much you want.”

I nod, looking at my shoes. It’s not that I see her as innocent, or just as Leo’s little sister. I want to tell her that’s so far from how I see her. But if I make a move there’s no going back for me.

I know myself. It’s why I haven’t hooked up with anyone in years. Since my last relationship, to be exact.

The girl in front of me has been actively in my life for the last three weeks, and yet she’s taken over my whole brain. I don’t want to think about how I’ll think when—if—anything ever happens between us.

And I have no idea what to do about any of it.

20

ISLA

“You know how to play the guitar?”

I nod, bringing the guitar to my lap. “Of course I do.”

“I could never learn,” Owen says, watching as I strum a few notes.

I shake my head at him. “It’s easier than it looks. I think you could. You could definitely play Wonderwall.”

“Is it easy?”

I chuckle.

“It’s one of the easiest songs to play. There’s that joke that men will bring a girl home and just play her Wonderwall. It’s like the first thing that a lot of them learn to play and they’re always so proud of themselves but it’s so funny.”

Owen looks at me skeptically. “How easy?”

I shoot him a look. “Very. And I’ll teach you.”

I hand him my guitar and watch him fumble with it, not sure how to hold it. I help him, positioning it on his lap as I place his hands where they need to go.

“It’s only six chords,” I tell him, and realizing he should probably see it before trying it for himself, I grab it back.

I strum the beginning, tapping my foot in time as I encourage him to do the same thing. He awkwardly does, nodding his head in time with me. I go on a little longer, making sure he watches my fingers.

And I start singing.

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