Page 99 of The Plus One Contract

I swallow. “A little,” I admit, trying not to focus on the surge of warmth that follows his simple touch. My chest still heaves from the game, but that’s hardly the only reason my pulse is racing. “We should cool down before we get sunstroke.”

Nathan nods, gaze flicking out toward the crashing waves beyond the beach, then back to me. “Yeah,” he says, stepping a bit closer. “You’re right. We should cool down.”

My heart thumps again, louder, more frantic. I start to turn, intending to grab some water, but his arm snakes around my waist in one fluid motion. Before I can protest, he’s hoisting me off my feet with a laugh so dark, heat pools between my legs.

“What are you—hey!” I yelp, arms flailing as he takes off at a jog toward the water. The onlookers let out whistles and catcalls, but I barely register them. All I know is Nathan’s chest is solid against me, his laugh a warm gust at my ear.

“You said we should cool down,” he teases, tightening his hold. Then we slam into the first rolling wave, salt spray hitting my face. I squeal as the water soaks us both.

He doesn’t let me go. Not immediately. Instead, he stands knee-deep in the surf, holding me so our faces are mere inches apart. The roar of the ocean drowns out the rest of the world, leaving just us and the salt wind, laughter tangling in the air between us.

“Ah,” I say, grinning. “You finally got me wet this weekend.”

His eyes widen before he throws his head back with a groan and disappears under the water.

∞∞∞

The beach is packed with family and old friends, all milling around in that sun-drunk, lounging state that comes with a wedding weekend in paradise. I can’t decide if I should be grateful for the crowd because it keeps me from mauling Nathan in broad daylight.

We find a spot near the bar. A wave of salty wind ruffles my hair, and I catch a glimpse of Dad in the distance, eagerly corralling people for another volleyball set.

Jesus, does that man ever stop?

I’m still not touching the pineapples on his shirt. I refuse to go there again.

Next to him, Daniel passes the ball between his hands while Jeremy cracks jokes. A stray pang tightens my chest. This is so familiar—the group of us playing beach games, me in the middle, Daniel at my side. Except now, I have a new fake man, and Daniel’s about to be married to someone else.

Although that doesn’t bother me, there’s still a prickle of humiliation clinging to my skin. A sense that somewhere, someone is whispering about how we used to be together.

The relief that I’m no longer with Daniel is overshadowed by the complicated swirl of how everything ended. Part of me wants to bury my head in the sand. Another part wants to prove to everyone—my old friends, especially—that I’m okay, maybe better than okay.

“Hey.” Nathan’s voice is low, snapping my thoughts to the present. “You good?”

I force a small smile, sipping my fruit punch. “Peachy.”

He nods, not believing me for a second, but Dad’s voice booms from the direction of the makeshift court, calling, “Nathan! Over here!”

Nathan arches a brow at me. “Guess I’m wanted.” He says it in a half-mocking tone, but I can sense the tension in his stance. Possibly because Daniel’s presence is a glaring reminder of the ex factor. Or maybe because he secretly loves the challenge. With a wry grin, he sets his cup aside. “Wish me luck?”

I smirk, deciding to deflect. “Like you need it. Go get ‘em, big shot.”

He chuckles, ruffling my hair in a way that’s both infuriating and heartbreakingly sweet. Then he jogs off, footsteps kicking up warm sand. My gaze trails him, taking in the broad lines of his shoulders, the ripple of his back muscles.

God, help me.

With him gone, I blow out a shaky breath, sinking into a vacant lounger near where they’re playing. The group from the wedding ring the sidelines, cheering or cackling whenever someone dives too hard.

“Hey.”

A female voice startles me from behind. I turn to see one of my old friends, Erin, nudging a nearby lounger closer to mine. She’s wearing a plain black one-piece and a baseball cap, shoulders a bit sunburnt.

There’s an awkward moment as we stare at each other.

Erin used to be part of my everyday life with movie nights, venting sessions about life, all of it. Then I left for New York, and we never spoke again. She never reached out, and I never reached out, and it hurts more than I want to admit.

“Hi,” I say, swallowing. “Long time no see.”

She gives a half-shrug, glancing at the volleyball game. “Yeah, well, you kinda disappeared,” she says softly, not accusing, just stating a fact.

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