Page 64 of Ship Outta Luck

All I know is that I can’t pretend anymore. I want her.

Still, I take my time answering. I rub a thumb across the back of her hand, marveling that she’s letting me hold it, that she hasn’t reclaimed it.

“I could show you what I mean.”

“Show me,” she whispers, her dark brown eyes large, doe-like.

Moving slowly, I press a kiss to the small cut on the palm of her hand, and she gasps a little.

Would she sound like that if I kissed her again? Really kissed her, and meant it?

I trace the line of her jaw. I revel in the soft skin, memorizing the way her eyes half-close. My hands almost move on their own accord, dragging down the smooth column of her throat, the hard ridge of her collarbone.

I brush my lips there, and the light caress makes her shift toward me.

I breathe her in, dragging her onto my lap, then pause, waiting. Her eyes flutter fully open.

“Are you okay?” I ask quietly. As much as I want this, I want her to want it too.

She nods fervently, her fingers scraping across my torso. “Yes.”

My lips are so close to hers I can imagine what they taste like: salt brine from the sea, sweet when she parts them.

I cup her cheeks, pulling her face to mine, my mouth meeting hers in earnest.

Perfect.

She rolls her hips slightly, and I groan as my cock immediately gets hard. She tastes like summer and sunshine, and she feels even better.

It’s just like before, when she wanted to fake it, as some kind of half-baked diversion plan.

Fake it.

The surf chases up to my knees, the cool kiss of water slamming sense back into me, and I pull away from her.

This is a bad idea. No matter how good it feels, how right.

June blinks up at me, her eyes wide with confusion. I close mine so I don’t have to see her disappointment turn to hurt.

“I didn’t see any sea glass on the beach.” I hear her sharp intake of breath, and in the next second she’s off my lap.

I open my eyes, and her lips are pursed, her gaze shuttered. She’s looking down the beach, her arms crossed.

It was the right thing to do.

“It doesn’t wash up all the time.” She won’t look at me. “Just after big storms. The last one we had was about a month ago. There’s probably some buried under the sand, if you want to dig.”

I brush my palms off, sand trickling back to the beach as a I stand.

“Why would your father have brought you out here? To the beach?” I sneak a peek at her.

She’s upset.

I fucked up.

“Hey—”

“Is this some kind of game to you? Am I some kind of game?” Her watch buzzes against her wrist, and she spares it a single angry look before turning her face back to me.

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