Page 53 of Catch You

“Oh … um …” He jumps back into the camper and pulls out a bottle of rum.

“You brought some as well.”

Heat creeps onto his cheeks. “I was trying to be all romantic and shit.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Everything is perfect, Corey.”

“I borrowed my aunt and uncle’s camper and made a picnic. It’s not exactly the date of the century.”

Once he’s settled beside me, I reach over and place my hand over his.

“It’s perfect.”

“Really?” He glances over at me, and I love the little bit of vulnerability in his eyes.

“Really.”

We fall silent for a few seconds as a young family walks across the beach. We’re not close enough to hear what they’re saying, but I can’t help smiling as I watch their toddler attempt to chase their dog.

Corey sighs, dragging my attention back to him. “Hungry?” he asks before I can ask if he’s okay.

“Starved.”

He opens the basket and reveals the contents. Bread from a deli, cheese, meats, olives. It’s almost a replica from our midnight snack at the hotel, and my cheeks heat as I remember eating some of that from his body.

Jesus, I was such a hussy that night.

Noticing my flushed state, he lifts the hem of his shirt, cheekiness twinkling in his blue eyes. “Want a repeat?”

“A plate will be fine, thank you.” I lean forward to take one of the plastic ones he brought out, and he drops his shirt. It’s a shame, but I’m on my best behavior tonight.

“I’m pretty sure you concluded that anything would taste better if my abs were the plate.”

“I did not say that,” I mutter into the palms of my hands as I try to hide my embarrassment.

“I guess you’ll have to do it again to test it out. Here.” When I part my fingers and look, he’s holding out some bread for me.

“You know, I don’t do what happened on Saturday night.”

“You don’t have sex? I think you’ll find you do. And I can also confirm that you’re really quite good at it.”

“Quite good?” I ask but regret the question the second it passes my lips. “Forget I asked that. And no, I meant I don’t go to hotel rooms with guys I’ve just met.”

“You didn’t just meet me. We met the night before.”

“You know what I mean. I just needed you to know that it’s not something I make a habit out of. I’m not a …”

“A…?”

“Slut,” I mumble around a bit of my bread.

He shakes his head. “That’s not … no, Harlow. Just no. If I had any questions about your morals or behavior, do you think I’d be here right now?”

I shrug. He has a point.

“I just needed to get it off my chest.”

His eyes drop to my breasts at my words, his pupils dilating as if he’s remembering what they look like with no clothing covering them.

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