Page 32 of Stick Break
Once he’s stripped down, he steps into the water, and my eyes sneak back to his back—the way every muscle ripples like it’s made of steel and poetry. No wonder he’s a force on the ice. He glances over his shoulder, catching me mid-stare, and his grin just dares me to look again. How can I resist? The man is a walking sculpture.
Heart pounding, I reach for my top. Am I really doing this? Looks like it.
I peel it off as he wades deeper, water almost up to his chest. “It’s warm,” he calls out, voice teasing.
“Is that why your teeth are chattering?” I shoot back, wrapping my hands around my bra strap, debating if I want to lose it too. Skinny dipping isn’t usually my thing, but it’s dark, it’s just us, and I’m not about to ruin my bra with salt water.
Before reason can take over, I unhook it and toss it on the sand. Then I grab the waistband of my yoga pants, sliding them down, panties and all, with a little rush of adrenaline.
With his back turned, I slip into the water, and holy hell, it’s like cool silk against my warm skin. I swim out, shadows hiding me as the moonlight sketches Rip’s silhouette. Inches from him, I stand up, careful to keep just enough water to cover me.
He wipes water from his face, smiling like he owns this moment. “Nice, huh?”
“So nice,” I whisper, feeling the chill and the thrill all at once.
I dunk under and swim away, feeling the cool ocean close around me like a secret. When I surface, Rip’s already some distance off, and I float onto my back, eyes tracing the stars scattered across the sky like glitter. I close my eyes for a moment, ears submerged in silence—blocking out every word, every feeling.
Then, catching me by surprise, big hands suddenly scoop beneath me, lifting me up like I’m weightless.
“Whoa!” I yelp, twisting, but his grip shifts and suddenly my chest is pressed against his, legs curling around his back like they were made to fit there all along. It’s strange. This man, with all his scars and secrets, somehow feels like the safest place I could be.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he breathes, voice deep and rough.
I’m painfully aware of how my nipples press hard against his chest, the electric pull between us thick enough to cut with a knife. Trying to play it cool as I hold tight to keep afloat, I tease, “You’re out of breath. Guess I’m heavier than you thought?”
His hands tighten, and I shift lower, feeling…. Oh, God.
“No, you’re a lightweight,” he murmurs, voice low and ragged. “I’m breathless because… fuck.” He slams his eyes shut, his mouth twisted like he’s in total agony. One hand slides up my spine, cups the back of my neck. When his eyes now open, they lock on my lips like they’re the only thing that matters. “Because I want to kiss you.”
My lips part instinctively, and I swipe my tongue over them. But I clamp down on the moment. Someone has to be in control here. “Probably not a good idea.”
He exhales hard. “No. I’m pretty sure it’s not.”
“We just met,” I say, voice barely steady, “You have that girlfriend.”
“Not girlfriend.”
Okay, that’s not helping.
I shift a fraction, and swear if I move one more inch lower, we’ll crossing a line that can’t be uncrossed.
He groans low, a sound that drifts through the night like a confession. “Charley.”
I gulp and unwrap my legs, planting them on the ocean floor with a shiver—not from cold, but from something electric buzzing under my skin. “We should head back in.”
“Uh huh.” I turn and swim away.
Why is kissing him such a bad idea again?
Oh yeah, because we just met, and my life’s a chaotic mess.
Not only that, kissing a guy like him would be a disaster.
But…warm hands.
The way he touches me.
The comfort, the safety, the reckless spark of wanting…
