Page 38 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
“Want to race?” he asked.
“Not a chance.” I wished I had thought to bring Epic’s floaty. Instead, I pushed off the side with my feet and backstroked around like a lost turtle while Epic did a few more laps.
A few minutes later, he punched through the water by my side and slipped his goggles to the top of his head.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Competitive swimmer?”
“Kind of,” he hedged. “Not in college. What about you? What’s your sport?”
As if everyone had one. “Track and field in high school.”
“You still run?”
“Yes, but if you ask me if I want to do that this weekend, the answer’s no.” No way would I embarrass myself like that. “My pace is probably slower than you’re used to.
He splashed me. “I like a man who paces himself so he can go the distance.”
Despite the cool pool, his words had a pretty predictable effect on my dick. I sank and swallowed a lot of water. That was the exact—and weirdly metaphorical—moment I found myself in deep with Epic Alsop.
So deep, in fact, that Epic towed me to the shallow end.
“You okay there?” His grin wasn’t just cheeky, it was positively evil.
“Yeah,” I sputtered. “Just got…a little something…”
“Not so little, even though it’s cold.” He snorted and took off.
Jesus. I got out and retrieved towels for both of us, then slid onto one of the loungers to dry. The sun warmed my skin, and the fragrance of plumeria, ginger lily, and climbing ylang ylang filled the air. I’d drifted into that perfect tipping point where sleep seems inevitable when I felt someone sit beside me.
“Let’s get out of the sun.” Epic tugged on my hand.
I opened my eyes to find him looking down at me with a perfectly amiable, playful smile on his lips. Backlit, his shoulders sparkled with droplets of water. Slicked back, his hair gleamed glossy as a seal’s fur. He held out his hand.
I took it. “All right.”
He helped me up and didn’t let go on the long walk back to our suite. The usual worries didn’t plague me like I thought they would. Work was a thousand miles away along with the rest of the things that made this a bad idea.
Epic walked ahead of me, strong and certain, and I followed because wherever he was headed, whereverthiswas headed, I wanted it.
We got back to the room, and I waited while he slid his key into the reader. Inside, his foot landed on a parchment envelope.
I recognized the studied, spidery writing as Luis’s. My full name: Mr. Ryan Taylor Winthrop.
“What’s that?” Epic asked. “Looks like an invitation.”
Our moment shattered like glass.
Chapter Ten
Amorcito,the note read,You and your guest are cordially invited to attend an informal gentlemen’s evening of tapas and music, seven tonight at the Ty Warner Bungalow. If you require directions, please contact the concierge or ask one of the staff to direct you. I hope you will honor us with your presence. Respectfully, Luis and William.
“Amorcito,” Epic scoffed. “What do you suppose his fiancé thinks about that?”
“Mm.”
“Are you going to go?”
“We, you mean. The invitation is for both of us.”
