Page 40 of Best In Class
Asshole!He always knows how to get to the core of everything.
“Wasn’t just you, baby, I wanted it just as much, even more,” he murmurs.
I stare at the pool. “Can we not….”
“Can we not what?”
“Just stop talking about it,” I grind out, my hands rolling into fists.
“You want to push me in?” He leans in with that cocky tilt of his head. “Would that help?”
I narrow my eyes. Did I hear him right?
“What?”
“You want to push me into the pool?”
I look at him slack jawed. He was always playful. We were. I was. I used to be.
“I really want to,” I admit.
“Then go for it, Moonbeam.”
That’s all the permission I need.
I shove him.Hard.
He stumbles back, arms flailing, and crashes into the water with a spectacular splash.
I’m still laughing when he resurfaces, water streaming down the planes of his chest.
His hair’s slicked back now—thick, soft, dark curls pulled tight and shining, still holding their shape even wet. His hair defies gravity when dry, coiled and dense, but right now it clings to his scalp in neat waves, drawing attention to the smooth line of his hairline and the strength in his brow.
Droplets hang from the tips of his lashes and his skin, a warm bronze-brown has undertones kissed by the sun, glistens like polished mahogany.
He blinks slowly, calm and centered, like someone who knows exactly how good he looks stepping out of the water.
“Feeling better,” he says, voice deep and mellow, and that half-smile tells me he’s already guessed I’ve been watching.
“Yep,” I say smugly.
Then his hands shoot out and grab my ankles.
“Dom—don’t you dare—Dom!”
Too late.
He yanks, and I squeal, tumbling forward into the water very inelegantly.
We surface at the same time, sputtering and splashing. Everyone is laughing.
Devon raises his mojito in salute.
Stella’s filming.
Nova’s screaming, “Kiss her!”
Seriously?
