Page 57 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“You’re being weird.” She stands up and carries her plate into the kitchen.
I watch her go, considering. Am I being weird? Maybe.
I think this relaxed atmosphere is doing funny things to both of our personalities.
After lunch, we mark off end zones with pieces of driftwood and play touch football on the damp grass. Moose cheats constantly, Thorne trash-talks everyone, Jett keeps stealing the ball from Jessa, and Juliet keeps score while chirping me for being overly dramatic when I score a touchdown.
She has to jump to snatch the ball out of my hand when I tease her.
“Give it back, Sasquatch,” she says, stretching uselessly. I hold it just high enough to make her glare.
Her laughter keeps finding me across the field. Every time it does, something tight in my chest loosens, like I’ve been holding my breath without realizing it.
What is going on between us exactly?
Juliet’s eyes sparkle as everyone huddles up for the punch. She’s having fun. Miss Stick-Up-Her-Ass is learning that life is more bearable when you don’t treat everything as a task on an endless checklist.
“You know this is supposed to be touch football, right?” she calls out when I level Shane with what might have been excessive force. “Not murder ball.”
“Tell Shane to run faster.”
“Tell yourself to dial it back, Chainsaw.”
The nickname should annoy me. Instead, it makes my lips twitch with humor.
Sunset bleeds orange over the water. Eventually, we circle around the fire pit wrapped in blankets, beers sweating in our gloved hands. Embers pop and spark; someone queues up music from the nineties. Ryan roasts me for losing some bet I don’t remember making.
I lob back a dig about his questionable coaching decisions until Juliet nudges my knee under the blanket.
“Easy, Chainsaw,” she murmurs. “PR is off duty this weekend.”
The simple contact buzzes hotter than the flames. Her knee stays pressed against mine. I try my damnedest not to read too much into it.
Later, there’s a night swim dare that has the rookies cannonballing into the heated pool. Almost everyone jumps in, beers in hand. Silas won’t drink, so I don’t even bother checking with him. He’ll stay and watch the pack. He’s a sheepdog like that.
After a couple of beers, I get antsy. I catch Juliet’s gaze. “Hot tub?”
She bites her lower lip gently, some sort of decision-making process happening in her head. I have to say, I like that about her. At last, she shrugs. “Okay. Let me change into a bathing suit.”
I hurry to change into my trunks, feeling a charge of anticipation. I haven’t ever seen Juliet in a bikini and I have to admit, I’m looking forward to it. Grabbing a big, fluffy towel, I head into the private grotto where the hot tub is situated.
I climb into the steaming tub, instantly groaning. It feels amazing on my stiff right knee and my bruised right ribcage. Okay. When I eventually get a house, a hot tub is going to be on my list of must-haves.
Juliet makes an appearance a few minutes later, wrapped in a fluffy yellow beach towel. She sends an apprehensive look over her shoulder as she hands the towel over a deck chair, revealing a jaw-dropping little body in a navy high-waisted bikini. The structured and sleek top lifts and curves in all the right places without showing too much.
Which somehow makes it worse. The fabric clings like a second skin, hugging her waist and hips, dipping just enough at the neckline to short-circuit my brain. Juliet’s legs look impossibly long. Her skin is smooth and flushed from the cool air. She pulled up her hair, which leaves her graceful neck bare, and all I can think about is pressing my mouth to the sweet curve where her shoulder meets her neck.
She looks as though she belongs in a photoshoot. Elegant. Immaculate. A little self-conscious, but trying not to show it. She crosses her arms for a second, then catches herself and lets her tits drop, chin lifted like she knows exactly what effect she’s having.
I am already in the hot tub and barely keeping it together. I drop my gaze to the bubbles and force myself to breathe through my nose. Cold water probably would have been smarter. She’s not even looking at me, but I can feel the burn of her skin near mine, the gravity of it pulling me in. I shift slightly, adjusting the angle of my hips beneath the surface before things get too obvious.
I’m getting hard over her, looking at my stunning fake fiancée.
Juliet steps in and slides beside me like nothing’s happening. The water swirls, heat rising, steam wrapping around her bare shoulders and collarbones. Her thigh brushes mine, and she doesn’t flinch. If anything, she leans in closer.
Keep my hands on the edge of the tub, I train my eyes on the water. I try not to imagine what would happen if I turned toward her and pulled her into my lap. The sounds she would make. The feeling of her heated skin under my palms.
Fuck. I have to stop. Beneath the surface of the water, I’m hard as stone, silently begging the water to hide it.
