Page 30 of Raine Out (Grand Slam 2)

“Nice,” he says, grinning. When I see his gleaming, white teeth pop out of his beautiful caramel skin, I take a quick breath. He holds out his hand. “You okay?”

I nod, but I can’t seem to make words come out of my mouth. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

“Okay, well, welcome to the Virgin Islands, Trouble. Have you ever been here?”

“Nope.” I finally get out a word. “My first time. I guess I’m kind of a Virgin Islands virgin.”

He grins at me again. This time I notice a dimple on his left cheek. I really want to touch it. “A virgin, huh?”

“Ignore me, please,” I say, looking up to the ceiling. “Sorry. My humor’s usually not that cheesy. It’s been a long day.”

“It’s fine,” he says, still smiling. “I thought it was cute. Have fun on the islands.”

My eyes are glued to him as he walks through to the baggage area. He has a wickedly perfect body—about six feet tall with wide shoulders, a thin waist, and chiseled arms. And as he turns the corner, I notice a very muscular butt that’s highlighted beautifully by his bright pink swim trunks. I stare at the door for a full minute before someone taps me on the shoulder.

“Are you in a trance?” Butch says, shaking my shoulders. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you sweating? It’s not that hot in here.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I say, spinning around to him. “Are you ready?”

“I need to call my mom real quick. She called me three times while we were in the air.”

“Your grandma again?”

“Probably. You know she’s been declining for a while now.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m fine. Really.”

“I’m sorry, Butch. I’ll give you some space. Meet me by the luggage carousel.”

“Okay, but don’t try to lift your bag without me,” he says, looking up from his phone. “I don’t want to find you crushed under your suitcase.”

“I’m stronger than I look.” I curl my arm to show off my muscles.

“What are you trying to show me there?” He squints his eyes. “Your arms are smaller than my toothpick.”

“Only a couple of days into retirement and you already need glasses,” I say, still flexing as I back out of the room. “My arms are jacked.”

He rolls his eyes as he turns around and walks in the other direction. “Hey Mom,” I hear him say as I head toward the baggage carousel.

My suitcase is already on the belt and about ready to disappear into the back area. I sprint over and grab the handle. I’m pulling on it as hard as I can, but I’m losing the battle until another hand grabs it.

“Here, let me get it for you,” a man says from behind me as he lifts the bag with ease and puts it down next to me. “Damn, that’s heavy. Do you want me to help you out to your car with it?”

“No, I don’t need a porter,” I say, not looking at him. I try to grab the handle as my parrot bag slips from my shoulder—spilling its contents across the floor.

“Oh, uh, I’m not a porter,” he says as he crouches beside me.

I finally look at his face. It’s pink swim trunks guy. His glowing smile’s still in place.

“Oh, wow, yeah, that’s probably not an approved porter uniform. Sorry,” I say as he puts the last of my things back in my bag and hands it to me.

“All good,” he says, nodding toward my bag. “I noticed you’re reading Half-Blood Prince. Is this your first time reading the Harry Potter series?”

“What? No,” I say, my mouth falling open. “They’ve been out for like twenty years.”

“Sorry,” he says, laughing. “I didn’t mean to offend you. So you’re reading them again?”

“Just re-reading this one. It’s the best book in the series.”

“That’s not true,” he says, scrunching up his face. “The Prisoner of Azkaban is way better.”

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