Page 29 of Whiskey Splash

“Good, cause what I really want is a date.”

I pick a flower off the vine and toss it at him. “Not happening.”

He snatches the bloom out of the air. “No, like a real date.” He tucks the pink flower behind his ear, which looks surprisingly charming. “I’m not talking about something arranged by your sister or an awkward spa run-in.”

“Awkward is the understatement of the year,” I grumble.

“Agreed.” He nods, sidestepping his way up next to me. “My point being, I’d like a normal date, like normal people. Dinner—”

“We already did that.”

“A private stroll on the beach.”

“You’re famous,” I shoot back, pointing through the palm trees to where we just did yoga. “Didn’t you notice the mob of fans snapping photos of you on the beach.”

“Look,” he flips around and leans against the railing, his wet hair catching the breeze. “I just want to get to know you!”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Why?”

“Because you make me laugh.”

“Oh no.” I shake my head. “What I do is turn every situation into the most awkward,

sexually contrived, shit show imaginable. What you want is to watch me burn the freaking resort down.”

“Well …” He shrugs. “Considering that fire is the main attraction at your sister’s restaurant, that’s a possibility.”

“Touché!”

“Look, this isn’t complicated,” he says, plucking another flower from the vine and twirling it between his fingers. “I like you. You’re funny. I love that you say the most ridiculous things and then blush like a tomato afterwards.”

“So, you’re laughing at me.”

“With you!” He leans in and tucks the flower behind my ear, his fingers softly grazing the top of my ear and sending a shiver down my spine. “Plus, your hands are nothing short of amazing.” He smiles softly before his amber eyes flick up to mine, the intention behind that comment completely loaded. “And …” He shrugs. “My cock thinks you’re pretty awesome too.”

“Is that so?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “Your cock gets a vote?”

“Always.”

I roll my eyes, but he keeps smiling, waiting to see if I’ve got some clever comeback for

that one.

“Look, I don’t talk like this with everyone,” he explains, leaning back against the railing again. “All I get are horny fan girls and—”

“Oh wow,” I interrupt. “Your life is hard!”

He knocks his shoulder into me playfully. “Listen to me!”

“Oh no, I am,” I mock, shouldering him back. “It sounds like you have a fiesta line of hungry pussy clawing down your door like it’s theWalking Dead. However will you survive the pussy apocalypse?”

He laughs. “You’re proving my point! Other women don’t say things like that to me.”

“That’s because they’re zombies,” I toss back. “Eagerly trying to defeat you with their pussy jaws.”

“Wait.” He points at me, his face mock-lighting up. “That’s another metaphor, isn’t it?” He faux gasps, laying the sarcasm on thick. “I get it this time!” He makes a clamping motion with his hands and holds it over his nether regions.

“Thank you, Desmond,” I glare, distinctly not looking at his hand-jaws pretending to

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