Page 62 of Gin and Lava

“Attractive, wealthy, smart as a whip,” I say, describing the Voss brothers. “Don’t tell me that isn’t every girl’s trifecta for the perfect man.”

“You forgot good in the sack,” Naomi adds, following me along the marked path.

“Nope.” I shake my head. “That one’s a bonus. No girl stays with a man because he’s got a magical dick. Trust me, I’ve got one of those, and as we’ve both pointed out, no one’s surprised I’m single. Women stay for the first three. Mediocrity in the sack is something women accept in exchange for a trophy husband who provides diamonds, and jet planes, and vacations in Europe.”

Naomi looks at me sadly. She’s a romantic. She wants to believe in flowers and poetry and grand gestures. But that’s all 90s rom-com bullshit, and I fully blame every 90s Julia Roberts movie that gave her shitty expectations.

“Connor isn’t rich,” Naomi mentions.

“Connorwasrich,” I reply, lowering my voice as a couple of tourists walk past us. “His family is rich. His brother’s rich. He still makes a pretty penny at Flambé, and he has the law degree to prove he can six-figure his way into whatever job he needs. The fact that Arie’s the one woman on the planet that chooses dick over a paycheck is an anomaly. Plus, she signs his paycheck, so …”

“Technically, Simon signs his paycheck,” Naomi corrects. “Stop comparing yourself.”

Only she’s not hearing me. “Okay,” I say, turning to face her and walking backwards as we ascend the volcano. “Tell me that your ex wasn’t the trifecta and I’ll shut up. Was he good looking?”

“Yes,” Naomi admits, lifting her chin like it’s not a big deal to be with someone attractive, and considering the gorgeous Viking Princess that she is, it isn’t surprising.

“Was he rich?” I continue, turning around so I don’t fall on my ass. “And by rich, I don’t mean he’s a millionaire. I mean over six figures.”

“Yes,” Naomi reveals, and when I peek back at her, I can see the truth of what I’m saying starting to sink in.

“Right.” I look ahead to the concrete steps that mark we’re half-way to the summit. “And what does he do for his six-figure living?”

She quiets, looking out at the ocean as she walks. “He’s a doctor,” she admits. “He works at The Queen’s Medical Center.”

Fuck. Really?

I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course, Naomi would date a doctor, and not just some low-rent veterinarian or something. Oh no, she’s going to date a hotshot doc at the biggest hospital on the island. No wonder she wants to make him jealous. He’s everything a girl like her would get wet dreams over.

“So, he’s smart,” I say with an edge to my tone. “You can’t be a doctor without fifteen degrees. Like I said, trifecta.”

We walk up the concrete steps in silence. The sun barrels down on us, reminding me that hiking Diamond Head is stupid. There isn’t any shade. Plus, I’m being a stubborn dick by pointing out that Naomi isthat girlto a T, yet somehow it feels like I’m the one getting kicked in the balls.

“I’m sorry.” I stop in my tracks and turn around to face her. “I’m a dick. You were just trying to be nice and I’m the asshole who—”

“Rule number three,” she asserts, taking the next three steps and forcing herself into my personal space, “is don’t act dumb.”

Her eyes are hard. They aren’t angry or cold, but fierce, and I can’t tell if she’s covering for the fact that I just poked the wound that the Trifecta dumped her, or if she’s digging in her heels about selling myself short.

“That rule runs both ways,” I say, not releasing her gaze. If she’s going to hold me to a standard, then I’m going to hold her to it as well.

“Good,” she says defiantly. “We’re both smart. We’re both not helpless. And neither one of us gets to play the ditz card.”

“I’m not going to be able to run mental circles around your doc,” I point out. “If he starts talking doctor shit, I’m not going to—” Naomi grabs me in the crotch. “Woah—okay!”

“Stop breaking rule number three before we’ve even started.” She grips me harder.

“Um, you’re the one whose hand is on my cock.” I toss back, my brain torn between this being hot, and her bruising my favorite appendage. “You’re the one breaking rule number two by touching me inappropriately in public.”

“Fine.” Naomi lets go and steps around me. “Clearly, we both need some practice.”

“For the record”—I point a finger at her—“you made both of those rules.”

“And I’m keeping them,” she asserts, walking past me and up the steps. “Now start telling me what your rules are.”

I raise my eyebrows, not expecting that.

“I get to make some rules?” I ask, following her as she stair-masters that ass to perfection.

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