“Page boy?” I lift a brow.
She shrugs. “Couldn’t think of anything else from that era.”
“Uh . . . how about a knight?”
She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. “A knight would never stumble out of bed and apologize for sleeping on my stomach. He would have grabbed my nightgown at the waist, twisted it in his fist and said—speaking in a deep voice—'Thanks for the pillow, wench,’ and then he would have left. You fumbled around like a page boy.”
“So let me get this straight. You would have rather me almost tear your clothes off and call you a wench, than apologize for using you as my own personal pillow?”
“Hmm”—she taps her chin and then looks down at me—“yeah.”
I roll my eyes and chuckle, finally freeing myself of the blankets. “Women are fucking weird.”
“Because we have the fantasy of being manhandled?” She sits up on the bed and crosses her legs under her. “It’s sometimes nice to feel like a delicate leaf in a man’s hands.”
“A delicate leaf?” I scratch the top of my head and watch her eyes dip to my exposed waist for a second before they travel back up my body. Not your type . . . okay, Natalie.
“You know, like we can be tossed around.” She smacks the side of her hip and continues, “Some of us have more junk in the trunk, you know, and it’s great to know that a man can handle it.”
My brow creases. “You think you have junk in the trunk?”
Her mouth falls flat and her eyes narrow as if to say get real. “Cory”—she stands and turns around—“look at this.” She points at her perfectly round butt that I’ve tried to avoid looking at ever since I saw it in her skimpy bikini on the boat. “There is extra fluff in there, and I know my thighs are never going to get any smaller no matter how hard I train. Heavy on the bottom, it’s how I roll. But, as a woman,” she says slowly, motioning with her hands, “at least for me, I sometimes feel . . . heavier, making it hard for a man to, you know . . . toss me around in bed. Or have me against a wall.” She shrugs. “It’s why sex with Ansel was always in the missionary position. I wasn’t toss-able.”
Is she fucking kidding me right now?
Anger heats up my ears and steams down my neck, leaving an uncomfortable numbing sensation roaring through my spine, making it impossible to feel my limbs that are tensing from the mere thought of this beautiful woman showing an ounce of insecurity about her body.
Jaw clenched, I attempt to soothe the anger boiling inside me. Count to ten before you say anything, before you show her just how toss-able she is. But I itch to close the space between us, to lift her up by her waist and pin her against the wall, to let her feel what a real man can do. What would she do? Would she go with it? Push me away? Want to talk it out or congratulate me on my strength?
Before I can find out, she says, “I’m getting ready for breakfast. Dibs on the shower.”
She brushes past me, her shoulder gliding against my arm. And I’m twitching. Grab her, toss her on the bed, and bury your head between her legs. Do it, Potter. Show her how fucking sexy and toss-able she is. Show her that her bastard ex was so, so wrong.
Yep. That’s what I want to do.
But instead, I stay ramrod straight and say, “I’m going for a run.”
“On vacation?” she calls from the bedroom. “Honestly . . . you baseball players.” And then she laughs. “Huh, maybe that’s why I have junk in the trunk. Oh well, Mama likes her relaxing time. Have fun sweating.” And then the bathroom door closes.
I’m tense.
I’m ready to fucking blow a gasket.
I need to run off some of this fury.
I make quick work of my shoes, don’t even bother with music, and take off toward the trails. My pace is grueling. I’m like a bull out of the gate, taking off with zero warmup as my heart beats uncontrollably.
Not toss-able.
What kind of relationship did Natalie have with this asshole? From what I’ve heard so far, he isn’t a winner, that’s for sure.
How could he not want to toss her onto the bed, to push her against the wall, to lift her up and let her sink so far down on his cock that he felt like he touched heaven for a brief moment in time?
Looks like he wasted an opportunity.
His loss.
I just wish it was my gain.
* * *
Pool day.
It’s what Jason keeps saying while pelvic thrusting the group, and I’m pretty sure he kissed Knox on the lips at one-point right after saying it. I didn’t quite catch the kiss, but I did see the punch to the arm after.
Jason is a little much, quirky, but fuck, he’s a good time and quick with his tongue. The sparring between he and Dottie is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. What I love most is she gives it right back to him, never backing down. They could not be more perfect for each other.
“Can you act like a grown-up?” Knox asks, sitting behind Emory on her lounger and pulling her into his chest.
“He’s incapable of such behavior,” Dottie says, fixing her sunglasses on her head.
“That’s not what you said last night,” Jason says, wiggling his eyebrows.
Dottie ignores him and focuses on her sunbathing.
Piping up from the pool, where she’s dipped under water to her shoulders, Natalie says, “Cory had never seen The Office until last night.”
“What?” Carson asks from the pool as well, where Milly is hanging on his back. “What do you mean you’ve never seen The Office?”
“Never watched it.”
“He likes documentaries,” Milly says. “He binges them on Netflix.”
“Documentaries are cool,” Carson says. “But seriously, The Office, man.”
I cool him with a tamping of my hand. “We watched season one last night.” I leave out the part where I fell asleep on Natalie. “It was good. But I agree with Natalie, it’s a rough season, so I’m looking forward to season two.”
“Season two is way better,” Emory says, while leaning back against Knox, who has his hands protectively splayed across her belly.
“That’s what I told him and made him promise not to judge the show by season one.” Natalie floats away from the edge and treads water. “I’m going to make him watch more tonight.”
“You act as if you have to threaten to pull off my toenails in order to force me to watch.”
“I’m not opposed to it,” she says with a smile. “Wouldn’t hurt the world if you lost some of those daggers.”
“What?” I sit up in my chair, smiling like a goof. I hold my foot up and say, “These are not daggers. Perfectly cut to a normal length.”
“They snagged on the carpet last night,” she counters while flicking some water at me.
“The carpet snagged on my toe, not the other way around.”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I’m going to have to review the tapes but I’m telling you right now, it’s not looking in your favor.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Please, as if—”
Jason clears his throat. I look around at our friends and see their eyes trained on us, stupid-as-shit grins on all their faces as Natalie and I volley banter back and forth. And then I see the concerned look on Milly’s face.
Shit.
Leaning back, I mutter, “It was the carpet.”
* * *
“How hard is it to constantly calculate ten feet in distance in your head at all times?” Natalie asks from one side of the pool.
Carson and Milly went back to their room. Dottie and Jason went to the ocean to try some snorkeling off the shore, and Knox and Emory rented a private cabana where I believe they’re currently getting a couple’s massage. Leaving Natalie and me alone in the pool, on pool day.
“What do you mean?” I ask, reaching for my beer on the side of the pool.
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” she asks, adjusting the strap to her one-piece bathing suit.
Apparently Milly isn’t the only one wit
h a one-piece, but these bathing suits aren’t the things girls used to wear back in the day; they’re almost more scandalous than a two-piece. Which makes me sound really old. Natalie’s is red—again—and it’s cut really fucking low in the back and really fucking high in the front. There’s no doubt in my mind that the girl waxes from how high the bikini line goes. It almost looks like an old-school Baywatch swimsuit, but a little more revealing . . . if that’s possible. And what makes the whole “ensemble” even more tempting is the way she keeps dipping under the water and then slicking her honey-colored hair back . . . that and the impossibly hard nipples that keep poking through the fabric.
I’ve kept myself close to the edge of the pool at all times so I can hide the hard-on I’ve been dealing with ever since I got in the pool.
Trying to decipher her question, I ask, “Calculating ten feet? I’m not following.”
She motions between the two of us. “Every time I move, you move, as if there’s a ten-foot wall between us and if we break that distance, you’ll disintegrate into dust.”
Or I’d be encouraged by the heat building deep within my bones to pull you in close to my chest and show you what it’s like to be held by a real man.
Laughing awkwardly, I say, “Oh, am I moving around too much for you?”
“You just seem nervous.”
Yeah, because your goddamn nipples are begging me to rip that bathing suit down and take them into my mouth.
“I am nervous,” I say.
“Are you?” she asks, concern in her eyes. “About what?”
“I can’t stop thinking about it.” I take a deep breath. “Are Jim and Pam going to have a relationship?”
Her face falls right before she splashes water in my face. “You’re an idiot.”
“Were you hoping for something more profound?”
“Maybe.” She swims to the edge, breaking the ten-foot rule I was subconsciously abiding by. “I was hoping that maybe you were about to tell me your biggest fears, concerns, any trauma you might be going through.”
Personally, I’m not going through any trauma, but my cock sure is. It’s still hard, and it’s still begging me to make a move.
“Sorry to disappoint. I’m pretty easygoing.”
“Maybe a little too easygoing.” She eyes me and then turns quickly in the water, her finger pointing at me. “Tell me what you’re hiding.”
“What?” I laugh, hoping she can’t see through the façade of nonchalance I’m sporting, noticing how bad I’m lusting after her. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Your eyes are shifty. Of course, you’re hiding something.”
“And what exactly do you think I’m hiding?” I ask, scooting farther into the water to avoid her catching my current excitement down below.
She studies me, almost as if she’s trying to peel a layer of skin off my face and truly see me. “Oh, you’re hiding something, Cory Potter, and I know exactly what it is.”
“Tell me.”
That stunning smile spreads across her face and she casually says, “You secretly have a sock fetish.”
“What?” I burst out in laughter, not expecting that. “A sock fetish?”
“Oh yeah,” she says dramatically, carrying out the oh in a deep voice. “You think I’m stupid enough not to see it?” She shakes her head. “I know it’s there; it’s why two of my socks have gone missing the last two nights. Explain that.”
She’s so fucking ridiculous, the cute kind of ridiculous that’s amusing to be around.
“Your socks are missing?” Where this even came from, I have no idea, but I’m going with it. “How do you think that’s my fault?” I point to my chest.
“Easy, you’re the only other person in that hotel room.”
“And yet the cleaning service comes in and out.”
She shakes her head. “I go to bed with socks on, and I wake up with one missing. Unless someone is creeping into our room in the middle of the night, you’re the culprit.” She lifts her chin. “What do you do with them? Bring them to your nose and sniff them like they’re your precious?”
I can’t even handle her right now.
“Yup,” I deadpan. “You got me. I’ve been slipping under your covers at night, stealing one sock, and stuffing it into a secret compartment of my suitcase. When you’re in the shower, I pull them out and sniff them for long bouts, filtering your foot essence into my nose until I’m drunk with fungus.”
“I knew it,” she says dramatically while slapping the water. “I knew you—” She stops and her eyes narrow on me. “Did you say . . . fungus?”
I can’t hold back my smile as I slowly nod. “Yup.”
“I don’t have fungus feet.”
We both gently bounce up and down in the water. We’ve mostly got the pool to ourselves. “If you think I have the previously mentioned sock fetish, wouldn’t I be the expert on detecting fungus in socks?”
“Or,” she counters with a grin, “you’re so caught up in the emotions of stealing a new sock, that you’re nose-blind to fungus.”
“Pretty sure I know a stank foot when I smell one.”
Her lips press tightly together, as if she’s trying to hold in a laugh. “Where did this conversation go wrong?”
“I think you’re aware of that moment.” I take a sip of my beer, relaxing from the ease of our repartee.
“Yeah.” She taps her chin, looking toward the sky. “I think it was when I claimed you were hiding something from me.”
“Bingo.” I give her a giant grin.
“Then where are my socks?”
“Probably with the sheets. Beds eat socks, don’t you know that?”
“Huh, that’s a strong possibility.”
Bottle half lifted to my mouth, I say, “I’m glad me having a sock fetish was your first go-to answer rather than the obvious bed gobbling up your socks. Makes me feel really good.”
“Hey.” She holds up her hands. “It’s an honest mistake.”
“I’ll remember that.”
* * *
I was wrong. It’s not a drag show or karaoke bingo, it’s disco bingo and I’m going to be honest, I’ve never seen anything like it.
The place is packed. It’s an outdoor bar and grill that overlooks the ocean with limited seating. Luckily, we were able to secure a large table ahead of time, giving our party a great view of the dance floor, the bingo caller, and the ocean.
We are easily the youngest crew in the area by at least ten years, and we’re talking my ten years, not the rest of the group’s. And we’re surrounded by regulars . . . regulars with a certain charm you only find on an island.
My conversation with Natalie about living on an island floats to the forefront of my mind. If we lived here, this is what we’d be doing, enjoying bingo under the cheap strung lights that surround the covered patio. And we’d fucking love it as much as the people here.
We are three games deep, our dinners have been consumed, and we’re waiting on our dessert. After losing once again, Jason gave up and pulled Dottie onto the dance floor where he’s been rubbing up against the local crowd with poor Dottie looking stiff as a board, only moving because Jason is literally shaking her hips for her.
Knox and Emory left after one game because Emory wasn’t feeling well, which of course concerned Knox greatly. He went into ultra-protective mode, wanting to pick her up and carry her out to a taxi, but she swatted his hands away and demanded to walk herself. We checked in about five minutes ago, and she’s doing better now she’s in the air-conditioned room, and after having some electrolytes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone’s face pale as quickly as Knox’s did when Emory held her stomach and said she wasn’t feeling well. If I were in his position, I’d react the same exact way.
Which leaves us at the table with Milly and Carson who are on the opposite end, speaking quietly to each other, not even paying attention to the game.
Turning to Natalie, I say, “Have you noticed that we do these group th
ings and end up being the only ones doing them?”
“Yup.” She marks B-9 off on her board and then looks up. “But I guess it’s better than being back at home, staring at your wall.”
“Is that how you spend your time? Staring at your wall?”
She smirks. “For at least two hours a day.”
“I-29,” the bingo caller announces while “Last Dance” by Donna Summer plays in the background. It’s the beginning where it feels like you’re walking through a meadow, gently running your fingers through the tall grass. But I can feel the buildup coming, and there’s no doubt in my mind that Jason is going to get his grove on with this song as well.
The music pauses and then, the beat picks up and Natalie starts to shimmy at me and bobbing her head. “God, Donna Summer really nailed this one.”
I nod to the dance floor. “Go cut a rug.”
“Oh . . . nice try.” She gives me a get real look. “I’m not about to go dance with a bunch of people when I can easily dance in my seat and still beat you at bingo. You’re just trying to get the competition out of your way. I see right through you, Cory Potter.”
“You are a highly suspicious person.”
“You have to be with a brother like mine. He always tried to gain the upper hand in whatever we did. I had to be on my toes. Is that how it was with your brothers?”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “Milly, on the other hand. She was a hellion. Maybe it’s a little sister thing.”
“Oh, for sure it is. I always put Jason in his place whenever I can. Same with you and Milly?”
“Yeah, she was the devil when it came to this bucket game we used to play after being in the cages. When picking up the balls, we took turns tossing them in from distances. She always won. Every fucking time.” I shake my head in humor. “I swear she practiced in her room by herself. It was insane the kind of shots she would make.”
Natalie glances toward Milly and Carson. “She looks so innocent and sweet. I’m guessing that’s not entirely true.”
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