Soaked (The Water's Edge #2)

by Stacy Kestwick

  Keeping his gaze locked on mine, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, and delicately balanced it along the side of the game. My breath caught and I froze as my eyes ping-ponged between him and the box.

  I couldn’t force any words, but my pulse skipped before damn near pounding out of my chest.

  Rue, on the other hand, didn’t have the same problem. She went to snatch up to the box to sneak a peek, but West was faster, pinning it to the table with the flat of his palm. “Nope. If she wants to see what’s in this box, she has to win.”

  Rue pouted and the comments from the guys grew louder as they punched West on the shoulder and ribbed him for being so cheesy.

  I licked my dry lips. “What if I’m not ready to win? What if I’m . . . not good enough to beat you?”

  “Mmm, I thought about that.” His face was serious. “If I win, you get this instead.” From his other pocket, he withdrew a key, and placed it on the other side of him from the velvet box. Wyatt was faster than Rue and snagged the key, holding it up to the light.

  “What’s this to, bro? It looks like a house key, but it doesn’t look like the one to the beach house.”

  “Because it’s not.”

  I stared at him in bewilderment. Then what was it for?

  “Heads up, Wyatt.” West spoke to his brother but watched me like I was a skittish filly that hadn’t been broke yet. “Consider this my two-week notice. I got a new place closer to the marina.”

  Wyatt whistled and put the key back down. “Damn. Is this for real? You’re playing for either a ring or a key?”

  West glanced at him briefly and lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I figure it’s really a win-win situation here.” He tapped the surface of the table with his mallet. “Ready, Sadie?”

  Was I ready? Hell, no, I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t been expecting any of this. Wildly, I turned to Rue, who had a huge grin on her face until she cut her eyes to Grady who was standing on the other side of Wyatt, and the smile faltered momentarily. Theo sidled up next to me and nudged me with his shoulder.

  “So what’s it gonna be? You aiming to win or lose?”

  I lifted the mallet, studying it intently as if it held the answers. “I don’t know.” I placed the puck on the playing field, and drew back, slamming the mallet into the puck and sending it ricocheting across the table, catching West off guard. He scrambled to guard his goal and return the volley. The puck zipped between us, pinging sharply off the bumpers and our mallets. “How about you, West? You looking to win or lose over there?”

  “Doesn’t matter to me, baby. Either way, you’re mine.”

  He was right. But I hated to lose.

  And air hockey was my game.

  I wasn’t worried though.

  Aubrey was gone. She’d taken a one-way trip to California to visit her cousin.

  Asher had taken a plea bargain, making him a registered sex offender and leaving him with a hefty fine and a restraining order against him. He’d also been fired from his dad’s company, and I’d heard from my brother in Nashville that my old assistant had dumped his ass like yesterday’s news.

  My photography business had taken off after the release of the Water’s Edge campaign, and Paper Plane Photography was booked solid for the next three months.

  And I had a brand new set of sheets, the nicest ones I’d ever had, on my bed.

  All the background noise had faded from my life, leaving behind the important stuff.

  Work. Friends. This gorgeous island I called home now.

  And West. The guy who’d shown me how to trust in love again.

  Plus, there were the side benefits.

  His fingers.

  His tongue.

  His cock.

  Bending down lower, I wielded my mallet like it was a weapon, intent on scoring, confident of my impending victory. When the buzz of our game reached Hailey across the bar, and she squealed and came running, not stopping until she barreled right into her brother, I saw my chance and took it.

  A perfect shot, dead center down the field, straight into his goal. One to zero.

  “You’re going down, West.”

  “Every night of my life if I’m lucky.”

  Yeah, I admit that threw my concentration, when images of him between my spread thighs flooded me, heating me right down to the already damp core. I wasn’t going to last much longer. He’d been gone all week, and I was dying to get him alone to welcome him back properly. The puck bounced off the wall and into my goal, the rattle as it slid home jarring me back to the present.

  The score was tied, one to one.

  But instead of retrieving the puck, I threw my mallet at Theo, who scrambled to catch it.

  West paused, watching me as I made my way down the table until I stood in front of him. Nothing had ever felt more right than standing in front of him in this moment, surrounded by our friends.

  “What are you doing? We’re not done.” He pointed to the other end of the table.

  “Yes, we are.”

  “We are?”

  “We are.” I nodded.

  “So who’s the winner?”

  “It’s a tie. We both won.”

  His lips crushed mine as he gathered me in his arms, spinning us around slowly before letting me slide back down his body to the floor, his laughter ringing in my ears and filling my heart. “Yes, we did.”

  Other books by Stacy Kestwick:

  Wet

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  Acknowledgements

  First off, I’d like to thank my husband for tolerating my time spent in author world.

  To Erin Noelle, for being not just my best friend, but my critique partner, cheerleader, and general ass kicker, depending on what the situation called for. I haven’t had a friend like you in years (or ever?), and now that I’ve found you, you’re stuck with me. At least until we’re too old to skip.

  To my Masta Betas—you’re my #squad. Alison, Allison, Jenn, and Michelle, thank you for accepting me into your fold and partaking in the cheerleading and ass kicking.

  To Ashley Jasper, Mariah Rice, and Yessi Smith for keeping it real, chapter by chapter.

  An extra special thanks to Alison for listening to me ramble, providing me with links when I got stresed, and being the best damn admin I could’ve ever hoped for. Thank you for doing all the million little things I asked you to do, because it adds up to be a really big deal. If it weren’t for Canada trying to keep us apart, I’m sure we’d be inseparable. Dallas, February, me and you, it’s a date!

  To Jill Sava, for keeping it real and telling me what to do—for any given situation. You’re my hero. I can’t wait to meet you in Miami!

  To Melissa Petersen, for being the best PA ever, especially when I’m indecisive, which is always, right? Your graphic skills astound me and the fact that you didn’t cuss me out when I sent you 2500 magnets or kill me while designing the banner shows our love is real.

  To Hang Le, for knocking this cover out of the park. To Kay Springsteen for polishing my words. To Jenn Van Wyck for finding the rest of my mistakes. And Alison and Lindsay for double and triple checking.

  To all the authors out there who taught me something about author world—Erin Noelle, Aly Martinez, Brittainy Cherry, Meghan March, Lex Martin, Rachel Van Dyken, CM Foss, Yessi Smith, Brooke Blaine, Rachel Blaufeld, Ahren Sanders, Geneva Lee, Jessica Prince, Sierra Simone, Emily Snow, Whitney Barbetti—and all the authors in FTN and the Hideout. Y’all are the best!

  To Stephanie Rose, for the steady supply of Stephen Amell pics. Don’t stop.

  To Hazel James, for sending doughnuts and being awesome. And Ashley Christin f
or thinking I’m cool. I’m glad someone does.

  To every blogger of any size who read my books and helped spread the word—I’m beyond grateful.

  To every reader who found me and left a review or told your friends about the book—you’re the very, very best kind of reader in existence.

  And lastly, this book is dedicated to the Wreckers. Your endless support, enthusiasm, and patience while I worked on this project astounds me. I have the best readers and you guys prove it to me every day. (You may ask, if this is the dedication, why is at the end? Because I know the Wreckers will read this sucker to the very end, and they’ll see this. ‘Cause that’s the kind of rock stars they are.)

  I probably forgot somebody. If I did, let me know, and I’ll name a character after you. Best I can do.

  *** Authors Note: Revenge porn laws are real, but at the time of publishing, vary widely from state to state. Some assholes are being brought to justice under them and serving very real jail time.

  About the Author:

  I’m a Southern girl who firmly believes mornings should be outlawed. My perfect day would include lounging on a hammock with a good book, carbohydrates, and the people around me randomly breaking into choreographed song and dance routines. It would not include bacon, cleaning, or anything requiring patience.