Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“I don’t know. Do they?”
He was asking the ocean, not me.
“Cole, Please. Don’t be sad.”
It felt like my own heart was breaking.
“I’m not.”
He said it so sincerely that I believed him, but still, something was wrong, so I persisted. “Could have fooled me. C’mon, you’re probably just missing home. Your old life. Some girl that’s waiting for you back in—”
“Ohio.”
I snapped. “Right. Ohio. The land of . . . hot dogs?”
“Buckeyes.”
“Right, you miss your buckeyes, which are a type of bean . . . ?”
“Tree.”
“Yes!” I said excitedly. “The majestic buckeye tree, of course! Listen, I don’t know what’s really wrong with you tonight, and I’m sure you wouldn’t tell me even if I asked. But we all miss home sometimes. Even me, and I don’t even have a home to miss! My parents strapped me to them right along with their backpacks and research equipment and carted me around the world, moving so often I wouldn’t even be able to tell you where I’m from, not really. I’ve technically spent the most time in London, so am I British? And if I am, why do I have an American accent? See? You’re not the only fucked-up one here, Cole Clark.”
He almost laughed then; I could feel it. I wanted it. I was more desperate for it than ever.
“I’ll cheer you up. Okay? This night is already weird. What’s one more thing we’ll have to forget in the morning? Let’s go swimming.”
He pulled away from me, and my hand slipped off his arm. “What?”
I was already standing up.
“Yes, c’mon. Take your clothes off.”
I reached for the bottom of my Siesta Playa tank top so I could pull the thin material off over my head.
“I’m your boss,” he reminded me with a stern tone.
“No, you’re not. Not technically. Todd Weaver is my boss. Scott Durliat is my boss. You are . . . just some guy on the beach.” I waved off his concern. “Okay? Now come on.”
I reached for the waistband of my shorts to push them down and didn’t let my trembling hands stop me. I’d gone skinny-dipping on so many beaches in my life it didn’t even faze me to be in my underwear in front of Cole. I had on sensible panties and a cute bra. Big deal. Gulp.
Cole was watching me like he’d never seen someone undress in his company before. His eyes caught on every inch of me, the dangerous parts like my breasts filling out my bra and my panties sitting slightly askew, and the innocuous ones too. My little constellation of freckles that sits a few inches to the right of my belly button held a real mystery for him.
I couldn’t take it for another second.
His eyes raking over me felt as tempting as a caress.
“You’re really just going to sit there?” I asked as I started to walk backward toward the water.
He frowned his most surly frown, peeling his eyes off me to stare at the ocean. Then he warned, “Swimming at night is really dangerous.”
“Okay, well, you stay up there safely on the sand, and if I need help, I’ll call out for you, okay? Meanwhile I’ll be LIVING MY LIFE, COLE CLARK. GET UP, TAKE YOUR PANTS OFF, AND GET IN THIS WATER OR SO HELP ME GOD!”
“Stop shouting, okay? I’m doing it.”
He was. He was standing and starting to unbutton his shirt.
“Not fast enough! My toes are already in the surf. It feels divine. Heaven on earth. Why were we ever sad?”
I watched him work on those buttons, undoing each one in quick succession, and then, near the bottom, he grew impatient and just tugged the shirt up and over his head before dropping it on the sand. My heart beat so fast in my chest it was all I could feel—that heavy pounding continued as he unbuttoned his pants and slid them down. He stood in nothing but boxer briefs, and I stood in absolute shock. I was expecting withered biceps, a spare tire around the middle, a little coin purse down below. Instead, I saw arms that could easily hoist me up against a wall, powerful legs, a noticeable bulge.
His toned physique made sense once I thought about it. I’d seen him in the gym once before, disgustingly early, on my way home after a midnight mystery-séance excursion deep in the jungle. He was running on the treadmill like a bionic man, probably fueling himself on thoughts of how he was going to make my life hell later.
I couldn’t fathom him being this hot, and he took note of my reaction to him.
“You’re being weird,” he said as he started walking toward me.
I still tossed my arms out in protest. “You’re not being weird enough! It’s like you see me in my underwear all the time!”
I held my breath as he got closer, closer . . . then he walked right past me, out into the water. “I’m trying not to look.”