@GainsInMaine: I wanna found out just how flexible this bitch is
Carly made a face and deleted the comments as quickly as she could. Ugh, men were garbage. And men on the internet were garbage monsters. The internet was where the fuckboys of the world really let their fuck flags fly and said things to and about women they’d never dare to say in real life. Even though the internet was actually real life, and it wouldn’t take a forensic genius to track these guys down. She deleted a few other gross comments and then pulled up some of the other photos Nick had sent over.
She swiped through them, then stopped on one of the black-and-white shots he’d taken yesterday morning, when he’d told her to go down to the water without him. She’d dug one knee into the sand and extended the other leg behind her, then arched backward until her chest was parallel with the sand. She could still feel that pose in her lower back, but it had been worth it; this shot was art. She smiled down at the screen, zooming in and noticing how Nick had captured the moment the wind had grabbed her hair and made it stream behind her just like the lifesavers’ flags above her. He really was good at this.
And really good at kissing. Like, annoyingly, unfairly good. Confident and commanding, like he knew exactly what his body was capable of. She wondered if he danced like that, when he was still performing. He’d been attentive and careful, too, like he was studiously collecting information about her body. Listening to it. She wondered if he’d partnered like that.
She had to stop thinking about kissing Nick Jacobs. Needed to stopwonderingabout him.
Maybe she could get out of seeing him today. Maybe she could conjure up some excuse, some wedding errand that only she could do, and then she wouldn’t have to spend all day with him.
As if in answer to her prayers, a clap of thunder sounded overhead, followed by the ticking of rain against her window. She rolled over and looked out; the early morning sky was a swirl of full gray clouds, and the rain was falling steadily. Halle-freakin-lujah. No chance of photography today. She smiled grimly to herself, then hastily tapped out a caption and posted the photo. There. That was done. She’d have a whole day to herself, and by the time she saw Nick again tomorrow, she’d have stopped thinking about kissing him.
Nick spent the night refusing to think about Carly. Refusing to think about the idiotic decision he’d made to kiss her. Refusing to think about the inexplicable disappointment he’d felt swell in his gut when she’d pulled away from him and declared that kiss a mistake. Kisses, plural, really. Lots of them. Lots of hot, needy kisses that made absolutely no sense to him. They’d been glued to each other like horny teenagers, and if he hadn’t been on the front veranda of his best friend’s childhood home, he knew he would have been grinding his hard-on against her, desperate as he was to feel as much of her body against his as was humanly possible. He hadn’t kissed anyone that way in years, perhaps since he’d actually been a teenager. Maybe not ever. He hadn’t ever felt desire like that, desire that blacked out all the sensible parts of his brain, the parts that knew that Carly Montgomery was a walking hand grenade.
And then, of course, the grenade had gone off. She’d pushed him away and told him that the entire thing had been a bad idea, and even though he agreed, because again,hand grenade, he’d been confused and disappointed when she’d said it. And he didn’t want to think about why.
It was for the best, he told himself, as he stared at the ceiling. Yes, that kiss had crackled with heat and desire, promising that anything more would be truly explosive. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Carly was explosive. Predictably unpredictable. He needed to stay far enough away from her that he didn’t get grazed by any more shrapnel.
But they had work to do. Kissing or no kissing—and she’d made it clear, there would be no more kissing—he still needed photos for his portfolio, and he wouldn’t mind a little viral popularity, either. And there were still plenty of items left on Heather’s spreadsheet.
Which was why, after a night of restless sleep, Nick climbed out of bed, got dressed, and made a stop at the hotel café before heading out into the splattering rain. He had just raised his hand to knock on Carly’s when it was flung open, and there stood Carly in jean shorts and a tank top, looking slightly disheveled from sleep and very surprised to see him.
“It’s raining,” she blurted, by way of greeting. “I figured we couldn’t shoot in the rain.” She met his eyes, and he thought he saw a flicker of panic before her gaze darted away and landed on the takeaway coffee cup in his hand.
“It’s supposed to ease up in a few hours. I thought we could cross a wedding task off our list then head out once the rain stops.”
“Oh. Okay.” She sounded almost disappointed, as though she’d been counting on a day without him. Which shouldn’t bruise his pride, obviously. It didn’t. What had happened on the front porch at Marcus and Heather’s last night … it was irrelevant. He certainly hadn’t tossed and turned all night thinking about what could have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted.
“Come in, then,” Carly conceded, yawning and not meeting his eyes. “I’ll be back in a minute. I was just about to run downstairs and get myself a coffee.”
“This, euh, this is for you,” he held out the cup. “I already had one.”
She glanced up at him in surprise, her brown eyes wide and still puffy from sleep. “Thanks?” she said, like she wasn’t sure if she could trust him. “Is that another milkshake?”
“No, it’s a simple iced coffee. Just coffee with ice. I asked for nuclear-strength, and the barista had a tattoo on his forearm that said DEATHBEFOREDECAF, so I suspect he delivered.”
She laughed softly, and the sound shouldn’t have been sexy. “Thanks,” she repeated, and this time he heard the full stop at the end of it. It was grudging, but it was there. She took the coffee from him and turned back into the apartment, waving him inside.
He followed and was met by an explosion of beach decor that made his eyes water. “Really laying it on thick, aren’t they?”
“It’s growing on me,” Carly said, flopping onto the couch. She closed her eyes and took a long sip of the coffee. He tried not to look at her lips pursed around the straw, and failed. “Oh, God, caffeine,” she groaned, and again, it shouldn’t have been sexy.
Casting around for a distraction, Nick sat at the small round dining table and pulled out his phone, which had the list he’d assembled. Googling “best wedding dance floor songs” had helped him settle down last night when all he could think about was the moment Carly had grasped his shirt and closed that last, desperate inch of space between his mouth and hers. About the rough, hungry moans that had drifted out of her when he touched her and—no, not thinking about that right now, he reminded himself. Or, ideally, ever.
He cleared his throat. “I thought we could take care of the playlist this morning. I already started building it, but I thought you might have some opinions to share.”
Carly opened her eyes and threw him a skeptical look. “YouthoughtImighthave some opinions?”
“Yeah, I had an inkling,” he said, allowing himself a smile.
“Hmmph.” Carly took another long pull of coffee, then pushed herself off the couch and crossed the room, holding out her hand. “Show me what you’ve got so far.”
For a moment, he considered refusing, but he knew her well enough by now to know that she’d get her way eventually, so he handed the phone over. He watched as she scrolled through the list, her forehead wrinkling deeper with each swipe of her thumb.
“No, no, no. Absolutely not. We are not putting “Uptown Funk” on this playlist. If people want to dance to that song they can go to every other wedding on the planet. And have you actually listened to the lyrics of “Hey Ya”? That is not a happy song. And while we’re at it, you can take “Happy” off here. What is this, 2014?”
Yeah, he had an inkling she might have some opinions. “What do you suggest, then?”
