He sighed, and fell silent for several minutes. I heard his heavy breaths and the ocean, and I had to work hard to avoid imagining myself on the beach with him, his arms around me while his lips tattooed those words—still didn’t need them, still didn’t want them—on my skin.
“Why don’t you go back to your room?” I asked. “It doesn’t seem like a good idea to pass out on the beach.”
A laugh burst across the line. “Peanut, I’ve been surf conditioned. Drown-proofed, too. I can stay underwater for more than four minutes before coming up for air. I have Poseidon’s trident over my goddamn heart. The sea reports to me.”
“I’m sure it does,” I said, smiling.
“Shannon,” he started, “I’ve seen that bell, and it’s never once crossed my mind to ring it.”
“And that’s what makes you good at what you do,” I said.
“No, I’m not talking about the teams,” he said. “I’m talking about you. I’m warning you now: I know how to fight and I’m not giving up.”
I stayed locked in the bathroom, perched on the edge of the tub, long after we disconnected.
There weren’t many decisions I regretted, but in that moment, I regretted everything about Mexico. We didn’t get enough time together, and even if I had to tell Lauren—and everyone else—that none of it was up for conversation, I should have gone.
When I emerged, the crowd had thinned to only Patrick, Andy, Sam, Riley, and Nick. They were sprawled on the sofa while a muted soccer match played, and I settled into the space beside Nick while Riley prepared his next round of cocktails.
“Haven’t seen much of you recently,” Nick said.
“That’s largely due to me avoiding you,” I said as I accepted an Irish coffee from Riley.
“You are nothing if not consistent,” he murmured.
“Ri, this is strong enough to tranquilize a rhino,” Sam said.
Nick sipped his drink and glanced at me. “Do we want him sedated tonight?”
“Probably not,” I said, rubbing my brows.
I fuckingloveyou.
He didn’t mean it. Couldn’t mean it. Even big, tough, drown-proofed SEALs got drunk and spouted off nonsensical things.
“It really isn’t,” Nick said, turning back to Sam.
“Dude, if you get hammered and piss on my wall, I’ll kill you,” Patrick said.
“Your tolerance is off,” Riley murmured. “You haven’t been hard drunk in months.”
I’d digested just enough of the conversation to add, “That’s positive. Is that something you’re working on now?”
“Are you looking to start something with him? Jesus, woman, I didn’t sign up to jump on your grenades tonight,” Nick said under his breath. “Can you do us all a favor and not talk to him like he’s five? So his lady has some fire-breathing dragon moments. So do you. Oddly enough, no one’s tried to run you off.”
The scowl returned as I shifted to face Nick. “I don’t recall asking your opinion, so why don’tyoudomea favor and tuck it away with your little dick. Okay? Thanks.”
“We don’t need any more Walsh factions on our hands,” Nick hissed. “And I don’t appreciate this ongoing slander of my dick. I’ll drop trou right now and remind you.”
“Ugh, don’t be horrible,” I whispered. “Keep your pants up and your dick down.”
“Does anyone remember the year we changed all the labels on the presents?” Patrick asked. “For the life of me, I can’t figure out when that was, but we managed to peel all the tags off and rearranged them.”
I stared into my coffee, blinking as that memory blew over me. It brought a dozen more with it, and if I thought about it hard enough, I could remember the way the kitchen smelled while my mother baked during the holidays.
“At first Mom was really confused but then she waspissed,” he continued. “She figured it out within a few minutes and she was steaming mad.” He pointed at me as I sucked in a breath to will back the tears prickling my eyes. “She gave us that exact look, that awful face-melting look you just gave Nick, and stared us down until we cracked.”
Sam sat up and gestured to himself. “It was Matt’s idea, but he blamed it on me.”
