I press a kiss to the crown of her head. “It won’t.”
The tide hushes in the distance. Our hands stay intertwined beneath the blanket, and we fall asleep just like that?—
entwined in silence,
wrapped in warmth,
finally
falling.
Together.
Exactly where we’re meant to be.
Then we both enter sleep under a blanket of nighttime sky, full stars that will never fade.
CHAPTER 51
SLUMBER PARTY CONFESSIONS
RORIE
Jeremy is floatingon a pool lounger in the shape of a giant martini glass, complete with an inflatable olive bobbing next to his head. He’s sipping something out of the requisite island coconut vessel, sunglasses perched crookedly on his nose, looking like the poster child for spring break regrets.
I’m draped on the edge of the pool, one leg dangling in the water, nursing a drink with a little umbrella in it because apparently, I’ve become that person. The one who has sex basically everywhere on a private island and suddenly thinks she’s in a Bacardi commercial.
Jeremy tips his shades down, eyes me over the rim of his drink. “Sooo, how’s the Rhodes glow-up treating you?”
I shake my head at him. “Jeremy.”
“What?” He grins. “Don’t act like you aren’t walking different. You’ve got the gait of a woman who’s been rearranged.”
“Maybe it has something to do with my leg injury,Jeremy.”
He shrugs and adjusts his float. “Doubtful. You’ve got this peaceful, freshly fucked energy.”
I splash him. “We are literally pitching to millionaires tomorrow. Can you not?”
“We’ve had five prep meetings and at least three rounds of team mock pitches,” he says. “We’re good. The deck is tighter than your abs after a week of hot-girl pilates.”
I roll my eyes, but the tension in my chest starts to ease. For once, he’s not wrong.
Jeremy grins. “Also, your man, Nolan has the quiet determination of someone who’s memorized your orgasm blueprint and is ready to file for a patent.”
“I hate you.”
“You don’t.” He lifts his glass. “To growth. Emotional, sexual, and professional.”
Maya approaches then, beach bag slung over one shoulder, her bob tucked behind her ears and a slight sheen on her cheeks. She’s still gorgeous—even frazzled.
Jeremy perks up. “Ah, the goddess returns. And just in time. I was about to start manifesting you through interpretive float dancing.”
“Tempting,” she says, slipping off her sandals and sinking onto the lounger next to me. “But I don’t think my anxiety could survive a performance piece.”
“You mean the one where Jeremy floats backward off the deep end of capitalism?” I offer, earning a soft laugh.
Maya leans back, closing her eyes. “God, I needed this.”
