“Well, I amnow.”
Curse the man. Curse. Him.
Heath tried to mimic the way everyone else had moved, but he did not possess what he might call catlike reflexes, and it was like trying to navigate a bouncy castle atop an underfilled waterbed.
The unhelpful craft lurched, turning his gentle forward lean into a frantic, flailing lunge, and the raft shot from under his feet entirely. For a moment he felt suspended, like Wile E.Coyote just before gravity turned him into a puff of dust at the base of a cliff. Except his puff was asploosh, followed by anexpletive-laden side-flop as Evan came crashing into the water with him.
Ah, yes. He’d thought the railing had felt oddly pliant.
They surfaced to the sound of laughing applause. Heath managed a sloppy bow, but had his victory speech cut short by sputtering as Evan sent a small tidal wave his way.
He retaliated, only to earn another soaking. “Hey!”
Evan was glaring, but Heath recognized the amusement in his eyes, which sparkled green and gold amidst the growing spray of freckles.
“I’ll remember this,” he promised, pointing at Heath while side-stroking back to the ladder.
“It was an accident!” Heath protested, spitting out salt water as Evan kicked one last splash his way, then pulled himself aboard.
Evan’s shirt and shorts clung to his body like a desperate lover, leaving not a damn thing to the imagination, and Heath slowly sank beneath the surface. It was the only way to fully avert his eyes and drown his thoughts before having to come face to face with all of that aboard the boat.
Why was he so incapable of coloring within the lines he himself had drawn?
No fun, and no ridiculous feelings for unattainable men. Such easy-to-understand boundaries. Yet there he was, climbing aboard a damn yacht, barely twelve hours after he’d all but lost control of his salivary glands because he couldn’t handle being in such close proximity to his very straight fake husband.
He let the inanity of that sentence marinate for a moment, pondering whether a pod of orcas might come save him from himself, then sighed a barrage of bubbles while rising to the surface. What had become of his life?
“You owe me a defense of Proust, my dear,” Isabella reminded him, patting the space next to her. Olivia had takenthem on a brief tour—brief being relative, since he would kill for his condo to have even half this space and storage. They’d emerged in what was called the guest cockpit, a horseshoe-shaped area dominated by white leather seating and a table that doubled as a drink cooler.
Olivia pulled out a bottle of Prosecco and popped it open, filling champagne flutes topped with spoonfuls of peach puree as the boat got underway and the island shrank behind them.
Evan made a face and grabbed a glass of bubbly refreshment while edging toward the side deck. “Well, you enjoy that, pookie. I hear the sea calling me.”
The ladies laughed as he inclined his head, and Heath watched him make his way toward the bow. He looked so natural there, braced at the apex, arms spread wide. A serene smile warmed his face as he let his head fall back and the wind whipped through his drying clothes. Heath just knew he was thinking,I’m king of the world!
“You two are adorable,” Isabella said with a smile.
“You play so well off one another,” Olivia agreed.
“Oh, um, thank you.”
They picked up speed, and Evan leaned his forearms against the rail. Eyes closed, expression peaceful, the now-empty champagne flute dangled from his fingers as the vibrant tendrils of his wavy hair softened the angles of his cheekbones and jaw.
The man was so unbelievably beautiful that looking at him made Heath’s chest ache.
Isabella’s laugh was throaty and smooth as she leaned closer and captured his nervously tapping hand, giving it a squeeze. “You don’t have to sit here with us, you know? Go join him.”
Heath felt his cheeks grow hot. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I mean, we’re around one another constantly. A little time alone is good.”
The more alone time, the better, honestly. In less than aweek, he’d started recognizing the quirks and patterns in Evan’s tone and behavior. He knew how he liked his coffee (just a little cream, no sugar), and how he didn’t like tea in the least (scandalous). How objects the slightest bit askew made him twitchy, and how he used his left and right hands interchangeably for nearly every activity, which was… educational.
This was a problem. A huge, dangerous problem, and he could feel it clawing at his ribcage. A monster that needed to be wrapped in chains and tossed overboard immediately.
Evan turned from the bow and sauntered back to refill his glass before moving on to chat with Nate. As he passed, he caught Heath’s eye and asked, “What’s a pirate’s favorite letter?”
Heath bit his lips and shook his head. “Don’t you da?—”
“Arrrrr!”
