I’ve only been waiting for him for five whole years. It’s time.
Brushing my blonde hair back, I take a deep breath. As I pad barefoot through the sand, I give myself a mini-pep talk.
Just be casual.
Don’t be an awkward weirdo.
Play it cool!
A few feet away, Erik turns and notices me. His expression hardens for a split second and then he turns away.
“What do you want, Annika?”
I freeze. This is not the reception I anticipated. Far from it, actually.
Walking forward to pull even with him, I take a deep breath. But when I speak, my tone is petulant.
“I didn’t realize that you had the whole entire beach booked up,” I say, gesturing to the vast darkness surrounding us.
He looks at me sharply, but doesn’t respond right away. I take a moment to drink him in. He’s extremely tall, taller even than my older brother Stellan’s massive height. His body is perfect and muscular without being too bulky. He has a face that is made for movies, with high cheekbonesand long eyelashes, and these deep hazel eyes that make me melt.
Erik grunts. “Stellan is a fucking asshole.”
I squint, wrinkle my whole face. “It must be hard to be best friends with the future king of Denmark. Especially when it means you basically get a free ride, wherever you go.”
As soon as I say it, I wish I could take it back. There is something about Erik that makes me mean and petty when I really want to be sweet.
He lets out a bark of laughter. “You are a brat, Annika. A spoiled little brat. You know that?”
My face heats. Of course I know that.
“No,” I say, sticking my tongue out at him.
He scans me head to toe and then shakes his head. “Yes. You are.”
He turns around, walking back toward the house. My heart wrenches; this was my chance to finally tell Erik that I’ve wanted him for longer than he could possibly know. Now that chance is ruined.
I curse my mouth, which operates on its own sometimes. When Erik stops a few feet away and picks up a bottle of liquor, I raise my brows.
He uncaps it and takes a long pull, letting out a gasping sound when he’s done. He turns back to me, holding the bottle out to me.
“Whiskey?”
A breeze blows, making me shiver as I jog the couple of steps toward him, taking the bottle from his hand. He casts another glance at me as I uncork the bottle.
“You should be inside,” he murmurs. “Where it’s warm and safe.”
I take a sip of the whiskey and wince as it burns its waydown my esophagus. It’s half a minute before I can speak. “Safe? Safe from what?”
Erik looks at me, smirking a little and shrugging. “I don’t know. Give me the bottle back, brat.”
I narrow my eyes at him, handing it over. Our fingers brush, our gazes collide. His hazel eyes are shadowed so I can’t read his expression exactly, but for a split-second I swear there is a carnal interest there.
That, or I’m just imagining what I want to see.
Erik’s eyes dart away. He takes another long slug from the bottle. “This whiskey is bullshit.”
I wipe a couple of drops from the corner of my mouth, not really knowing how to respond. I’m eighteen; it’s not like I have a ton of whiskey tasting experience.
