We cross to the bar, where Iris orders a gin and tonic, and I grab a beer. Our eyes meet as the bartender sets our drinks down, a silent moment passing between us. We’re both thinking of Marco’s, which isn’t helped by her wearing that same indigo dress, those same boots. That same playful gleam in her eye. For one ludicrous moment, I glance around, searching for the restroom. Looking for somewhere I can sneak a minute alone with her.
It’s been a busy few days, finishing the lighthouse plans to John’s exacting standards. Iris sunkhoursinto constructing a perfect model of the design, working late most nights. We’ve stolen the occasional kiss behind my office door, but I haven’t been inside her in almost a week. It’skillingme. Especially after we presented the lighthouse to Thomas Waterman today. Quietly thrilled with Iris’s ideas, he’s convinced the residents of Wetherly Cove will approve, and Iris couldn’t stop smiling. I couldn’t stop looking at her. It’s getting harder and harder to keep my hands off her at work, and I ache to pull her close, to kiss her and tell her how proud I am of what she’s pulled off. Not only with the lighthouse. With tonight. With the way she hasn’t let her father’s negativity hold her back.
With all the ways she’s grown lately.
Iris’s eyes dance with amusement. “Looking for the restroom?” she teases, and I have to glance down to hide my smile. She knows me well.
“Come on.” I push away from the bar, heading for the arcade games. “Let’s play.” My gaze snags on Frogger, and nostalgia sweeps through me as I toggle the joystick. I spenthoursplaying this as a kid.
Iris appears at my side, eying the machine with interest. “I’ve never played this,” she murmurs, and I glance at her in surprise.
“What?”
“I mean, I’veheardof it, but…”
“Seriously? Wow.” I drag a hand down my face, suddenly feeling ancient. It’s been easy to let myself forget lately how much younger she is. I’ve stopped seeing her as the boss’s daughter, my assistant. She’s just Iris.MyIris. Our ages haven’t mattered so much.
But this is a startling reminder.
Her lips quirk with mirth, lights from a nearby machine flickering across her face as she watches me. “You okay?”
“Just remembering how much older I am than you,” I mutter.
A playful giggle escapes her. “You are.” She glances around, making sure no one’s nearby, then leans in to whisper, “And Iloveit.”
Heat swirls through me as I gaze at her. She bites into her plump bottom lip, and it’s an effort not to lean down and capture her mouth with mine. Not to hike that dress up her thighs and sink inside her. She reads it on my face, her pupils dilating as she sucks down her drink, eyes burning into mine.
Shit, we’re not doing a very good job of acting professional.
I wrench my gaze away, checking for the others. John sits at the bar nursing a martini, as if refusing to let himself have any fun. Dani and Tash are playing Skee-Ball, and Aidan, Akira, and a few others have drifted off to the mini golf. No one is remotely interested in us.
I release a relieved exhale and turn back to the machine, looking for the coin slot, but Iris holds up a plastic swipe card. I frown as she swipes to activate the game.
“Takes a little of the magic out of it,” I mutter.
The card reader blinks green, and the game begins. I’m self-conscious with Iris at my side, waiting for her to laugh about how basic the game is, but she watches quietly. She’s close enough that I feel the heat of her, and at just the wrong moment I glance at her, walking the frog straight into traffic. Shit.
She laughs, leaning closer than she should. “Show me how to play.”
“Yeah?” I ask, and she nods, grinning. Warmth spreads through my chest at her words, that she’s not rolling her eyes at how old the game is. How oldIam.
I explain the basics of it: get the frog across the lanes without getting hit, warning her to watch out for the trucks, which come out of nowhere. Then I step aside, watching as she confidentlytakes the joystick. She fumbles a few times, but it doesn’t take her long to get it, and as she moves the frog easily across the street, laughing, her face lit by the neon glow of the screen, a strange sensation moves through me. Hot and urgent, emotional and intense.
The kind that tells me I need to get her alone, now.
I look around, realizing the restroom is far too obvious and probably gross. Then my gaze lands on the mini golf course, dark and glowing, and I lower my mouth beside Iris’s ear.
“Let’s play a round,” I say, my voice a gritty rumble.
She looks up at me, and the frog gets swiped by a truck. I drain my beer and tilt my head toward the mini golf. I don’t know if it’s the look on my face or the roughness in my voice, but she reads between the lines. She swallows, nodding wordlessly, and follows me across the arcade to grab golf clubs and balls.
It’s darker on the course than the arcade, without the flashing lights of the video screens, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. At last, a tropical rain forest comes into focus, artificial Monstera fronds clinging to the walls, the ground a combination of lush AstroTurf and smooth stones, with wooden boardwalks bridging the holes. A waterfall cascades down the far wall between large boulders and palm fronds, the sound of rushing water muted beneath the dance music spilling from the speakers. It’s kitschy but weirdly atmospheric, like we’ve stepped into a hallucinogenic dream.
I feel Iris at my side, her hand brushing mine in the darkness, and it sends a bolt of awareness through me. She shouldn’t touch me, even if it’s dark and we’re alone at this end of the course, but there’s no denying the thrill I get.
I line up my club to take the first shot, cursing under my breath. Not even close. It takes five attempts to get it in, not because I’m bad at this, but because I’m captivated by her mischievous grin, bright white in the glow from the blacklight.
She laughs teasingly as I finally pull my ball out of the hole, and I shoot her a look.
