I stand. “If you’re married, I can’t hang out with you. It’s disrespectful to your wife.”
He tilts his head. “Okay? I’ve been polite and on my best behavior. There is no harm in having a conversation.”
“I’m not that girl. I wouldn’t want my husband drinking with someone as cute as me at this hour.” I keep my voice calm to overcompensate for how tipsy I am. “If I find out you’re in a committed relationship, I will track her down and tell her everything she?—”
I move toward the door, and when my hand grabs the handle, his laughter stops me.
“There is no girlfriend or wife. I’m married to my job, which is the main reason why I’m here. I’m being forced to have a peaceful vacation because I haven’t taken a break in seven years.”
I return to the balcony. “Was that so hard?”
“Somewhat.” He offers me the bottle. “But I’d appreciate it if you kept it between us. Don’t want to give the … what did you call them? The birds? Any ammo.”
“It’s the Bees because they are busy-as-fuck bees who get in everyone’s business on the island.”
“Call them whatever you want. The more people who believe I’m not available, the better. If anyone knows I’m available, well, let me just say, women tend to flock to me.”
I sit down next to him. “You say it like it’s a burden.”
“It is. The past two days have been nice without any of that.”
I instantly feel guilty for semi-flirting with him. This morning, I was drawing lines in the sand, and it seems like, tonight, he is.
We drink, and the tequila tastes smoother with every shot. Somewhere on the beach below, a group of people laughs. The string lights sway in the crosswind and throw shadows across his face. I cross my legs and my ankles.
“What about you?” he finally asks. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“Not officially.” I shake my head.
“Does that make you sad?”
I drink this time because I don’t want to talk about it.
His face softens, and I hate that I’ve already shown weakness.
“How about some chocolate?” He grabs the bars and opens all five.
“We can’t eat all that,” I tell him.
“Live a little. It won’t go to waste,” he says.
He breaks off two pieces of the raspberry bar and holds one out to me. I lean forward and take it from his fingers with my mouth. His gaze locks on mine, and neither of us moves. The milk chocolate is rich, and the raspberry sweetness takes over. I close my eyes because it’s almost too much at once with the tequila and the salt air and the way he’s watching me with sparkling blue eyes.
“How was it?” His voice is lower.
“Exactly how I remember,” I say with a smile.
He breaks off a piece for himself. His tongue catches a smear of chocolate from his bottom lip, and I look at the ocean because staring at his mouth is a bad idea.
“You put off this spoiled only-child energy,” I say because the conversation needs to move to a safer place.
I break off a piece of the caramel fudge bar and hold it up between my fingers.
“Wrong. I’m the oldest. I have three siblings.”
“Wow.”
A second passes before he leans forward and takes the chocolate from my fingers with his lips. They lightly suck on my fingertips, and my hand stays frozen in the air as he sits back.
