“Bad goat,” he scolded, trying to pry the lei out of Poki’s mouth. The goat pulled harder, not caring if Libby got clotheslined in the process.
“I think we might have to sacrifice the flowers,” Jefferson said, holding the lei away from her throat. She lowered her head so he could lift it up and over, tossing it onto the rocks. The goat bleated its thanks. Or possibly it was saying,Sucks to suck, losers.
“You okay?” Jefferson asked.
“Yeah. Kind of a mood killer.” Sinking down until her chin touched the surface, Libby swished back and forth, pulling the rubber band off her messy bun.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he murmured, watching her hair swirl around her.
Maybe their evening wasn’t ruined. He didn’t have to know she was rinsing off goat slobber.
Smooth and sultry,Libby coached herself as she started to stand. Like a Bond girl rising from the surf. The air felt cool on her shoulders as she thrust them back. She reached behind her, ready to untie her bathing suit and toss it aside.Feast your eyes on this!
There was a plop, like seaweed sticking to her skin. Libby looked down, where she was surprised to see her breasts on display, even though she had yet to untie her bikini. She felt under her hair. No straps.
Which she probably should have guessed, considering the dripping thing that had slapped her stomach was the remains of her bathing suit.
“That is not how I imagined that going.” Libby crossed her arms over her chest. It wasn’t the toplessness that embarrassed her. That had been the plan all along, minus the epic failure of her first ever attempt at a strip tease. “I can’t believe a goat ate my bikini.”
It was from the clearance rack at Target, but still.
“Hold on.” Jefferson reached into the waistband of his shorts. Libby’s first thought was that he was going to take off his bathing suit to make her feel better, but the trunks stayed on as he pulled the drawstring free. “Turn around.”
She did as he asked, wondering if he was about to reveal a secret fondness for bondage. That would be an unexpected twist, though no more out of left field than bringing barnyard animals into the mix.
“I should be able to rig a strap out of this,” he explained, putting an abrupt end to the spicier scenarios Libby was imagining.
She tugged the clammy bikini top into place, holding it as she passed the longer strap over her shoulder. Jefferson carefully brushed her hair to one side before tying his drawstring to the intact portion of Libby’s halter. The other side was trickier.
“It’s just a stub,” she warned as he reached over her shoulder.
“It’s not the size that matters.” His breath skimmed the back of her ear.
“Are you doing a fancy knot?” she asked, to distract herself from the fact that her boob was jiggling like a pocket full of change.
“Yep. They call this one the Mulligan.”
“Really?”
“No.” Jefferson rubbed his cheek against hers, since all two of his hands were occupied. “This is my first bikini repair. I’m improvising.”
“It wasn’t part of your wilderness rescue training?”
“We focus more on cutting people out of their clothes.”
That really shouldn’t sound as hot as it did. Maybe there was something wrong with her, beyond the wardrobe malfunction.
He gave the string a final tug. “How’s that?”
She wiggled her shoulders up and down. “Seems secure.” One of her breasts was hoisted significantly higher than the other, but they’d never been perfectly symmetrical anyway. As she turned to face him, Libby felt strangely shy. “Thanks.”
“What is it?” he asked, studying her face.
She hesitated. Frank conversations were not Libby’s strong suit. In a weird way, knowing how many things she couldn’t talk about made it easier to be brave about this one awkward subject. Or maybe it was her bedrock sense that it was safe to be vulnerable with Jefferson that gave her the courage to say, “Did you not want to see my boobs?”
He rubbed his mouth, stifling a laugh. “I promise that’s not the issue. You looked upset, so I wanted to help.”
“I was trying to be sexy,” Libby admitted. “Notwhoopsie!”
