A beat of quiet. Then: “Can I ask you something else?”
“You’re going to whether I say yes or not.”
A soft laugh—low and warm in the dim tent. It does something to my chest I don’t examine too carefully.
“Tell you what,” I say, pushing up to sit. “I’ve got a deck of cards. You can ask your questions, and I’ll answer the ones I feel like answering.”
The rustling stops. “Deal.”
I catch the rustling and some shuffling before she unzips her sleeping bag and sits cross-legged across from me in nothing but a long T-shirt. I try not to stare at her legs when she adjusts her position. “I’m actually great at card games. Promise me you won’t be hurt if I beat you.”
“We’ll see.” I grab the cards from the side pocket of my bag and deal by the long evening light. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and I keep my eyes on the cards. Under the soft light, her freckles seem more defined somehow—each one distinct, like a constellation I want to trace with my thumb and watch her face for a reaction.
I shake off these thoughts and deal the cards, placing seven face down in front of us. She picks up her cards and arranges them in her hand before glancing at me. I don’t intend to win, so I’m not exactly disappointed when I realize my hand is weak.
The intention to let her win and spare her feelings only backfires when minutes into the game, I realize I’m not letting her do anything. She’s winning all on her own, card by card, completely focused, bottom lip caught between her teeth when she’s thinking. I find myself watching her more than my own hand.
“How about a bet?” she says, lifting those blue eyes to mine.
“That’s my second one today. What are the chances I lose this one, too?” I mutter, but shake my head before she can ask. “What’s the bet?”
“If you win, you can ask for anything.”
“Can I ask you to sleep?”
“That’s not anything,” she says, rolling her eyes at me as she discards a queen, which I pick up. “If I win, I can ask for anything.”
“That’s a dangerous bet, considering we’re all alone on this island.”
“Okay, let me amend that,” she says, picking up a card I’ve discarded. “You have to ask for something reasonable within this tent. Not outside of it. How about that?”
“You already know what I want,” I mutter. Well, not quite. What I want is not something she will give me, but we’ll settle for what she can. Or will when I win this game. I smirk when I look at my cards and realize I’m one card away from a run of jacks. I discard a nine, and she picks it up, her face completely unreadable. She studies her cards for a moment and then slams them down between us.
“Gin!” she calls, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. I stare at her cards, and it’s not often I find myself impressed. I didn’t even fucking see that coming. For the second time in a single day, I’ve lost another bet.
“I told you I’m good at this game.”
I drop the rest of the cards between us. “So you did. What do you want?”
“What? Oh,” she mutters as if it’s just occurring to her that she now has to ask for something. My eyes narrow in suspicion when she blushes, a pink flush rising up her neck and coloring her cheeks. “Well…”
“You don’t have to use the win tonight.”
“No, I want to.” She picks up a card and sets it down again, fidgeting. “Well…” she lets out a shuddering breath, and I watch her squirm for a moment before a myriad of emotions flicker inher eyes. “I was wondering… Well, I get cold so easily, especially at night, and we’re already sharing a tent… Maybe I could get into your sleeping bag. Just for warmth?”
Of everything I thought she’d ask for, this was not one of them. “That’s not a great idea,” I say, studying her face and watching as the pink on her cheeks deepens. “You know that.”
“Maybe.”
“Who knows what will happen if our bodies are pressed up against each other in a sleeping bag?” I watch her expression carefully, unwilling to read something that’s not there. “What happens if I decide I want to share more than just warmth?”
Here’s her chance to back out but she doesn’t take it. Not immediately. She lets out a slow breath and inches closer until her knees are touching my hands. “Do you want to share more than just warmth?”
The tent falls silent, and neither of us speaks—we barely breathe. A sharp wind blowing outside, the sound of waves meeting the shore, and the distant echo of birds in the skies even fade. In here, it’s just us two, and my little sea lion lover doesn’t seem one bit scared of being inside a tent with a man most people avoid. I look at her—really look—and what I see written on her face is not naivety. It’s a decision.
I pull my eyes from hers and track them down her body, feeling myself stiffen when I notice the slight outline of her pebbled nipples against the thin fabric of her T-shirt. She’s not wearing a bra, and the fact that she doesn’t immediately move to cover herself tells me that perhaps I’m not misreading this.
“Come here,” I say, voice low.
