She’s looked at me no less than eight times since I stepped out here twenty minutes ago. Five glances, two smiles, and a flirty smirk.
I have a feeling you’re worth the wait too, she’d said at the boutique. I kept texting. Kept sending flowers. Kpet doing all ofit, because I’m not the kind of man who gives up. Then a week ago, she left a get well basket on my porch, one that she put together with chocolate, jerkey, an assortment of coffees, and a tumbler along with a card.
Hell to hell yes.
“Alright, everyone!” Esme claps her hands, gathering the wedding party. “Time for our team-building games! I’ve already assigned pairs, so no trading.”
Claire’s head snaps up. Her eyes find mine across the sand, and for half a second, something unreadable crosses her face.
“Hunter and Claire, you’re up first.”
There it is.
Claire’s eyes pop wide. “Esme—”
But Esme’s already moving toward us with a hot pink zip tie and that smile that says she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Wrists out, you two.”
“This isn’t necessary,” Claire says.
“Trust me,” Esme says, looping the plastic around Claire’s wrist, then mine. “You two need this.”
“We really don’t,” Claire mutters.
“You really do.” Esme pulls the zip tie snug— not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough that neither of us is going anywhere—then walks away before either of us can argue.
Claire finally looks directly at me. Her wavy auburn hair is pulled back with pieces falling loose around her face, her green eyes picking up the color of her dress.
“This is humiliating,” she says, her lips full and shiny.
“For you or for me?”
“Both.”
“I think it’s sexy.”
Her wrist is warm against mine where the plastic binds us together. She smells like coconut sunscreen and citrus, and when she shifts her weight, her shoulder brushes my arm. I keepmy eyes on the water and try not to think about how two weeks ago I would’ve taken this as permission to lean closer.
The sun is bright over the Caribbean, the sky cloudless and blue. A handful of tourists are scattered down the beach, but mostly it’s just us—the wedding party, the games, and whatever Esme thinks she’s accomplishing here.
“You look good,” I hear myself say anyway.
Her eyes flash with heat. “Hunter...”
“We’re zip-tied. Where else am I supposed to look?”
She turns then, just slightly, and I get the full effect of her for the first time up close. Wavy hair pulled up with pieces falling loose around her face. Eyes the color of her dress, and a full mouth that is currently doing its level best not to smile.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
Her words hit in places that have no business weighing in right now, and all I want to do is back her into the nearest shaded wall and find out exactly what else she doesn’t mind.
“Is that a dare?”
“Maybe.” Her eyes drop to my mouth for a fraction of a second before darting away.
What follows is thirty minutes of “fun” that Franklin and Esme designed specifically to humiliate their wedding party. The coconut relay involves running while balancing a coconut between our heads, which means Claire’s temple is pressed against mine for three solid minutes while we navigate an obstacle course.
“Left,” she hisses.
