I laugh and give his shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep my opinions about the holiday to myself, okay? I’ll be a very agreeable boyfriend while we’re out on the boat with your friends. I promise.”
He frowns. “A very agreeablebusiness partner.”
I roll my eyes. “Right. Business partner.”
Obviously, I knew going into this that I’d be tagging along under the guise of being Ashton’s friendly new business partner. He said he wanted me to meet his friends and get to know his siblings. So I’ll slap on a smile, bite my tongue, and play the part of a very polite businessman with a completely professional, entirely platonic relationship with Ashton.
But Christ, it’s going to be hard to hold myself back.
Especially when he’s wearing shorts like that—hugging his ass in all the right places.
“If you behave,” Ashton continues, trailing his fingertips along the length of my arm, “maybe I’ll reward you later.”
I suck in a sharp breath, begging my dick not to get hard as my mind conjures up countless dirty images.
“Ash,” I say in a low, warning tone.
He bats his lashes innocently. “What?”
“You know what,” I insist, shaking my head. “You’re such a menace.”
He snickers and leans down to press a swift kiss to my cheek. “We’re gonna be late,” he says, dragging me out the door. “Let’s go!”
Okay, I’ll admit I was hesitant about joining Ashton’s siblings and his pack of small-town friends, but it’s not half bad. The wind cuts through the blistering sun, cool and bracing as the boat skims across the waves, rocking and lifting just enough to send a jolt of thrill through me.
There are six of us crowded around the bow, beers in hand, chatting—well, practically shouting—over the roar of the engine and the slap of water against the hull. Luke’s easy enough to talk to; he commandeers every conversation without even trying, which means I don’t have to carry much of it. The brunette perched on his lap is nice too. She complimented the cider I brought, so she’s officially earned a place in my good graces.
One of Luke and Ashton’s friends, Ethan, is lounging across from me. He’s a tall, slender guy with black hair that sweeps across his forehead. His pale skin is already a little pink from being in the sun, despite the copious amounts of sunblock he keeps reapplying.
The Tremblay sisters—Olivia and Chloe—are wedged in beside me, arguing passionately about some reality TV show I’ve never seen and probably never will. Justin is tucked at the back of the boat,staring at his phone, the glow of his screen casting blue light on his face.
Behind me, Ashton drives, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting easy at his side. His posture is loose but assured, like he was born knowing how to command a boat across open water. It’s ridiculously sexy. I keep stealing glances over my shoulder, drawn to the way the sun hits his hair, the quiet confidence in the set of his shoulders. Hopefully my sunglasses are doing their job, hiding the way my eyes keep drifting back to him.
Phoebe sits close to him, one arm slung loosely around his shoulders as they talk. I know they’re just friends now. I know that. I respect it. But that doesn’t stop the sharp flicker of jealousy in my chest. They have history. It’s impossible not to picture them tangled up together, naked and kissing.
The vision curdles my stomach.
I just wish I could reach back and wrap my arm around him without it becoming athing. I want to touch him. I’ve always been touchy with the people I care about, but with Ashton it feels forbidden. I want to feel him solid and real against me, to press close enough to catch the warmth of his sun-kissed skin and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
The sun sinks toward the horizon, melting into the lake and washing the sky in streaks of pastel pink and gold. Ashton cuts the engine as we drift among a cluster of boats gathered just offshore from the public beach—a prime spot to watch the fireworks.
The last sliver of sun dips beneath the water, and in the hush before the first firework, Ashton glances at me. It’s quick and cautious, but I catch it anyway. I offer him a small smile, something meant just for him. He smiles back.
But it’s wrong.
Too tight, too careful. His dimples don’t even show.
My attention snaps back to Luke when he makes a loud, animated noise, mimicking the sound of glass breaking.
“The guy bashed his fist through the bathroom mirror!” he continues, in the middle of telling a story about some bar fight thathappened at Old Harbor Tavern during his last shift. “Dude had blood spurting down his arm, dripping all over the carpet. I had to clean it up after the police came and escorted him out. Shit was nasty!”
Ashton leans back in his seat, one arm slung across the back cushion behind Phoebe. “Wait, wait,” he cuts in, grinning in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You had to clean it up? Are you a bartender or a maid, dude?”
The word startles me, sounding heavy and foreign rolling off Ashton’s tongue.
Dude.
The way he’s talking sounds far too practiced and forced, like he’s slipping into a caricature I don’t recognize. His posture is bigger, almost exaggerated—legs spread, chest out, chin tipped up. He takes up space in a way that feels deliberate. Defensive, like armor.
