“There’s no lifeguard on duty,” I say. “Who’s going to spend a week arguing with me over howincorporatedis abbreviated if something were to happen to my chatbot?”
Her eyes narrow. “Oh, whoops.” She brings her hands behind her head. “The jets tore my bikini off. It was justsoflimsy?—”
“Yeah?” I resist the urge to swallow. “You don’t have to come up with excuses if you want to perform a little striptease for me.”
Like last night in the elevator, I know she’s trying to mess with me.
Like last night in the elevator, I won’t make it easy for her.
“I won’t object to a lap dance, either,” I tack on with an innocent smile.
Her glare is lethal. She doesn’t utter a single word as she leans forward and swims toward me, and I regret my sarcastic comment the moment she plants her hands on the edge of the hot tub, bracketing me. My breath is held captive in my throat when she subtly skims her chest against mine. It’s only a slight brush. The barest of touch. The thin scrap of fabric preventing the skin-to-skin contact feels inches thick.
“As much as I’d love to make your year,” she murmurs, dropping her voice to a low, velvety register, “I’d hate to see you pull any more muscles, Ethan.”
She presses into me. I almost grip her hips when she pulls away, amusement curling the edges of her lips while her fingers dip between the valley of her breasts and toy with the string. “Enjoy the show, Ethan, because this is all you’re getting from me tonight.”
Then she turns her back to me with her bikini still intact, swims toward the ladder, and climbs out. I’ve got no ideawhatthe show is supposed to be. Not until she winks over hershoulder and struts off, her hips swinging seductively the entire time.
It’s kind of hot. But it’s also a bit ridiculous, something we’re both well aware of because the moment a snort rips from my throat, she halts midstep, doubles over, and starts cackling.
“Stop laughing!” she protests between her fluttery giggles, slapping her knee. “You’re supposed to be so turned on, you’re rendered speechless.”
“I’m not laughing,” I snicker. I’m pleading the fifth on the latter.
“You aresolaughing,” she says. “Just for that, I have the final say on the cover sheets.”
My laughter stops abruptly, but she’s already gone from my line of sight before I can say,Like hell you will.
9
BARBIE
WEDNESDAY, JULY 16TH
“Hey, Barb.”I glance up from my sisters’ texts to see Ethan gesturing to the street. “How many traffic lights do you see?”
Sticking out my tongue, I return my attention to my phone. “Just for that, we’re doing ziplining tomorrow.”
“Only if you’re willing to split my hospital bill with me,” he counters. “Have you seen our healthcare system? How shitty the deductible is with the company’s plan? I’m not being saddled with life-crushing debt because I can’t say no to a pretty face.”
“Really?” I ignore how warm my body feels when I meet his eyes. “Does this mean you’ll never say no to my inputs at work anymore if I turn the camera on?”
“Oh, will you look at that?” he says. “I’m suddenly cured of my inability to say no.”
With a shake of my head, I turn my gaze elsewhere. There are pockets of stars scattered across the inky night sky. The pier blinks neon colors in the background while we stick to dry land, leisurely strolling across the cobblestone walkway.
We’re making use of the honeymoon package and getting our money’s worth with dinner at The Steak Out, which is on the boardwalk and not too far from the hotel. With how busy thetown is, we’re lucky they could squeeze us in at the last minute without any reservations.
I peek at Ethan, who’s no longer walking as stiffly as he did at the conference. Neither of us are decked in stuffy suits anymore. We’re both wearing something more business casual. He looks good. He smells fantastic. I kind of regret not teasing him some more in the hot tub. Bykind of, I meanreally, definitely,andmost ardently,as an Austen gentleman has been known to say.
When he looks back and flashes me an easygoing smile, I wonder if dimples are genetically a dominant trait or a recessive one. Are they even something you can inherit?
Do we need to have kids for me to test this theory?
“Let me call Lara before we head inside,” he says. “And check in on my mom.”
I stop in my tracks and look at him in surprise. Lara, his girlfriend?Ex-girlfriend, my brain supplies. I don’t think he lied to me on our flights. Everything he told me—everything that happened—was real. I wholeheartedly believe he wouldn’t lie to me.
