Page 33 of The Trouble with Flings

“Now that you know more about my island, wild girl, tell me what you love about the city.”

“Gosh. Everything,” I say honestly. “The energy of it, the constant noise, which I find comforting, and the melting pot of people and cultures.” I tell him about how the city truly never sleeps and about my favorite restaurants and the coffee shop around the corner from my apartment, where they call me No Frills in a Hurry, because I have a standing order for black coffee and a plain bagel, and I’m always rushing.

“Why are you always in a hurry? Are you late for work every morning?” he asks.

“I’m never late for work, but I’m late for my own liking.”

He looks at me like I’m nuts. “What does that mean?”

“I like to get to work before anyone else shows up to walk the halls and think through my day. Besides, life moves fast. I don’t want to miss a minute of it.”

“Well, wild girl, it sounds like you love the city as much as I love the island.”

“It’s the only place where being mouthy is considered normal, and where else can you get a decent slice of pizza at three in the morning? Honestly, I can’t imagine ever living anywhere else.”

“Me either,” he says softly.

Our words hang between us, and suddenly the days ahead feel too short.

His phone rings, breaking the moment. He glances at the screen. “It’s my father. I’d better take it.” He sits up and puts it to his ear. “Hey, Dad,” he says, his tone serious. He pauses to listen. “It’s great. Very informative. I’m learning a lot, and I had a chance to talk with Ron Harmon. I’ll fill you in when I get back.” He pauses again and winks at me as I sit up. “That sounds good. Email me the details. The session is starting. I’d better go. Love you, too.” He ends the call.

“Excuse me, but did the good one just lie about attending the conference?”

He tucks his phone under his shirt on the blanket. “You caught that, huh?”

“Kind of hard not to. I thought you weren’t a rule breaker.”

“I’m not.”

“I’m pretty sure lying isn’t within the Boy Scout code of conduct.”

He leans forward, bringing our lips a whisper apart, and says, “I’m pretty sure this isn’t either.” His mouth covers mine in a toe-curling kiss.

As our lips part, he gazes down at me, his eyes brimming with emotion, and says, “You’re the only woman who’s ever made me want to break the rules, and I have zero regrets.”

My ridiculous heart gobbles that up, filling me with the type of happiness that always ends badly. I try to push it away, but there’s no denying that I not only like this man, quite inconveniently, but I like him a hell of a lot.

Needing to put whatever this is back into perspective, I say, “This is the trouble with flings.” I put my hands on his chest and gently push him away as I sit up. “If you talk too much, it turns into something else.”

“Does that happen to you often?”

“No. Never. That’s why I blame you.” I push to my feet, and he flashes that cocky grin that makes my stomach flip-flop. “We need to stop all this talking and go have some fun. Last one in the water buys dinner!”

I sprint toward the water. He catches up in seconds, grabs me around the waist, and throws me over his shoulder. I scream, both of us cracking up as he runs into the water and plows through the break, saltwater splashing our faces. I can’t stop laughing, even as he tosses me into deeper water, my arms and legs flailing.

I come up sputtering, pushing hair out of my face. “You’re dead, Silver!” I splash him, launching myself at him, but he’s too quick. He dives under the surface. I’m spinning around looking for him when I feel his hands on my waist. He bursts out of the water, lifting me up, and throws me again.

The second I break the surface, I holler, “You’re a dead man!”

“You said you wanted to have fun.” His grin is boyish and playful, his arms spread wide, water streaming off his shoulders.

Before I can respond, he surges forward, pushing a sheet of water at me. I turn, half running, half swimming. The current pulls at me, the sand shifts under my toes, our laughter sailing around us. I turn, whipping water at him. He spins away, and I launch myself onto his back, catching him off guard. He rocks backward, and I hook my arms around his neck, scrambling higher onto his back, and lock my legs around his waist.

“I got you!” I laugh, clinging to him as he steadies us both against the push of the water.

He huffs out a breath. “You’re going to regret that.”

“I doubt it!”