Page 32 of Shipwrecked

I narrow my eyes, but Cillian’s tone isn’t goading. It’s honest agreement. I wasn’t wrong about the shine Cillian has taken to Jules. Relief flutters in my stomach. “You have good taste. Did you get hard when he hugged you?”

Cillian’s eyes widen. “No.”

“I’ve never heard a no sound so much like a guilty yes. He kissed my neck the other night,” I say, forlorn. Ahead, Jules is angled towards Seán as the two talk. His shirt is hanging off his frame, wrinkled, and his shorts cling to his thighs. “I have wanted to climb on top of him since.”

“I—you—he’s injured. You’re not allowed to do anything while—”

“I am not stupid. And I’m not blind.”

Cillian blinks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What a lovely, comforting back rub you were giving,” I say, nice and light and teasing. “Are you going to be giving those to everyone? Part of the island survival experience? I’ll let everyone know, and we can all form an orderly line—”

Cillian bumps me. I bump him back and stay pressed against him.

“Just admit it,” I say. “And that way, we can have fun conversations between all your safety talks.” I smile. Cillian’s gaze slides over my dimples. Not, I think, without interest.

I lean in more. “I want a comforting back rub,” I say. “I was worried about you too, and I did not enjoy how scary the island became without you around.”

“The island didn’t change just because I wasn’t at camp.”

“It did.” I did too. My courage deserted me. Anxiety won out over impulse, and I stood there doing nothing when action was needed.

“Guys?” Seán calls from ahead. They’re waiting on the edge of the pathway to camp, the fire throwing long shadows across the sand.

“We’ll be a minute,” Cillian calls.

Jules and Seán continue on.

Cillian clasps my chin, turning my head one way, then the other. “Your eye is looking better. Is it still sore?”

“I’m not hurt.” I catch his hand, tugging it away.

“This is still bruised.” His attention slips to my wrist, banded in green bruises. I hadn’t felt the force in Darren’s grip at the time, focused on Cillian on deck instead. “Though the swelling is better.”

I pull my arm free. “I thought you might be hurt or need help somewhere in that jungle. And I was standing around doing nothing about it.” For two hours, I kept trying to suggest that we go a few paces into the jungle and start calling, but the words kept getting caught in my throat. “I was overthinking everything. It wasn’t until Jules got up that we set up the fire on the beach.”

“What job did I give you?” Cillian asks.

“Job?”

“Before I left, what job did I give you?”

“Jules.”

“You made sure he ate and drank?”

“I did, but—”

“Good.” Cillian hugs me. “Seán and I are back. Neither of us is hurt.” His hands flatten over the planes of my back, far firmer than the light touch I couldn’t help giving him earlier. “There’s no need to make that face.”

I rest my hands on his sides. He’s solid muscle. “I am making a face?”

A knuckle brushes under my jaw, sliding up to my cheek. “These didn’t show when you smiled just now.”

Oh. I thought Cillian had looked at my dimples, but had he looked at my cheeks because they didn’t show up?

“They’re never in any of my school photos.”