Page 98 of The Right Kind of Wrong

Blake’s smile grew impossibly bigger before her stare dropped down to Monroe’s lips and she licked her own in response.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

Blake needed to stop looking at her like that or Monroe wasn’t going to be responsible for whatever happened next.

“Howdy, Blake,” Denny said before letting out a long, low whistle. “Didn’t know that you’d be here today.”

It broke the tension, thankfully.

Blake pulled her focused stare away from Monroe, seemingly realizing for the first time that Denny was there, too. She cleared her throat, and Monroe didn’t miss the flush that wrapped its way across Blake’s skin, like she’d been caught doing something inappropriate. “I ran into Holland at the studio earlier, and she invited me to go paddleboarding.” She gestured back out toward the water with her oar. “Clearly, she outlasted me.”

Monroe’s eyes narrowed. Jealousy curled low in her belly, even as she willed it away.

Blake had the right to be out with whomever, whenever she wanted. A few incredible kisses didn’t change that.

Did Monroe mention that the kisses had been incredible?

At this moment, though, she was angry at herself. She had been the one to put limits on what they were doing, to make it clear to Blake that Maisie and the stability that they’d been creating for her had to come first.

But now, Monroe’s body wasn’t getting the memo. She could feel her pulse pounding in her neck, her heart thumping along with the same rhythm.

Which was . . . unexpected.

Monroe had never been the jealous type. If she’d been jealous throughout her adolescence about what other people had that she didn’t, she wouldn’t have been able to get out of bed in the mornings.

This was a new sensation, and it rushed through her despite her best efforts to quell it.

She was pulled back from her thoughts when Blake asked, “Denny, would you watch Maisie for a few minutes? I was hoping that Monroe could help me lug my stuff over to the rental shack.” Blake dropped her right shoulder, rolling it slowly while still holding on to the oar. “I think I tweaked something out on the water, and carrying this oar’s making me feel like my arm’s about to fall off.”

Monroe snatched the oar from Blake’s hand, wondering why she hadn’t said anything before now. “Of course.” She turned toward Denny. “You can play in the shallow end with Maisie, but no deeper than the knees until I’m back.”

“Her knees or mine?” Denny asked, grinning.

Monroe leveled him with a serious look—even though she knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t take his eyes off Maisie for even a second—before she turned to her niece. “Do you want to stay with Denny for a few minutes? I have it on good authority that he’ll let you dunk him in the water.”

“Yay!” Maisie cheered as Denny scooped her up in his arms and started toward the water.

Monroe wasn’t wasting any time. Not if Blake was hurt. “Come on. Let’s get this stuff back. I’m sure holding the paddleboard isn’t helping things. Can I carry it for you?”

“Monroe, that’s really not⁠—”

Monroe wasn’t going to waste time arguing while Blake was in pain. She took off toward the stand twenty or so yards down the bank. There was a separate, sandy ramp leading down to the water where anyone who rented a kayak or paddleboard could load and unload, but because Blake had come to say hi to them, she was being forced to walk the extra distance injured.

It took Monroe about half the time that it took Blake to reach the rental shack. After she dropped the paddle in a large barrel, she turned around and met Blake.

“Let me take that.” She plucked the paddleboard from under Blake’s arm.

“Monroe,” Blake protested, though she relented when she saw that Monroe was dead serious about Blake not injuring herself further.

With Monroe’s extra inches of height, it was easier for her to heft the paddleboard onto one of the free rungs, close to the top.

Having an immediate problem to solve had allowed Monroe to focus entirely on the task at hand, but when she turned around, she was greeted with Blake’s body in full effect again, so that fluttery nerves took up residence in her stomach.

“How’s your shoulder?” Monroe asked, taking a small step closer. Giving Blake a massage would probably kill Monroe, but she’d do it if it helped alleviate any of Blake’s pain.

“Monroe . . .” Blake’s voice was droll, the edges of her lips quirked into a smile that Monroe didn’t understand.

If she had hurt her own shoulder and then been forced to lug a twenty-five-pound paddleboard around, she wouldn’t be smiling.