Page 17 of Hooked on Love

“Yeah. You know it?”

“Chris mentioned it. Said they have the best fish tacos in town, but I haven’t had a chance to try them.”

“Chris is correct.”

She’s beaming now, moving toward the couch. We settle in like last night—her on one end of the couch, me on the other, food spread between us. She tucks her legs under her, looking relaxed and happy and so goddamn beautiful it hurts.

She unwraps a taco. “How was the boat today?”

“Better. Got some work done. Luke stopped by, offered to help this weekend when the parts arrive.”

“That’s nice of him.”

“He’s not completely useless.” I take a bite of my carne asada taco. “How was the resort?”

“Chaotic. Mrs. Henderson checked out, thank god, but we had a mix-up with a wedding party’s room blocks, and the head chef called in sick.” She shakes her head. “I’m just glad to be home.”

Home.

The word settles between us, comfortable and dangerous all at once.

We eat and talk, the conversation flowing easily. She tells me about the bridezilla who demanded the resort move the entire wedding setup because she didn’t like the direction the sunset would face. I tell her about the time a charter guest tried to jump off my boat to swim with orcas.

“Please tell me you stopped him,” she says, eyes wide.

“Barely. Guy was already halfway over the rail when I grabbed him.”

“That’s terrifying.”

I chuckle. “Welcome to charter life.”

She laughs, and the sound fills the apartment, warm and bright. I can’t stop watching her. Everything about her is pulling me in like the tide.

The tacos are gone. The guacamole’s demolished. We’re both full and relaxed, any tension there was from the last few days is completely dissolved.

“Thank you for walking with me this morning,” she says softly. “And for dinner. This was great.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I want to.”

Want. Our eyes meet, and there it is again. That pull. This magnetic thing that’s been building since I realized I’d do anything to make her feel safe.

She leans forward slightly, setting her plate on the table. I do the same, and suddenly we’re closer. Close enough that I’m at risk of getting lost in the depths of her ocean gaze.

Her eyes drop to my mouth. “Jake,” she whispers.

My heart stops.

Fuck it.

I close the distance between us and kiss her.

Want

Peyton

His hand cups my face, warm and calloused and sure, and his lips are softer than I imagined— and yes, I’ve been imagining. His other hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, and I melt into him.