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What a coincidence.

Me: You and me both. Want to talk about it?

I stare at the message for a moment before I fight with myself over whether I want to send it. Asking that question feels personal, like something you do with a close friend. I’m sure it’s nothing major going on with him anyway. It’s probably just something like a person from work he doesn’t get along with—whatever it is he does.

“Daddy! Get in the pool with us!” Tiana calls out, standing by the edge, ready to jump in.

I don’t let myself overthink it anymore and hit send. “You didn’t finish eating that long ago. You might need to let your food settle first,” I say, but my voice is cut off by Desmond’s.

“Cannonball!” He does a flip, jumping into the deep end of the pool, water splashing around. Tiana and Andrea laugh. My daughter either forgets or ignores what I said, and the two girls jump into the pool behind him.

Well, so much for that.

He pops out from under the water, glistening and wearing a huge smile. It twists my gut up and immediately puts me in a bad mood. That’s not the effect he had on me during those two weeks eleven years ago. Back then, he made everything easier.

“Get in!” he calls out, maybe to everyone, but I’m the one he’s looking at. Then he turns to the girls and says, “Wanna play a game of Marco Polo?”

They agree, which makes me bristle even more. He already knows Tiana loves him as a player, and now he’s going to look more fun than me too.

“I have to clean my grill first,” Hunter says.

Isla is talking to the moms, and Lucas seems to have disappeared. My gaze lands on Desmond again, and he pumps his brows in a silent dare that says he, what, doesn’t think I’ll get into the water and play a game with my own child?

No.

He doesn’t think I’ll get into the water with him, and damned if I don’t need to prove him wrong.

I set my phone down, head toward the pool, and jump in with a loud splash right beside him. When I break the top of the water, Desmond is giving me a knowing, cocky grin, and I realize I just played into his hand. He knew issuing that silent challenge would get me exactly where I am, the asshole.

Fuck you, I mouth at him, which makes him laugh out loud before Tiana’s arms wrap around my shoulders from behind.

“Yay! Daddy!” I kiss her hand, suddenly glad I got into the water even if I did fall prey to exactly what Desmond wanted. He only wants me in here with them because he knows he gets to me, that he puts me on edge in a different way than he did those two weeks we spent together. But hell, that’s because he’s different with me now than he was then, too.

“Rock, paper, scissors to see who’s it first?” Andrea asks.

“I hope you’re all prepared because I’m excellent at Marco Polo,” I brag playfully. “Right, T?”

“Yes, it’s annoying,” my daughter jokes.

“Well, looks like we’re going to have a problem here, because I too am excellent at Marco Polo,” Desmond taunts me, because of course he does. Are we even us if there’s no kind of push and pull going on between us? At least now.

“You’re not winning,” I tell him.

“We’ll see.” He tosses a cocky wink in my direction, and I wish like hell it didn’t make my body flush with heat.

As soon as the idea hits me, I open my mouth to speak, but unfortunately the words come out of Desmond’s at the same time. “I’ll be it first,” we both say. As soon as our gazes clash again, I see the enjoyment in his, and something—I don’t even know what the fuck it is—comes over me.

Irritation? Yes.

My competitive nature? That too.

But simmering beneath it all is desire and tingles of memories settling in at my nape.

Desmond is fun. We had a lot of fun together at the beach. He helped me forget what ended up being my temporary breakup and the pain I felt about my mom. How my dad brought me on vacation but was too lost in his pain to spend any time with me.

“Rock, paper, scissors to see who’s it, I guess.” Desmond dunks himself under the water, then emerges again, and I almost have to physically fight myself not to enjoy the view. Goddamn this man. I notice attractive men now, it’s hard not to, but none of them get to me the way he does.

“Fine,” I grumble.