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I thought I caught a conspiratorial wink exchanged between the island women.

“Yep. Yep. I’m headed to get her some drinks right now.” She turned toward me, leading me away from Jojo and to the boats pulled ashore.

Three skiffs dotted the ebbing beach beyond the fire pit. The sterns were lapped by incoming waves, and the bows were pulled high onto the shore.

“Sierra, I’m right behind you. I forgot to tell Henry where to stash the ice cream. Help yourself to whatever you’d like.” She pointed to the boat lineup. “I’ll be right back.” Turning on her heels, she scampered off to find Henry.

Why were all of the drinks on the boat? This was ridiculous. I continued the search for drinks. I wondered if there was anything other than beer. Just one drink and I was out of here.

“Blake, catch!” A deep voice called out from the farthest boat just as I was knocked to the ground by a figure running backward. All I could make out were outstretched arms and an airborne can of Bud Light.

“Score!” the receiver yelled, holding his beer can in the air and flashing a smile after his twenty-yard reception.

“Hey! Not so fast with your victory dance, quarterback.” I fumed from the sand.

An islander spun around, casting a shadow across my face.

“Let me help you up. I’m really sorry.” He extended a hand.

Brushing the sand from my legs and assessing the damage, I pulled myself up.

“Sorry?” Who in the hell knocks a girl down like that?

I realized that, other than a little wet sand stuck to my favorite shorts, I was fine. But I wasn’t about to let my cocky assailant know that. I was ready to launch into a verbal tirade on why he should have been paying more attention, when I looked up and lost my words.

I took in the muscular six two frame topped with sandy hair. I had only seen eyes that color once before. They were a grey-green I couldn’t forget. They were sexy bedroom eyes that threw every good comeback I had out the window.

“Blake?” I sputtered, finding my voice.

He threw everything out the window. Holy shit.

4

Blake

Fuck.

“Sierra.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her eyes seemed to light with as much fire as I had running under my veins.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

I had plowed her down. Run her into the sand as if she were a lineman on a Sunday afternoon. She didn’t want my help dusting off the sand.

“My aunt died. I’m cleaning out her house,” she explained. She pinched her plump lips together. Those fucking lips.

“Right.” Fuck. Why was it I couldn’t think about anything except the last time I saw her?

She took me right back to high school. To college. To a time when I gave two fucks about what a girl thought.

Cole ran up behind me. “Why if it isn’t Sierra Emory.” He pulled her into a resistant hug. She looked over his shoulder at me.

“Hi. Cole.”

“It’s like a damn high school reunion around here.” He grinned. He was already drunk.

“I guess so.”