Page 98 of Riptide

I slow, fingers resting on his stomach. “Words I love to hear you yell.”

He chuckles, and I lean down and kiss him once, hard and fast. When I pull back, his hands are still curled around my wrists, his eyes clear and open and full of something that settles me in a way nothing else ever has.

I can already picture it. Long drives, plane rides, shared headphones, coffee in cities neither of us know. I picture him asleep in some unfamiliar bed in a town we don’t know the name of yet, my suitcase beside his, his mouth pressed to my shoulder as morning sun spills across the sheets. Anywhere we decide to go, as long as it’s together, it’ll be special.

“You pick the place,” I say, rolling off him, but bringing him right back to my side. “Anywhere.”

“Okay.” He kisses my shoulder like a promise. “But just so you know, wherever we go, I’m not carrying the bags.”

“You’re absolutely carrying the bags.”

“You’re stronger.”

“You’re younger.”

“Exactly. Let me live.”

I laugh, deep in my chest, as he drapes an arm around my middle again, settling in. I feel his heart beating against my chest, my own seeking his rhythm.

“Hawaii,” he says. “I’ve never been, and I think it’s a good place to maybe try surfing again.”

That catches my attention. I know that wasn’t a throwaway comment. I watch the way the light slides across his face, and all I can think about is how much he’s grown since the day we met. Not just into someone who’s stronger, but also who lets me see him. “I’m proud of you.”

“For getting back in the water?”

“For not running from it anymore,” I say. “For wanting to make it yours. I think that’s brave as hell.”

The flush of color tells me everything I need to know about how he’s feeling. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“Hey, maybe you can teach me some more tricks?”

Then he shifts, rolling toward me with a slow, lazy grin, eyes gleaming. “You realize this means I get to bossyouaround, right?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is that how it works?”

“I’ll be the instructor,” he says, smug as hell. “You’ll be my student.”

I snort. “You’ll lose focus the second I take my shirt off.”

He places a hand on my chest. “I’m a professional.”

“Uh huh,” I say, unconvinced. “You made me come in my office. So professional.”

“That was after hours. Besides, you let it happen,” he counters smoothly, then presses a finger to my lips. “As your surf teacher, I expect full focus, Mr. Jones.”

I bite his finger gently, just to see the flush rise in his cheeks. “You gonna pace the beach looking all serious and in control?” And fuck, I like that thought more than I should. The idea of letting him lead me—teachme—isn’t just hot. It’s something else. Something I want to let him do. I’ve been so used to control, to structure, to being the one with the plan, but with Finn?

I’ll follow him anywhere.

Epilogue

Finn

Five months later.

The gentle winds roll through the open windows like a lullaby, warm and salt-sweet, rustling the linen curtains as I stretch out across the couch with my legs half in Foxx’s lap and a bowl of mango slices balanced on my stomach. It’s mid-afternoon, but time doesn’t really feel real out here. The light lasts longer. The days fold into each other in the best kind of way. Lazy and golden and not asking much from either of us.

Foxx is sat at the table, scrolling through something on his phone, probably another local bookstore he wants to find, and I’m half-listening to the waves, the occasional buzz of a moped ripping past on the coastal road, and the breeze rustling throughthe trees. We’ve been here two weeks already, and it’s been blissful.