Page 64

Loomis sits at the edge of the pool in a button-down shirt, which feels a bit formal for the setting. It’s unbuttoned, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off six-pack abs and inked forearms that I can’t drag my gaze away from for long. Fen is in a floatie shaped like a cartoon turtle that we found in a shed off the back of the house, looking extremely happy with the entire situation. Especially as a rooster comes waltzing by. I cringe even as I’m growing more accustomed to them. Something I never imagined possible.

Fuck, I hate birds. Specifically birds that like to wake me up at the ass crack of dawn.

“Do you think the roosters are planning something?” I ask, because if I don’t say something completely unhinged, I’llcontinue to think about today, and right now, I can’t think about today. And also so I have an excuse to stare at his arms and abs again.

“Absolutely. They’re watching us for sure.” He doesn’t even blink. Clearly, the island and the chaos of our lives have already broken him in. Or maybe he’s just getting used to how weird I can be.

I glance over to the edge of the pool, where two mangy-looking roosters are loitering under a bush like they’re just as worried about the sun and their complexion as I am. One of them cocks his head at me like he knows I hate him and is planning his early-morning retribution.

I wonder if Loomis and I will start sharing a bed. That’s probably not a good idea for many reasons. Sigh. I really do have issues shutting off my brain.

Fen lets out a series of giggles as he splashes and spins around, and it springs a smile to both Loomis’s and my lips.

“He loves the pool,” Loomis muses, reaching over and adjusting Fen’s sun hat. “I think it’s his favorite thing. I’ll have to enroll him in swim lessons when we return to Boston. Or maybe one day buy a home with a pool, though that gives me shudders with how he lacks fear of the water.”

“Understandable. Then again, he generally likes everything, especially if it’s dangerous or exciting. Fear isn’t part of his vocabulary.”

“You mean all three words he has?” Loomis teases as he shifts forward, dropping his forearms to his thighs.

“He even likes the roosters, which is crazy.”

One makes a noise that I swear sounds like afuck you, bitch,and I flip him off. Then, thinking better of it, I squint at him and paddle myself a little closer to Loomis and Fen. Safety in numbers. Also, I like the way the water makes Loomis’s shirt cling just a little bit tighter to his chest.

“Do you think they’re unionized?” I ask.

“Without question.” As if agreeing with Loomis, somewhere in the distance, the rooster who walked by us crows. “Though I think that was rooster code for me to shut up and not talk about it. This island is definitely run by birds. It’s likeFight Club.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Cockfighting?”

He smiles, his eyes gleaming. “Now you got me.”

Three times already, and I wouldn’t mind some more. Ugh!

“I think that one’s the leader,” I whisper, nodding toward the rooster giving me the side-eye. “Probably named something intimidating. Like Clive.”

“Clive?” Loomis repeats with an unimpressed half-laugh. “Clive is not an intimidating name. Think about the movies. You never meet a gangster or a hardened criminal with the nameClive. That one’s the decoy.” He points toward the crowing rooster, and I knock his hand down before the bird catches on we’re talking about him. “The real leader is lurking in the shadows over there with his mate. Probably named Reginald. He’s got a monocle and a tuxedo and everything.”

I laugh at the imagery, and Loomis smiles, his gray eyes sparkling, reflecting the pale blue of the water.

“Reginald the Rooster,” I reflect, keeping this going. “It works for him. I take it he’s the don here. The mastermind behind our morning wake-up. He must run the whole syndicate from the top of the kapok tree.”

Loomis’s mouth twitches like he’s holding back his amusement. If he thinks my weird is off-putting, he has yet to show it.

“He only comes down to settle disputes and collect protection fees in the form of half-eaten sandwiches.”

“What?” I snort, breaking my serious storytelling mode because his bitter tone and expression indicate this part might be true.

“Yesterday while you were busy hiding under your umbrella doing secret things on your laptop, one of those wankers stole half of my sandwich. Practically right out of my hand.”

I crack up making Fen’s happy smile grow. “Really? So he orchestrated the great sandwich heist of Casa Del Sol?”

“Got away with half a ham and cheese and a packet of mayonnaise.”

“Could you imagine if it had been a chicken sandwich instead of ham?” I laugh so hard I fall off my noodle, the pink tube slipping up from between my thighs and shooting out of the water like a geyser, narrowly missing Fen, who throws his hands up in the air, delighted by the spectacle and subsequent waterworks.

“A little quick on the trigger there?” Loomis teases, throwing my words from earlier to him back in my face. His eyes fill with blatant lust as they dance all over me as if he’s memorizing the way I look in my bikini—and imagining me out of it. I’ve never had this before. The dirty fun part where we’re barely able to keep our hands to ourselves.

“Only around you, it seems.”