Page 13 of A Shore Fling

NINA

T he sand is warm under my feet as I approach my two new friends.

Ginger stares at me with wide eyes. “Girl, I thought you were about to float away and never return.”

A wave of embarrassment hits me, but I laugh. “Yeah, I guess I lost track of time and how far out I was floating.” I drop the paperback in my beach bag and then set the bag on top of the inner tube. Grabbing the towel from my chair, I begin drying off my arms.

Willow taps a fingertip to her lips. “Good thing there was a strong, handsome man to come rescue you.”

“Yeah,” I agree automatically, but then I catch the sly glint in her eye, and flatten my lips. “I didn’t float away on purpose.”

Willow nods. “Right.” But her tone screams the exact opposite.

“I’m serious.”

“Someone’s protesting too much,” she teases, grinning like she knows a joke and I’m the punchline.

“Travis wasn’t even here when she went into the water.” Ginger jumps in to defend me.

“Exactly,” I say, wrapping my towel around my waist like armor. “I know what caused my lack of awareness, and it had nothing to do with wanting any man’s attention.”

Willow leans forward, elbows on her knees. “Oh, now I’m curious. Spill.”

“I promise it’s a lot less exciting than you’re imagining.”

“I still want to know,” she insists.

I open a water bottle and take a long sip before settling into my beach chair. “When I read a great book, I lose myself in the story to the point where someone could stand next to me yelling ‘fire!’ and I might not hear them. Which is why I lost track of where I was when I was floating around.”

Willow’s expression goes contemplative. “I don’t know if I’ve been that into a book.”

“Then you’re reading the wrong ones,” I say matter-of-factly. “People’s tastes in books aren’t universal. You have to find the ones that resonate with you. As a kid I was obsessed. By the time I was twelve, I was devouring multiple books a week.”

“My parents would’ve killed to have a kid like that,” Ginger says, laughing. “They had to bribe me to open anything that wasn’t a cereal box.”

“My parents didn’t exactly celebrate it,” I admit. “They said my reading habit was keeping me from ‘broadening my horizons.’”

Willow squints. “What does that mean?”

“They thought I was isolating myself too much and not engaging in the proper extracurriculars. Reading doesn’t look impressive on a debutante profile.”

Willow snorts. “What are you, royalty or something?”

My stomach drops. We may not be royalty, but my parents get treated as such.

Ginger’s eyes light up like she’s just struck gold. “Ooh, I know. You’re an unknown Kardashian.”

“Are you Bill Gates’s daughter?” Willow grins, bouncing on the edge of her chair.

“No,” I say, laughing tightly. How long will it take them to figure out who my family is? “I should go thank Travis for saving me.” I push to my feet, my towel falling to the chair. Maybe when I return they’ll have moved on to discussing something else.

Travis is standing with his brothers, all of them barefoot and sweaty, which isn’t doing my brain any favors.

“Hey,” I say, stopping a few feet away. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

His eyebrows pull together as he shakes his head. “Now isn’t a good time.”

Reed chuckles, like he enjoys watching other people suffer. “I think it’s the perfect time. Go on and talk with Nina.”

Travis shoots him a murderous glare before he turns to me. “What’s up?”

I tilt my head toward the shoreline. “Can we go over there?” His heavy sigh is the emotional equivalent of stomping his foot. “Yeah,” he finally mutters.

As we walk toward the water, I hear extra footsteps behind us. I glance back to see Jordan trailing behind us like he’s part of a secret service detail. My eyebrows lift. “What are you, his bodyguard now?”

Jordan grins and explains, “We lost a bet. We’re stuck like this for another”—he checks his watch—“forty-three minutes.”

My gaze drops to their joined hands, which I hadn’t noticed before, and I burst out laughing. “What were you betting on?”

“We had a volleyball match with our brothers,” Jordan says.

“And you lost?”

Jordan raises their joined hands again. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Do you want to know why we lost?” Travis asks, his jaw taut like a bow.

“I guess,” I say cautiously.

“Because you were floating away and I had to rescue you.”

“You didn’t have to,” I fire back. “You chose to.”

“You didn’t even notice how far you’d drifted. And Willow and Ginger mentioned you barely know how to swim.”

I roll my lips inward. “Oops.”

“We were up by five points, one point from victory, and we had to forfeit because Captain Hero here dove in after you,” Jordan explains.

Damn. Now I feel bad. “I’m sorry I ruined your win.”

“It’s okay,” Jordan says, waving it off. And he seems like he’s fine with what happened.

Travis, though? Not so much.

“We’re stuck holding hands. It’s not okay.”

I squint at him. “You’re seriously this annoyed about it?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares at me like I’m a cuckoo clock minus the clock.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to make it up to you. What do you say I make dinner for both of you tonight?”

“I’m in,” Jordan is quick to reply.

Travis hesitates for a few beats beyond what’s comfortable. I’m about to rescind the offer when he finally asks, “What time?”

“Six o’clock.”

“Travis will bring the wine,” Jordan says, grinning.

Travis grunts in reply, and I take it as him agreeing.

“Sounds wonderful,” I say before I head back up the beach.

I had a relaxing night planned, just me and my book, and now I’ve gone and complicated it.

But even still, there’s a part of me that’s excited about having Travis over for dinner.

And with Jordan there too, maybe he’ll be less uptight and grumpy.

The cottage smells like rosemary, garlic, and all the herbs I found in the spice rack.

I’m not sure how the chicken will turn out.

I haven’t been able to concentrate since I extended the dinner invitation to the two Thorne brothers.

I nailed the bite-sized bruschetta, though, so if dinner is horrible, we can eat those.

Wiping my hands on the dish towel, I eye the table for the fourth time, making sure the place settings are straight and the napkins are folded casually enough to look effortless.

Leaning against the counter, I take a breath and try not to spiral.

Why am I so wound up? He’s just a guy. A frustrating, brooding, sarcastic guy who probably wishes I’d stayed in New York City.

I don’t owe him dinner or anything else.

But I kind of do. He’s saved me twice now, and both times involved the ocean.

Maybe I should remain on dry land for the rest of my time here.

Groaning, I begin to press the heels of my hands into my eyes, jerking them back at the last second. I almost forgot I’m wearing eye makeup. Why did I go through the extra effort? Will he even notice? And do I want him to?

He doesn’t seem like the type of guy to hand out compliments freely. He’s more likely to deliver a backhanded one. Maybe he’ll compare my lashes to a spider’s legs and think he’s complimenting me.

Despite Travis being grumpy, moody, and blunt, it hasn’t escaped me how responsible and loyal he is. He’s protective in a way that makes my insides melt a little, though I loathe to admit that, even to myself.

And of course, his naked chest looks like he’s carved from marble and bad decisions.

A firm knock sounds at the front door, making my pulse skitter.

I smooth a hand down the front of my sleeveless dress, panicking about being overdressed.

I spent too much time in front of the closet in a silent battle with myself over what to wear.

I finally decided to go with the first item my hand made contact with, and now it’s too late for doubts.

Curving my lips in a small smile, I open the door.

Travis stands there, one hand on the doorframe, the other holding a bottle of wine.

His black hair is damp and combed back from his face as if he had just showered.

He smells like a mix of soap and cologne, which only adds another knot to my tangled feelings for him.

“Hey,” he says, his deep voice rumbling softly.

“Come in.” I step aside and ask, “Where’s Jordan?”

“Uh…” He steps inside the cottage and pulls out his phone. “He just texted.” He glances down, thumb hovering over the screen. His jaw tightens.

I lean over a little and read the first part of the message.

Jordan: Change of plans. You’re on your own. Make the most of it.

Travis exhales, as if he’s not pleased with his brother bailing on us. He pockets his phone before meeting my eyes. “Jordan’s not coming.”

I raise a brow. “Oh? Why not?”

He gives a slow shake of his head. “He said something about not wanting to be a third wheel.”

I laugh. “He’s funny.”

“He’s not.”

A few seconds awkwardly pass as we stare at one another. “Well,” I say, forcing the perfect hostess smile on my lips, “I made enough food for three people, so I guess that means you’ll be eating extra.”

“I can handle that,” he says, finally cracking the faintest smile. God help me, but I feel it down to my toes.

Grabbing the bottle opener I found in a drawer, I pass it to him. “I’ll let you do the honors.”

He takes it from me, and our fingers barely brush, but somehow it’s enough to ratchet up my attraction to him.

Get a grip, girl. I’m not some innocent college student experiencing a crush for the first time.

But I am a thirty-five-year-old woman who hasn’t had sex in ages.

With all the social functions I attend, I’ve had plenty of opportunities.

I’m just discerning when it comes to who I get naked with.

And pretentious assholes don’t make the cut.

Travis pours the wine while I move the extra place setting over to the counter. “Help yourself to some appetizers.”