Page 62 of Best Wrong Thing

I cringe.

“That’s the plan. Umm, Mum, you do realise you and Jacob are almost the same age, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So he’s not aboy. Nor am I, for that matter.”

She pouts. “You’ll always be my baby.”

“Mum!”

“It’s true. I bet your mum feels the same way, doesn’t she, Jacob?”

I hunch my shoulders. “Uh, yeah.”

“Anyway, let me do a few more lengths, and then I’ll make breakfast,” Archer says.

“I’ll do it.” If I stay, I’ll get hard watching his powerful body cut through the water. “Do you want anything, Molly?”

She shakes her head.

“Thanks.” Archer turns, pushes off the wall, and carries on swimming.

The villa owners left us some fresh fruit, pastries, fruit juice, coffee, tea, and milk. I put a selection of things on the table, glancing at Archer swimming as often as I dare. Not that Mollywould notice. She’s lying in an optimal sunbathing position with her eyes closed.

Archer gets out of the pool, splattering water over the patio. He dries himself with a towel, wraps it around his waist, and wanders inside.

“Will she sunbathe all day?” I ask.

“Probably.”

“How?”

Archer shrugs. “Beats me.”

“This looks great, thanks.” Archer sits, drinks some juice, and helps himself to a pastry.

“Does all that exercise make you hungry?” I peel an orange.

“Ravenous. I couldn’t run as far or as fast as I’d have liked this morning.”

“Why?”

“Too hot. Even this early. I’ll adjust by the end of the fortnight.”

“In time to go home and get used to the British weather again?”

He laughs. “Yup.”

I’m captivated by the way he devours the pastry. Specks of icing sugar and flakes of pastry cling to his lips. I want to lick them off and then kiss him. I want to taste the pastry on his tongue.

He clicks his fingers. “Earth to Jacob.”

“Shit, sorry.”

“What were you thinking about it?”

I hunch my shoulders.