Page 13 of Hearts Adrift (A Texas Beach Town Romance #4)

“It’s probably cold as fuck now,” I mumble.

River still appears at a loss for words. “F-Food?” he at last manages to say. “You brought … food?”

I just realized I grabbed his shirt for some reason.

I let go. “Sorry. I … y-yeah. Food. I thought you …” I quickly smooth out the part of his shirt I just wrinkled.

“I thought you might be hungry and brought take-out from the bar I was at.” I sidestep over to the counter—and the bags I left there.

“Wasn’t sure what you like, either, so I got one of everything.

It’s bar junk food, but the best bar junk food you’ll ever have.

I’m not a drinker,” I quickly add, turning to him, remembering his sobriety.

“I was just there to see a friend. He owns the bar, but is never around anymore, too busy with his boyfriend.” I pause, my mind going far, far away.

“I wonder if that’s what I was like … always busy with Theo.

Must’ve been insufferable all these years. ”

“Theo’s your …?”

“The ex I mentioned before—who is very, very, very much out of the picture.” I tear open the plastic bag and start pulling foam containers onto the counter.

“Dunno if any of it is still warm. Probably not. Fries usually have a shelf life of … oh, half a second before they go cold, and it took me longer to drive across the island than that, and then we just had this big long talk, so everything’s probably—”

“You seriously brought me food.”

He’s come up to the counter right next to me. I look at him, taken by the amazement in his eyes as he surveys the containers I brought like they’re made of gold. When was the last time he’s eaten? “Y-Yeah. Of course I did.”

He turns to me, blinking.

His eyes are seriously fucking dazzling.

“Why?” he asks softly.

“Why else? You’re stuck here. Easy Breezy doesn’t do deliveries. How else will you get to taste this?” I pull out the rest of the containers, then stop. “Maybe you’ll get to taste it hot next time. Y’know, once all of this clears up.”

“Once all of this clears up …” he murmurs.

I look at him. “Did I say something wrong?”

“What a notion,” he says, gazing down at the container of fries, lost in thought.

“That things could clear up. That I might see the other side of this scandal—when it is behind me. I don’t think there was even a tiny little part of me that thought that was remotely possible until this very moment.

You …” He looks at me. “You really have a way of seeing the best in everything, huh?”

I swallow hard.

He smiles, shattering me apart with his handsomeness.

I seriously underestimated how close we’re standing to each other.

“Was I presumptuous?” I ask suddenly. “Coming over here with food? Are you even hungry at all? You can save this for later if you’re not. I can put it away in the fridge, but … I’m not sure if it’ll warm up well.”

“You kidding?” He pops open another one of them. It’s the nachos. The cheese is depressingly coagulated. But his eyes light up. “Damn, these smell great. And I sure like the look of those jalapeno slices.”

“Can’t have nachos without them.”

He plucks out a chip and tries it. His eyes rock back. “Wow,” he moans. “The flavor of the cheese … the bite of the jalapeno slices … and are those diced onions in there?”

“Yep.”

“I didn’t think I had an appetite. Now I do. Finn, these are bangin’ .”

I smile, relieved. “I’ll pass that on to August who made them.”

After another bite, he glances at me. “You just gonna watch me eat, or—?”

I consider the nachos. I brought this food over for him, intending to leave it for him and just go.

Or maybe not. I’m lying to myself, and this was like a bribery to squeeze the full story out of him simply to kill the anxiety bomb I’ve harbored inside my chest since watching the video eighteen times with Chase at the Easy.

Even now, I’m still reeling from the truth coming out of the horse’s mouth.

I finally give in. “It’s been a while since I’ve allowed myself a proper cheat day.” I nudge the container of fries and pop one into my mouth. Surprisingly, they’re still a bit warm. “The garlic salt they put on these: next level, you’re gonna die. Cooper’s secret family recipe or something.”

He tries one himself. “ Wow . Damn, if that isn’t a secret I wanna know.”

Soon, the two of us dive into every item I got, from the fries to the nachos—and chicken wings.

He mumbles with a mouthful of food how they’re the best wings he’s had in years—and likely at a fraction of the cost of the fancy ones he’s used to in LA.

The containers are left mostly empty by the time we’re through, and both of us are seated at the table by the back door with full bellies.

I make note of the wobbly chair with a frown, insisting I’ll fix or replace it.

“I plan to pay you back for that food,” he tells me.

“No need,” I insist right back. “It’s on me.”

“At least let me split the bill with you?”

“Nope. My treat.”

After a short stretch, he shifts his legs under the table. One of his feet grazes mine, then plants itself right there, the side of his foot touching mine. I’m not sure if it was intentional, but he doesn’t move it away. Are we playing footsy now?

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” I tell him.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Is … that an invitation for me to talk about it more?”

“Nope. Seriously. Now that I know the truth …” I give him a shrug. “I’m just here to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’ll talk about it more if you want.”

“No. I’m here to be company, to bring you food …” His foot shifts again, pressed up against mine. To keep playing footsy …? “And not just to get the scoop. Living in a small town like this, you get scoops all day long. I’m up to here with scoops. What I came over for was to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why the sudden 180?” he asks me. “Last time you were here, when we went down to the beach no one’s supposed to be on, I felt like a thorn in your ass.”

“Really? No.” That makes me let out a laugh despite myself. “It was … kind of exhilarating.”

“Exhilarating?” he asks, leaning forward. It causes his foot to graze mine again. I can’t help but think it’s starting to feel more intentional every time he does it.

“Yes, exhilar— ouch .” I wince, having turned my neck wrong and causing my sore shoulder to twinge again.

“You okay?”

“Sorry, yeah, it’s nothing. Overhead presses,” I mutter with half a laugh. “Went too hard earlier at the gym.”

“Oh, you got a kink?”

My eyes snap to his. “A what?”

“Kink. In your shoulder. I could work it out for you. I have masterful thumbs,” he insists, lifting his fingers and wiggling them like he’s about to tickle me.

“Other than the fact that two of my friends are professional masseuses and I picked up a trick or two after traveling to Thailand for a film—it was a honeymoon scene, spa day, massages, the works. Want me to try?”

The thought of his hands on me right now. The amount of pent-up I’ve been since the breakup—and even before it. The sparkle of delight in his eyes at the prospect of helping me out. “I … I really …”

“It’s no problem,” he insists, cutting straight through my reluctance and picking up on my curiosity.

Then he’s out of his chair and behind mine in the next instant.

His hands touch my shoulders.

“Here?” he murmurs quietly.

It’s a miracle, how his thumbs find the exact spot.

I close my eyes. “ Hrmm …” I confirm.

“That a yes?”

“ H’ummph …” I confirm again.

His thumbs gently begin to knead my neck.

The heat of his hands is perfect, pressing into my skin.

I try not to react too much, playing it cool, but with every push of his warm fingers into my shoulders, more of me comes undone.

I feel like I’m hanging on the edge of letting out an unintended whimper.

I’d better not. That would be embarrassing.

“Is it good?” he asks me. “Too soft? Too hard?”

The second he asks the question, I feel the front of his body press against my back.

Probably unintentional. Most likely not meant to seem like he’s grinding his dick against me.

But it sure has the effect of waking up my own.

“It’s hard,” I answer, flushing.

“Too hard?”

It’s been way too long. I’m not myself. “N-Not yet.”

“So you want it harder?”

What’re we talking about exactly? “Y-Yeah.”

His thumbs oblige. So does my dick, waking up fast.

I control my breathing. He’s only doing me a favor. He just wants me to feel better. This is River’s way of paying me back for the food and the company.

His front grinds against me more.

I swear it’s his dick. I swear he’s hard, too. I can feel it every time he digs his fingers into my shoulder, causing his body to move and press against me.

He wouldn’t be this bold, would he?

That’s when a new thought hits me. Is he even aware that he’s grinding against my back?

Is it all in my head? Is he just innocently massaging my shoulder, unaware of the presence of his body against mine and what it’s doing to stir up everything in me that’s laid dormant and abandoned for so long?

My dick is so hard, it’s literally crying.

Crying. As in leaking.

In my underwear. Hard and leaking. Just from the way he makes love to my shoulders with his thumbs.

Fucking hell, he really is making love to them.

And I’m a second away from letting out my pleasure in an embarrassing, body-trembling moan.

And the fact that I’m admittedly sleep-deprived has my dreamy mind in such a state of between-realities, I cannot say with confidence what’s even real.

“If you want,” he murmurs— his lips are so close to my ear, and the tingles of delight his voice casts over my body is so unfair —“you can lie on the couch and I can give you a much better massage. Trust me, I’ve got a few techniques up my sleeve, and three of them involve my elbow …”

I’m not even kidding. I might come.

I should go. I should seriously go. This isn’t right. For me to be enjoying this so much.

That’s what’s happening, right? I’m enjoying this?