Page 28

Tealey

A gentle knock on the door has me sitting up in bed. “Yes?”

“You still up?” Rad whispers from the other side of the door.

Not sure what he’s doing here, I push off the bed and answer it, leaning my cheek against the painted wood. “Hi.”

He smiles. “Hi. The day got away from me before I could talk to you.”

“About anything specifically?” My stomach flutters with the butterflies I brought in from the beach.

His gaze drops to our feet. Everything slows when his eyes meet mine again, and he says, “I’ve been thinking about you.”

I lick my lips and swallow as my spine straightens, not wanting to be slouching during such a confession. Gripping the door, I ask, “You have?”

“I have, and I was thinking . . . wondering . . . Well, I haven’t exactly used words to show you what I’m thinking.

And I want to change that. I’ve held back in fear of you saying no.

But I’ve been thinking about us and the possibility of more.

More of us.” He looks down briefly, and if I didn’t know Rad as well as I do, I’d think he was nervous.

But then he looks back up with no hesitation.

“I want to know if you’ve been thinking about me . . . about us . . . like that as well?”

Do I confess my sin? Tell him how I’ve started to fantasize about him? What turns him on and hoping that damn towel would drop? And that with every touch, cuddle, and smile, I’ve felt more and more attracted to him?

Or do I shut this conversation down and bury my feelings in the sand tomorrow when I go to the beach?

His eyes search mine in earnest, so I say, “I . . .” I take a quick breath and exhale. “I have thought about you. A lot, in fact.” I didn’t know I could shock Rad, but I managed it.

“Really?”

I’ll blame the alcohol tonight for my slippery tongue and deal with the repercussions in the morning. “Terribly naughty thoughts.”

“Even better.” He cups my face and kisses me.

His lips against mine.

Mine against his.

Rad is kissing me. His mouth is embracing mine, and I’m wasting time thinking about the fact that he’s doing it instead of participating. Just when I lean in for more pressure, he pulls away too soon. “Did I screw up by telling you?”

“You didn’t screw up.” I tug him inside the bedroom, and this time, I kiss him. I just do it, moving on instinct, following my heart . . . and my desire .