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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

John

Sunlight reflects off the gentle waves. My arms ache—a delicious, lingering soreness from my all-nighter with Becca still humming through my muscles—but I grip the rod hard as it bends dangerously forward.

The reel screams as the fish takes off. “I've got a big one, help!” I shout to the guys, both panic and exhilaration mixing in my voice.

“I’ve seen it. Not that big,” Reed erupts in laughter.

“Fuck off, Cross.”

The guys scramble from their spots, joining me to help reel in this monster. Sweat slicks my palms. Adrenaline shooting through my veins.

I’ve been distracted all morning. I wasn’t thinking about when we return home, and it’s obvious that Becca has. All I cared about was winning her over. Making sure she knows how I feel and enjoy each and every moment with her.

Suddenly, the rod bucks again and practically bends in a u-shape.

Maybe I’ve hooked a shark as it drags the line behind the boat.

Corbin grabs the base of the rod, and Bryce holds onto my waist to keep me from falling in.

The line hisses and sips, slicing through the water in a frantic tug-of-war with the hidden beast below.

With every hard-fought inch, we haul it closer, the water turning and churning, then finally the beast shows his glittering, gleaming skin.

Perspiration drips from my face as we haul it closer and finally tug it over the boat’s edge.

The tuna isn’t as big as I thought it would be.

The tuna’s muscle flex and its scales catch the morning sun, glimmering as it thrashes wildly on the boat’s floor.

The guide weighs it, measures it, then we take the picture.

I’m in the middle of the ten-person photo, holding a magnificent trophy.

Strong and resilient. Beautiful and sleek.

Just like Becca.

She’s been through so much, and she’s a type-A personality. She’s not bossy, but she likes a schedule. Knowing in advance what she needs to do. She always wants to be in control, except when I tied her wrists. She had finally stopped squirming and gave into the feeling.

“Hey, where’s your mind?” Corbin asks after we toss the tuna back in. “Until you got that nibble, you seemed a million miles away. Hope you’re not having second thoughts about my sister.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, rotating my Stallions cap backward. “She’s already bringing up the long distance. Already looking for excuses for it not to work.”

“She loves you.”

My head whips around. “What did you say?”

“She texted me this morning.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and shows me the message.

Becca: I love John. Just thought you would want to know… being my bestie and my brother.

Corbin: That was fast.

Becca: Not as fast as you and Oakley

Corbin: True.

Becca: Accept it.

Corbin: If Basilio makes you happy, then I’m good.

Becca: I mean it. You better not make this awkward.

Corbin: You always say I’m too sweet for my own good. Now you think I’m going caveman on my best friend.

I chuckle. “Let’s take a picture with you beating your chest and send it to her.” She needs to not overanalyze this and clearly, she is if she thought she needed to warn off her brother.

Extending my arm, I take the selfie. I point to him as he beats his chest. When I look at the image, I have a goofy smile on my face. I tap send.

When we get back to the resort, the girls are on the beach, reading.

Becca is lying on her stomach. Her sunburn has turned into a golden tan, but I notice her shoulders are peeling.

I rummage through her tote bag, finding some lotion.

She startles and whispers, “How was Corbin? Did he really go caveman on you?”

“Let’s go to the cabana so I can put the lotion on your shoulders. Plus, lunch is supposed to be ready inside.” She swings her feet around and squiggles her toes into her sandals. We hold hands and hear a bunch of “Aww, it’s love,” coming from behind us.

It is.

The cabana offers some much-needed shade for me after it beat down on me for three hours while fishing.

“So?” she asks impatiently.

Squeezing the lotion onto my hands, I rub them together, then lather her shoulders with silky cool aloe-based lotion. “He was quiet at first. I wish I knew you had told him about how you feel. I could have been prepared.”

“He’s been my best friend my whole life. I thought he would take it better coming from me.”

I kiss the skin under her ear, and she giggles like a schoolgirl. “I’m pretty sure he’s known how I felt all along but tried to ignore it.”

My phone vibrates against my leg and when I pull it out, a string of unread messages stacks up on the screen.

Dad: Call me now.

His name flashes on the screen, but I let it buzz until it sends him to voicemail. It’s the fifth text and fourth voicemail I have from him. Ignoring him works better than talking to him.

Dad: Pick up.

Dad: Don’t push me, son.

Ha. He’s got to be kidding, thinking he can still call me son.

Dad: If you don’t answer me, you’re forcing my hand.

I feel utterly betrayed, and I won’t let him force me into reconciling with Stella. One, I don’t love her. Never did. Two, what man in his right mind would stay with a woman who slept with his dad?

Not me. It cemented that I knew I was taking the easy road with Stella. She was there, and I had recently gotten Becca’s message, rejecting me.

As I’m staring at the phone, Becca says, “You have to talk to him sometime. You deserve a chance to tell him to … to go to…” She balls her hands into fists .

“Hell. Tell him to go to hell?” I ask.

With a vigorous nod and an encouraging smile, she says, “Yeah. That.”

“So, you can say you want me to fuck you, but you can’t say ‘Go to hell,’” I mutter into her ear where no one else can hear.

She smacks my arm in jest. “You love embarrassing me.” It’s true I do; that’s when she’s the cutest. “But John, you need to talk to him. I know you’re hurting.”

“I’m fine.”

“He had sex with your girlfriend. Your dad is worse than Oakley’s, and that’s saying something.”

I shake my head, jaw tightening. “I don’t want you to think this is about Stella. It’s not. I promise it’s not. I just can’t b-believe he would think that’s okay. First, she’s thirty years younger than he is and?—”

She circles my waist with her lean but strong arms. “I know you don’t want her back.”

I push the phone deep into my pocket, tucking away my anger with it. My dad doesn’t get to ruin my vacation and my newfound happiness. “Why would I when I have you?”

“Exactly.” She beams, setting my heart ablaze. “I’m standing on my tippy toes, so can you please kiss me?”

“All day, sweet thing.”

He goes back and forth, calling me sunshine, sweet thing, pretty thing, and the occasional baby. I must admit I love his pet names for me.

Our mouths meet in a flurry of kisses, lips parted. “Thank you. I’ll call him when I get home. I’m not wasting a single moment of this reunion vacation with you.”

The gang files in, loading up our plates from the fajita bar the concierge set up. We sit at a long table underneath the cabana, discussing our plans for the last few days, making sure we do something that each person wants to do.

Today, it’s all sand between our toes and zinc-covered noses for the co-ed beach volleyball tournament.

We draw numbers for teams, then the games begin.

Five on five. Becca and I are on opposite teams. She’s small but as athletic as it gets.

However, her height puts her at a disadvantage, unable to spike the ball, but she does set up others nicely.

Becca’s team loses, and she cheers me on in the championship game—Bryce, Reed, Harper, and Brooke on my team, Corbin, Dane, Logan, Emmaline, and Lettie on the other. The rest of the crew digs their feet in the sand, watching while making fun and drinking. I think they’re the winners.

We play the game like we’re playing for the gold in the Olympics, and eventually, we get outscored by Corbin’s team. They have Dane and the two tallest girls of the group. Losers have to line dance after dinner at Pier Pressure.

Becca jumps up, giving me a consolation kiss, and I see Corbin shake his head, but he doesn’t say whatever it is that he’s thinking. If he thinks I can keep my hands off his sister, he’s dead wrong.

We gather our things and head back to our villas for a nap.

Tomorrow, we’re taking a hike to a waterfall.

I’m not thrilled as my arms and legs are already burning from all the sex and the big tuna.

The last thing I need is to go on a grueling hike and injure another body part.

We’re all being somewhat careful but since we’re out of the media’s prying eyes, we’re taking more chances than we’re supposed to.

My new contract with the Rattlers states that I can’t scuba dive, swim with sharks, jump from an airplane, and a bunch of other things.

For some reason, all our contracts let us golf, and I can tell you from firsthand experience that you can twist your back and jam an arm after you tee off.

True story. I beat my driver against the ground and was in shoulder pain for weeks.

It took weeks of physical therapy appointments to get it back to normal. But yeah, we can all golf.

Becca and I rinse off together in the outside shower.

Sex isn’t even on either of our minds; we’re drained.

She pulls on her buttercup yellow tank and her boy short underwear—my favorite.

They’re sporty, and the globes of her ass hang out.

So fucking sexy. We lie on top of the covers but pull the lightweight throw made of bamboo over us.

“Can you believe that Dawes and Christina came to the beach together?” Becca asks as her fingers trail down my arm.

We’ve barely seen them together all week. She’s done a few things with the girls, and he’s gone with us guys every day to golf or fish. “They’ve been doing this hot-and-cold routine for years. Nothing they do surprises me.”

I move the hair from her neck.

“Yeah, they’re the textbook case study for indecisive couples.”

I lean her back and look in her eyes. “You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”

“About you? No. But we do have to face the fact that this will be hard long distance. I don’t want you to resent not having your freedom.”

“Becca, you are my freedom. Freedom from my dad. Freedom from hockey. Freedom from being lonely.”