Page 15 of Tides Of Your Love (Riviera Shores #3)

Owen

IT WASN’T EASY TO REMEMBER we weren’t on a date.

It wasn’t easy to convince myself we weren’t on one.

It wasn’t easy to recall the last time I had talked to someone like this.

Not even with Simon.

Simon was my pillar, but he never challenged me on my choices, never interfered, never dug into the underlying issues.

To him, my ability to adapt—to shift into whatever version of myself the world needed—was discipline, work ethic.

To me, too. And that was the problem. I couldn’t tell him how exhausting it was to always be performing, always live up to everyone’s expectations, to live in a constant state of auditioning for a role I could never step out of.

To be buried under the weight of everything I’d swept under the rug.

My grandfather was just as competitive, just as obsessed with winning as I was. Maybe even worse, considering what he had planned for poor Clarice. He was proud of what I’d become, though he never stopped complaining that I’d done it so far from home.

But Rio ...

With just a few sentences, questions, and digs, she shoveled through layers of bullshit I had spent years stacking. And I had a feeling she was holding back from digging deeper.

I wasn’t sure I wanted her to. I’d spent too long believing that the version of myself I projected was the one that mattered—that if I just kept pushing forward, if I became that version, if I kept proving myself, I’d finally feel like I’d made it.

That I was enough. And I wasn’t there yet. The goal line kept shifting.

“Do you think Clarice will still be there?” Rio asked as we drove back from the restaurant.

“I hope so. I hope she didn’t run off screaming with Scrabble tiles chasing her.”

She laughed, then threw me a look—playful, daring. “What if we surprise them?”

I shot her a dry look. “I’d rather not walk in on a game of strip Scrabble, thanks.”

Her grin turned wicked. “You think they’d go that far?”

“I don’t want to think about it at all.”

When the laughter died away, silence crept in—hanging between us, charged. The car radio hummed low, but it didn’t drown out the memories pushing their way in.

We were once the ones afraid to be caught.

And now? Now, I wasn’t sure what we were.

The house was still and dark when we stepped inside. Walter’s door was shut. Rio tapped it lightly, then peeked in.

“He’s snoring,” she whispered .

We moved upstairs, the dim glow from the hall light casting long shadows ahead of us. The hush, the quiet sound of our feet on the stairs, the way her presence filled me even without touch—it all felt like stepping into a memory, one I shouldn’t still crave.

At the second-floor landing, the light caught in the warmth of her deep brown eyes, framed by those soft bangs.

It wasn’t easy to remember why I shouldn’t want to reach out and touch her.

It wasn’t easy to forget that I once had.

“Thanks for dinner,” she murmured.

“Thanks for the company.”

“Ditto.” She smiled. “Good night, Owen.”

For the first time, I felt like catching that tiny pause before she pronounced the G—closing the space, kissing the words right out of her mouth.

Tension stretched between us, thick and crackling, bouncing off the white-washed walls and wrapping around us. My pulse wasn’t steady anymore—it drummed against my chest, echoing in my ears.

All I could see were her eyes. All I could think about was how her lips had once tasted like strawberries. The scent wasn’t even on her tonight, but it lingered anyway, taunting me.

Rio’s gaze was locked on mine, and I knew—knew without a doubt—that the same thoughts, the same memories, the same ache, flickered through her mind, too.

But what could I offer her?

A recovering athlete, counting the days until I left again. A man who could list his trophies but chased the ones he hadn’t won yet. A man who had never said I love you to anyone.

Millions loved me now, but I always had to prove myself in some way to be loved. If they knew who I was without my career, without my achievements, without the perfectly curated image, without the face that made cameras linger and sold headlines and campaigns—

Would they even look twice?

Would she?

THE GUEST ROOM WAS small and too damn flowery, the bed beneath us dipping slightly where we sat side by side. The scent of fresh laundry lingered in the air, lacing with the trace of Rio’s shampoo.

She was too close. Then she slipped closer.

I inhaled.

She looked up at me, heat shimmering in her eyes—anticipation, uncertainty, need. Her breath came shallow, her lips parted, glossed with a faint sheen that smelled sweet.

My heart hammered. The air between us was dense with the questions and truths we’d tossed back and forth earlier, with everything I hadn’t let myself consider until now, and with the certainty of where this was heading.

With wanting it.

And knowing I shouldn’t.

And then she kissed me .

Soft at first, tentative. A breath, a taste—warm, sweet.

But then her fingers curled in my shirt, and I was gone.

I pulled her closer, wrapping my arms around her, feeling her body against my chest. My fingers threaded into her hair, as I cupped her face, my thumb grazing her cheek, melding her mouth to mine.

Her lips moved against mine, strawberry and heat, and I let myself drown in it, in her.

Knowing damn well I shouldn’t.

I broke away, leaning my forehead on hers, dragging in air like I’d surfaced from deep water, ignoring the forming hardness in my jeans. “Rio ...” My voice was rough. “I’m not for you. This isn’t a good idea.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. Just breathed against me and traced her fingers from my shoulder down my arm, slipping her palm beneath the short sleeve of my tee, her hand molding to my bicep.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” she whispered.

“You’ll be gone soon, anyway.” She gave me a small, knowing smile, her eyes too damn wise for the girl in front of me.

I should have stopped there. Should have walked away.

Then her fingers moved under my sleeve, slow and absent, like she wasn’t even aware of what she was doing—skimming over my skin, searing heat into me. A simple touch, yet it burned, a live current surging through me, unraveling the last frayed thread of my resolve.

Her lips found mine again.

And just like that, my good intentions vanished.