Chapter 9
Tai
“The last time I was on a boat, I was wearing a tiny pink speedo,” I casually mention as we step onto the launch ramp at dinnertime the next day. Getting a reaction from Connor has become my favorite hobby recently, and he doesn’t disappoint.
He chokes on nothing, inhaling so sharply that he coughs and turns his head away. A grin lights up my face as I sling my arm around his shoulders. They’re so broad that I drape my hand over the back of his neck instead.
“What’s the matter, chippoke?”
After another small cough, he twists to glance at me, his face flushed deep red. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”
“It is.”
“What does it mean?”
I tap a finger against my chin, pretending to consider the question. “I’m not sure you’ve earned the right to know yet.”
“Oh?” He steps onto the boat’s deck and turns to face me again, offering his hand.
I roll my eyes, but inside I melt at how much of a gentleman he is.
Even the nicest guys from my past don’t come close to Connor’s caretaker nature.
There’s a fine line between polite and flirty, and I’m trying my best not to read every little thing he does as another sign that he feels the same connection as I do.
It’s hard not to, though, when I remember the almost-kiss in our room yesterday, and again on the beach.
I’d be an idiot not to recognize this for what it is, and that’s why it scares me.
Everyone knows you never fall for the straight man you meet on vacation, but with Connor it feels inevitable… and temporary.
Is it better to miss out on the chance for something extraordinary simply because it has an expiration date, or to dive in wholeheartedly even though you know it will eventually end?
My heart and my brain are at war, and it’s no surprise who’s winning.
The heart.
Of course, the fucking heart.
That stupid, stupid organ that beats double time whenever he’s near.
Connor’s hand settles on my waist as we make our way toward the dining room on the resort’s boat. The restaurant occupies the lower level, while a bar and dance floor take up the upper deck. Expansive wraparound decks circle the entire ship, offering sweeping views of the water.
“You can’t just keep calling me that without telling me what it means,” Connor says, his thumb tracing slow, maddening circles against the dip of my spine.
“Oh, but I’m pretty positive I can,” I reply, fighting a smile.
He chuckles softly. “What do I have to do to earn that knowledge?”
“Save me from this dinner when it gets too crazy.” At the last event, one of the bridesmaids, Teri, kept grabbing my arm and trying to flirt.
She hadn’t been easily discouraged, though watching Connor’s jealousy flare had been a thrill all on its own.
“Or if the bridesmaids get too handsy,” I add, just to see his reaction.
Connor’s fingers flex against my shirt as he tugs me closer, letting out a low grumble that borders on a growl.
I half-turn into him as we slow our pace. “What’s wrong, big guy?”
He looks down at his fist bunching the fabric of my shirt. “You don’t want people touching you?”
“I don’t want other people touching me.”
He swallows roughly, the sound loud enough to hear over the noise. “Just making sure I haven’t misread the situation.”
“You haven’t,” I say in a rush. The tip of his finger slips beneath the hem of my shirt, brushing warm skin at the small of my back. “You haven’t misread anything.”
“Say the word and I’ll swoop in to save you.”
“There you go, offering to be my white knight again,” I tease, running my knuckles up the line of buttons on the front of his shirt. “What’s the code word? Maybe we should come up with a special bird call or something?”
His quiet laugh breaks some of the tension as his grip eases. We both stare into the double doors as though we’re about to enter a wasteland instead of a fancy restaurant.
It’s absurd how possessive I feel over him already.
Dinner will just be a few hours, but I don’t want to share even that much of his attention.
As if he can read my mind, he pulls me closer and nuzzles his nose into my hair.
His chest rises with a deep inhale, and I swear I feel the ghost of a kiss brush against my temple.
“Just to be clear,” I say, my heart thudding heavily behind my ribs, “I like it when you touch me.”
“Good. I like touching you.”
“Are you always this affectionate with your friends?”
“Friends?” he whispers, and this time I’m certain he presses his lips against my forehead. “No. You’re different. Everything feels different with you.”
My head tilts back until our eyes meet. The flutters in my stomach flap and thrash so violently they surge up into my throat. His gaze drops to my mouth and then lifts again, and suddenly he’s leaning closer. The soft hair at the nape of his neck brushes my fingers as I tug him down.
His breath ghosts across my lips, his stubble grazes my cheek, and…
Connor jumps when a high-pitched ring erupts from his pocket. He turns his head away with an awkward laugh. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face before pulling out his phone. He heaves a heavy sigh at the screen. “I… I need to answer this.”
Apology and regret flicker across his expression, mixed with that ever-present hint of confusion that always seems to surface whenever it involves me.
“Yeah, okay,” I say, carefully untangling myself from his embrace. “I’m just gonna…” I gesture vaguely toward the restaurant.
“Right. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you in there, alright?” He swipes the screen and brings the phone to his ear, turning his back to me as he walks over to the railing and leans against it.
I stare at his back, trying to decide if the interruption was divine intervention or a cruel joke. Then I exhale slowly, and force calm as I step into the party. It’s exactly what I expected—another social obligation to bring the wedding party together.
Impatience nips at my heels as I suffer through the small talk, even though I know my annoyance is irrational.
I’m part of the wedding party, after all.
This isn’t an unreasonable request, because it’s the entire reason I’m here.
Under normal circumstances I’d be more than ready for the human interaction.
Under normal circumstances, though, I wouldn’t have Connor.
I wouldn’t have the ghost of his almost-kiss still lingering on my lips or the faint trace of his cologne clinging to my shirt.
Throughout the meal, our eyes keep finding each other across the table.
When Teri reaches for my arm again, Connor’s reaction is immediate.
A snarl pulls his lip back as pure anger flashes in his eyes for the first time.
I politely remove her hand and hold his stare, silently trying to communicate across the distance that she’s not the one I want.
Cho and Andrew review the plans for the rest of the week, but paying attention proves to be a chore. The rehearsal is tomorrow, the wedding the following afternoon, and the reception will likely stretch late into the night.
In three days, the bridesmaids and groomsmen will pack up and leave, and I will still be here.
Alone.
The thought hurts more than it has any right to.
For two long hours, stories pass back and forth about Cho and Andrew.
How they first met, and the connections they share with everyone at the table.
Years of carefully cultivated self-control are tested as I force myself not to check the time every few minutes.
It’s not like we could escape, anyway. The constant hum of the boat’s motor vibrates beneath us, reminding me that even if we snuck away, we’re still trapped on the cruise for several more hours.
My time with Connor is slipping away, and I feel the coming absence like a noose slowly tightening around my neck. I force myself to breathe and loosen the knot.
A half hour later, Cho finally announces that they are heading upstairs to dance. Everyone rises as one and begins to disperse. Teri hesitates beside me, but my focus is already elsewhere.
Like two planets caught in orbit, some inexplicable force draws Connor and me back together. The moment we stand side by side, his hand settles on my back. I lean into it and surrender to the pull of gravity.
“What’s your big plan for tonight?” he asks.
I grin and nod toward the stairs. “Follow me.”
Upstairs in the bar, Connor and I sit across from each other at a high-top table. Karaoke is in full swing, and Cho stands in a long line of swaying, half-drunk people waiting for their turn on stage. The poor girl can’t sing to save her life, but she has absolutely no shame about it.
“Drinking games?” Connor asks, sweeping his hand over the three shot glasses lined up in front of each of us.
“Nah, just drinking.”
“When do we take a shot?”
I pick one up and raise it to my lips, smiling around the rim. “Whenever we want to.”
“Hold up a second!” Connor objects. “Rude to drink without me, don’t you think?”
A few drops splash onto my lips as I pull the glass away in surprise. His eyes drop to my mouth as I lick them off, and then he quickly grabs a shot for himself. He lifts the glass higher, staring at the milky liquid inside.
“What’s in this?”
“Fireball and RumChata, with a cinnamon sugar rim. They’re fucking delicious.”
“They sound like trouble.”
“That’s been a running theme between us,” I shoot back.
He blows out a heavy breath and holds his drink out toward me. “To us, and the trouble we keep finding.”
They’re simple words, but they make my heart skip a full beat inside my chest. “To us,” I echo, clicking my glass against his before we both toss the shots back with a hiss.
“Alright, chippoke,” I say as I set my glass on the table, enjoying the burn. “Double Dare. You first.”
He glares and points his empty shot glass at me. “I dare you to tell me what that means.”
“Ahh, but how will you reciprocate?” I tease.
He wrinkles his nose. “Fine. I dare you to take another shot.”