14. Libby #2
As I ease onto the blanket and pull my legs in, Fisher’s scowl deepens and he whips out his own blanket, practically setting it on top of Wilder’s. He lets out a heavy sigh and shuffles closer. But before he can sit, Bing reappears, taking the spot on the other side of me.
Biting back a smile, I focus my attention on Wilder. “Not too bad. I’m loving the weather now that it’s finally getting warmer. Is there a place to go swimming when it gets hot?”
With a frown, Wilder leans forward, peering at his friend. “Fisher hasn’t shown you the beach?”
I shake my head. “Oh, no. He doesn’t have?—”
Wilder winks. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you to all the good spots.”
Fisher grunts and eyes his dog as he settles on the other side of him.
I open my mouth, ready to tease him about it, but snap it shut again when my phone dings. With a muttered excuse me , I dig it out of my pocket and look away from both guys and the dog sandwiching me.
Brad: What the fuck kind of games are you playing? If the money isn’t back in my account by morning, you’ll regret it.
I frown at the text. What money? I haven’t taken any?—
The words from the headline materialize in my mind, and I snort.
Of course the asshole didn’t make that donation.
But why does he think I had anything to do with it?
The humor dies quickly when I realize that this will just be another thing I have to deal with, and it doesn’t even involve me.
Though I’d like to kiss whoever did transfer the money to that charity. What sweet karma that is.
“Everything all right?” Fisher asks, peering over Bing.
I press the button on the side of the phone so that the screen goes black and smile. “Everything’s perfect. Oh, people are dancing. Want to dance?”
While I do like dancing, the words were the first to come to mind in my effort to distract Fisher from what he may or may not have seen on my phone screen. He’s already more interested in my problems than I’d like. The last thing I want is for him to discover what I’ve been hiding.
“Fisher doesn’t dance.” Sutton drops to the blanket with a harumph.
Lindsey jumps into her lap, her head tilted and the sweetest smile on her face, and says, “I dance.”
Wilder pushes to his feet and offers me a hand. “So do I. Come on, Libby. Let me show you the best thing about this island.”
With a snort, I accept his outstretched hand. “The grass?”
He winks as he pulls me close. “No, my moves.”
He spins me out and pulls me back in. Then he guides me to a small area in the middle of the park where a few couples are dancing.
When the music shifts to a slower ballad, he tugs me close and sways to the music.
“Don’t look now, but we’ve got an audience.
” Despite his command, he spins so I can’t miss the way Fisher watches us.
For a moment, lightness fills my chest, but as Lindsey chatters beside us and Sutton laughs in response, I shake it off.
“Yeah, Fisher never takes his eyes off Sutton.”
Wilder chuckles, eyes locked on me. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
Brow arched, he looks down at me. “Fisher likes you.”
I scoff. “He definitely does not like me.”
The smile that splits his lips is wicked. I can see exactly why the tourists enjoy him. I bet he’s a lot of fun. “Oh, he likes you, all right.”
Flustered, I look away, but doing so puts Fisher right in my line of sight. His stare has turned to a glare, and he doesn’t even try to hide it, nor does he look away. Does he like me? Or is he just annoyed with me?
“I’m not dating this summer.”
Wilder smirks. “Neither am I, but see that girl over there?” He spins so I’m looking at a group of three women huddled together.
One of them, a blonde, is staring daggers at me.
“She’s not getting the message, so I’m going to pull you a little closer.
” He tugs me tight against his chest, making it impossible not to feel every ridge and peak of his muscular body.
Because he warned me that he’d be touching me, I don’t pull away, and because I know this is all for show, I relax into his embrace.
Two beats later, his chest rumbles with laughter.
I pull back and peer up at him, only to be yanked away from his hold by a hand on my waist.
“Time to eat,” Fisher grumbles.
My heart stumbles as his scent washes over me. “I don’t want to eat. I want to dance.”
“Woman says she wants to dance,” Wilder teases, grasping my hand in an attempt to spin me away.
Fisher holds tight to my hips. “Fine, then you’re dancing with me,” he murmurs in my ear. His words, and the teasing breath that escapes when he says them, cause another chill to slide down my arms.
To hide the effect he has on me, I grin and spin in his direction, looping my arms around his neck.
“If you wanted to dance so badly, you could have just asked.” Behind him, a handful of women are watching, including the one from the bakery, and she doesn’t look happy. “Or you could have asked one of them.”
Without turning to see who I’m talking about, he tucks an errant hair behind my ear and pulls me close.
As if on cue, the guitarist begins the opening to “Crash” by the Dave Matthews Band.
“I didn’t want to dance with them.”
I don’t argue with him. I don’t even question his motives. I just rest my head against his chest and smile, enjoying the feel of his body pressed to mine a little more than I should.