Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Chrissy
Kissing Ace was a terrible— but oh-so-excellent—idea.
But mostly terrible. Because there’s no going back now. Not for me.
By the time the movie ends, I've completely lost the plot of Jaws and am so drunk on his kisses that rational thought is impossible. I feel unsteady on my feet, too, though whether that’s from floating in the lake for two hours or from the marathon make-out session, I can’t be sure.
We step back onto the dock and return our inner tubes, and we both tug clothes on over our swimsuits.
A real shame, in Ace’s case. The man is built like a Greek god.
Then he walks me to my car in the parking lot, and I purposely dig around in my purse for my keys, despite knowing full well they’re in my pocket.
“This was a great first date, if I do say so myself,” Ace says.
“Was this a date? I thought it was a mandatory team-building exercise.”
He grins. "You saying I didn't successfully sweep you off your feet tonight?"
"We were floating in inner tubes,” I point out. “It was literally impossible to keep my feet on the ground.”
He feigns a wounded expression. "Must you always argue, Speed Racer?”
I laugh despite myself, and his expression softens immediately at the sound.
That's becoming dangerous. Ace is always so aware of me. Every laugh, every movement, every glance. It makes it too easy to forget that men like him usually don't stay interested for long.
Because Ace is charming. Social. The kind of man everybody likes immediately.
Meanwhile I've spent the last few years working too much, helping my mom keep things together after Dad passed, and pretending I didn't miss the parts of myself that used to feel ambitious and competitive and fun.
Then Ace showed up acting like challenging me to a kayak race was the best thing to happen to him all summer.
And against all common sense, I liked it too.
He steps closer, close enough that the warm summer air suddenly feels thinner. "But for the record, I always have the best time with you.”
There’s no teasing in his tone. He seems completely sincere.
Before I can answer, Ace reaches up and brushes a damp strand of hair back from my cheek. His touch is light, almost careful, but it sends heat rushing through me anyway. I should probably stop this and get in my car before it gets any more complicated.
Instead, I kiss him again.
He makes a low sound against my mouth that nearly wrecks me.
His hands slide to my waist, steady and warm, pulling me in until I can feel the solid line of his body against mine.
My fingers slide up into the back of his hair while his thumbs brush lightly against my sides, slipping just beneath the hem of my tank top as the kiss deepens.
Everything about him feels warm. Solid. And all I want to do is press my body closer, to feel the heat of him everywhere.
When we finally break apart, both breathing harder, Ace rests his forehead against mine.
"Come home with me, Chrissy," he says quietly.
A nervous flutter moves through my stomach. I study him in the glow from the marina lights. His expression is open. Hopeful, even—like he genuinely wants nothing more in the world than me.
"You move fast…”
His eyes meet mine. “Do you want to take it slower? I’m not trying to rush you.”
“I’m just…” I lick my lips and work up the nerve to ask the question that needs asking. "I’m asking if I should be worried."
He goes quiet for a beat. The sounds of the marina drift around us—water lapping against the docks, distant music somewhere across the lake, laughter coming from Mercury Slice.
Then Ace shakes his head. "I don't want a casual thing with you."
My heart stutters before roaring to life at triple speed. It’s what I wanted to hear, but at the same time, it’d be easier if he were exactly what I expected—the easy, charming playboy who I should resist.
Instead, he's standing here looking at me like he means exactly what he says. He doesn’t want a casual thing with me. He set me apart from everyone else. In Ace’s eyes, I’m special.
And if it turns out he’s lying, I’ll be devastated. My heart may never recover.
Ace brushes his thumb lightly across my hip. "Come home with me, Chrissy. Please."