Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ETHAN
I’ve never had a woman look at me the way Chloe does.
Don’t get me wrong, I get my fair share of stares, but Chloe’s gaze is different. It’s like she’s looking right at me, burning down every wall I’ve spent years putting up.
This woman doesn’t give up. I respect that. She lives entirely in the moment. I envy that.
She sets down her glass, and my eyes snag on the scar on her shoulder—the place where her skin cancer was cut out.
A strange coldness grips my throat. The woman sitting beside me right now looks anything but unwell. She’s all sparkly eyes and bouncing energy.
Now that I’ve gotten to know her, I can’t imagine a world without her smiles.
“So, when’s the last time you had sex?” she asks, her tongue playing with her teeth as she smiles.
I probably shouldn’t tell her that I could fuck my own hand right now if she keeps doing that thing with her mouth.
“We still playing truth or dare?” I reply. “Because I didn’t say truth.”
She rolls her eyes. “Truth or dare.”
“Dare.”
Her smile grows. “I dare you to tell me when you last had sex.”
“When I last had sex,” I repeat.
Chuckling, she gives my shoulder a little shove. I could get used to the sound of her laugh. It’s so raw and free.
She drops the sex question, not that it matters. The last person I slept with was my ex, and we’ve been broken up for ages.
Lola stops by to let us know she’ll be down at the beach campfire a bit later, and Chloe says we’ll head down without even asking me. Zero surprises there.
The next round of drinks turns into two more, and as the evening drifts on, my shoe ends up resting on the rung of Chloe’s stool.
We talk about random shit—everything from our favorite concerts to why coffee smells even better than it tastes.
The conversation then shifts to deeper stuff, like how her parents don’t talk and how she’s been their go-between for years, trying to keep the peace.
I confess to her that my best friend got badly injured at work around a year ago—something I’ve barely told anyone.
She murmurs a sound of sympathy but thankfully doesn’t push for me to say anything more about it.
Leaning in to softly dig her forefinger into the space between my brows, she says, “You know, I’m gonna miss this when you take off back to the big smoke.”
“What? My highly evolved brain?”
“More like your grouchy little frown.” She runs the pad of her finger over the ridge between my eyes.
I narrow my gaze, deepening the crease, and she practically coos.
This girl is off her rocker. Why does that turn me on so much?
Why am I even sitting here with her—hours into the night, God knows how many drinks down, actually enjoying myself?
Pretending I haven’t been telling myself to avoid exactly this?
Chloe’s smile widens as she returns her hand to her glass. My gaze zeroes in on that sexy little gap between her teeth.
“And I’m gonna miss that.” I up-nod at her mouth while I suck on my beer.
Her thumb moves to her lips. “Miss what?”
I gently brush her hand away and thumb her chin to part her lips. “This.” Lightly, I press the tip of my thumb to the base of her front teeth. “This little gap here. It drives me fucking crazy.”
Her gaze clings to mine as she bites down on my thumb. The tip of her tongue grazes my skin, and a growl I can’t help rumbles in the back of my throat.
The whole “not my problem” mantra I’ve tried to adopt is starting to become “make her your problem” which is, in itself, a huge fucking problem.
I really need to stop flirting with her. But the booze has made my body feel warm and soft, and Chloe’s gaze has caught fire. My fingers curl around her chin and I tilt her face up to mine, drawing a little gasp from her.
My eyes feel heavy as I stare at her, tightening my grip on her jaw and giving it a firmer tug toward me. Did she just moan? Tension floods my chest, my fingers, my dick.
I’m already at half-mast, which doesn’t bode well for this campfire she thinks we’re going to.
At the moment, I can’t go anywhere without making a fool out of myself.
I shift on my stool and reluctantly let her go. But the gleam in her eyes doesn’t fade.
She knows she’s got me. She knows I want to fuck her, and I’m pretty certain she wants to fuck me too.
But I can’t.
Why can’t I again? We’re consenting adults, and there’s nothing wrong with a bit of holiday fun.
The problem is, something tells me that if I get a taste of this woman, I’m only gonna want more.
And if she feels the same way, goodbye, self-control.
Goodbye, schedule.
Goodbye, getting Mom and Dad’s house to where it needs to be before I have to go back to Philly.
This spell that Chloe and I have fallen under again needs to break.
“So, where’s this campfire?” I ask.
She twirls her paper straw in her glass. “Drink up and I’ll show you.”
We both throw back what’s left of our drinks, then push off our stools.
Chloe reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers tight.
My breathing speeds up as she leads me through the busy patio onto a strip of grass.
Soft sand kicks over my shoes, and the salty wind blowing off the sea rakes through my hair as we step onto the beach.
Down near the shoreline, flames flicker against the midnight-blue sea.
A group of figures gather around a fire in silhouette, some sitting, some standing.
I can’t quite focus beyond the feeling of Chloe’s hand still fitting snugly in mine.
With a thud, I realize the fun part of the night is over.
I’m gonna have to make conversation with these strangers—my least-favorite pastime.
A woman with ocean-blue hair and a flowy white dress jumps up to meet us. She kisses Chloe on the cheek, her eyes widening at our joined hands.
Chloe lets go, but her palm moves to my lower back. “Ethan, Willow. Willow, Ethan.”
I stick out a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Willow grins and gives me a formal handshake.
Chuckling, Chloe hands me a beer from the cooler. “Don’t worry, I’m loosening him up,” she says to Willow. “It’s a work-in-progress.”
“No one feels relaxed during a full moon,” Willow replies, tilting her face to the sky and throwing out her arms. “This is a night for manifesting and creating from the moon’s energy.”
Is she for real?
Everyone hanging around this fire looks like they’re members of a secret society that worships moon phases, and ocean tides. The guy sitting beside me with a bandana tied around his stringy blond hair looks like he just rode in on the last wave and has a name like Zeke.
Chloe introduces him as Ziggy (man, I was close), and I spend the next ten minutes thinking of creative ways to cut off my own ears while he drones on about his fantasy football team, “Gettin’ Ziggy with It.
” I keep myself entertained by asking for super-detailed stats and facts, watching him squirm as he tries to figure out whether I’m genuinely interested or just an asshole.
In case it wasn’t clear, it’s the latter. My specialty.
“I finally got released from the asylum,” chimes a raspy female voice.
I turn to spot Lola marching over with a guy I saw working at the bar earlier.
His arms are thicker than my thighs, and I couldn’t confirm he has a neck if it weren’t for the douchey puka shell necklace choking it.
My gaze slips to the two matchsticks poking out of his cargo shorts.
Looks like he missed leg day at the gym.
Lola turns to face Chloe and Willow, and the meathead slaps her ass. She spins to scowl at him, and he just holds up his drink. “Bottoms up!” He grins when she turns back around, then glances at me.
“Oh, hey. Saw you inside,” he grunts, lifting his chin. “David.”
I throw back a sip of beer. I should give him my name, but I already hate this guy, so I don’t. “Nice necklace.”
“Thanks. You here with Chloe?” He says to me. “She’s pretty hot. Makes a mean cup of coffee. Sweeter than my Lola, too, but what can I say? Lola’s mouth wasn’t made for talking, if you catch my drift.”
I catch his drift, and it makes me despise him even more. “Do you always talk about women like that?” I clip.
He blinks at me.
Jackass.
I step back over to Chloe. The blush that hits her cheeks when our eyes lock sends a twisting heat down my spine.
“You good?” she asks.
The truth is, I’m ready to cut and run now that it’s no longer just us. But her smile keeps my feet planted. “Yeah. You want a drink or anything?” When she gave me one earlier, she took none for herself.
She shakes her head. “I have a date with Theodore tomorrow, so I shouldn’t overdo it.”
A sharpness invades my rib cage. “A date with who?”
“My new surfboard. Theodore.”
The relief in my chest throws me off balance as Chloe blinks up at me. “Want to come?” she asks.
“On your date? That wouldn’t be very nice of me, would it?”
“But you’re not generally nice, so that checks out.”
My brows come together. “I’m nice.”
“No, you’re just the right amount of naughty.”
I make a rough swallow. She has no idea…
Willow glides between us, saving me from saying something I can’t take back. “I’m going to head out before Sebastian starts to worry,” she says. “It was lovely to meet you, Ethan.”
“You too,” I hear myself say.
After Willow heads off, Lola lifts her arm to David’s stumpy nose. “Can you smell it?”
He sniffs her arm. “Mmm, lust and sin. Sure can.”
She jerks her arm back. “Peach, you dickhead. From that daiquiri that out-of-towner spilled on me tonight. I fucking hate peaches.” She tears off her black sweater that only covers one shoulder. “I’m going to rinse off. You coming?”
David frowns. “I don’t have a bathing suit.”
“So?” She slips off one shoe, then the other.
“Sooo,” he draws out. “You know what I’ve told you about swimming at night.”
“It’s a full moon; it’s practically daylight. I’m only going in the shallows.”