Chapter 27
Garrett
Angela’s pizza bikini leaves nothing to the imagination, but mine is in overdrive anyway.
Droplets of water gleam on her shoulders, her tits, her ass.
My hands itch to touch her again, and these stupid rubber ducky trunks cup my junk so hard, the surge of blood in that direction is more unfortunate than usual.
Every moment I spend with this woman makes me want her more than I did before. Which is saying a lot.
“Excuse me, Mister?” A young man with sun-bleached hair and skin the color of a nut taps me on the shoulder. “It looks like your girl is caught in a riptide.” He nods towards Angela who has drifted far from shore but appears clueless about her situation.
“Fuck.” I wipe my hands through my hair and wade into the surf, calling a curt “Thank you!” over my shoulder.
I dive in, my arms slicing the water, pulling through the waves, my focus locked on Angela as she drifts further and further away. The current is strong, pushing me towards her but not fast enough.
Not fast enough.
She doesn’t know she’s in danger. Doesn’t know she’s caught in a riptide. Doesn’t know she’s being pulled out to sea. I kick harder, desperate to get to her sooner, faster, now. My lungs burn and my muscles ache. Salt stings my eyes and I shake water out of my hair as I come to a stop beside her.
She’s surprised by my arrival. “What are you—”
“You’re in a riptide. Hug your board and swim this way.” I wrap an arm around her slick body, aiming us parallel to shore.
“Garrett…” Her voice is light. Amused. She never takes anything seriously. But this? This is fucking serious. This is how drownings happen and I won’t, I can’t, let that happen.
Not to her.
Not on my watch.
“Don’t argue, Angel. Swim.” I kick my legs and she follows suit, the two of us slicing through the water like our bodies were made to work together.
As we exit the current, I aim us for shore, holding her even though she’s safe now.
She has her board to keep her afloat and the waves are guiding us to the beach instead of dragging us away.
Water pours out of my shorts as we emerge from the ocean. I blow air past pursed lips, fighting to catch my breath. “Are you okay?”
I straighten, looking her over for any signs of injury. She’s barely winded, staring at me like I’m the butt of a joke while my lungs burn.
“Garrett, I’m fine.” Angela swipes her hair back from her face then pulls it over her shoulder to wring it out. The nonchalant shake of her head says she’s oblivious to what just happened.
“You were caught in a rip current.” I suck in air, revved up on adrenaline and exertion. “They’re dangerous…”
She puts a hand on my arm. “I grew up in the Keys, with the ocean as my backyard. I know how to swim out of a riptide.”
I bark an embarrassed laugh, hands on knees, still catching my breath. “Right. Obviously.”
“But thank you, for swimming out there to save my life. It’s nice to know I have a prince waiting to save me, even if I’m no damsel in distress.”
Straightening, I shake my head as I swipe my hair off my forehead. “I feel like you’re making fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun. Why would you think that?” Angela rolls her eyes skyward, popping her fists on her hips. “Silly me. The answer to that is obvious. You see the worst in everything.”
If that’s true, I think, then why do I see the best in you?
I scrub my mouth to keep the thought inside, where it belongs.
“Garrett.” A hand on my arm. A sweet smile. “Thank you. Truly. You were swimming like your life depended on it.”
I was swimming like her life depended on it. When did I start caring about her enough to react first and ask questions later?
I scowl as Angela’s lips quirk into a crooked smile.
“See, now I feel like you’re laughing at me again.”
“I’m not.” She holds up her hands. “I promise. It was really sweet. And now I know you’ll keep me safe from assholes named Tank armed with cheap pickup lines and rip currents dragging me out to sea.”
“Both things you can handle on your own, apparently.”
“But now I don’t need to. Because I’ve got you.”
Angela smiles up at me, her hand on my arm. Her touch lingers, like she’s hesitant to let go, and I get that, I do. I’ve had her in my arms twice now and in my head for days.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say, as a man and his dog amble past. “I’m no prince.”
“You can drop the tough guy act, Bucko. We both know you’ll come charging to the rescue the moment you think I’m in trouble.” Her smile grows. Her eyes sparkle. She looks so fucking perfect it makes my head hurt.
I turn away. “See, now I know you’re laughing at me.”
“I’m laughing, but not at you…”
“Jesus.” Disappointment sinks my heart into my stomach before I look to her. “If you say you’re laughing with me…”
“Obviously I’m not laughing with you, because you’re not laughing. I’m just…having some fun.” Angela drops her hands from her hips, her smile fading.
“At my expense.”
“No, Garrett! Not at your expense. I’m having fun, in the sun, at the beach, with you.” She stabs a finger into my chest in time with her last two words. Her gaze drops to my pec. She bites her bottom lip, then drags her eyes back to mine, hopeful I saw nothing.
I see everything, Angel. The sooner you realize that, the better.
I saw the way she shivered while I rubbed sunscreen into her skin. I saw the way she couldn’t stop staring at my junk when I walked out of the changing room. I see the way she wants me, almost as much as I want her.
I wipe a hand over my face to hide a smile. “Why do I feel like you still managed to sneak in an ‘I’m laughing with you?’”
“I don’t know,” she says, sighing deeply, “maybe because you’re clinically cynical?”
“Clinically cynical.” I snort and shake my head while Angela’s eyes go wide.
“That makes you laugh? Not the rubber ducky shorts? Not the pizza bikini? Not rescuing me when I didn’t need rescued? But ‘clinically cynical’ does it for you.”
“What can I say? I’m a complex guy.”
Truth be told, she does it for me.
And I’m tired of pretending she doesn’t.