But that's not what's motivating me.
It's not wanting to teach her or wanting to fuck her or wanting to fuck with her.
It's wanting her.
Period.
I throw my head back, sending my wet hair with it. "Three waves. Then we talk."
"It's my turn."
"It is."
Her hand brushes my shoulder as she brings it to her hair. She moves closer. Until her shoulder is brushing mine.
Her brow furrows with confusion.
She doesn't get how we're this close.
I know better than to stay this close.
But I don't move. "I'm waiting."
"I, um, I have another idea."
"Yeah?"
"Ten fingers," she says. "First one out has to catch three waves."
"You're that interested in my sex life."
"You chicken?"
"Never." I offer my hand.
She shakes. "You first. I'll give you the advantage. Since you need it."
That's probably true. "Never have I ever taken it up the ass."
She makes a show of holding out all ten fingers. "Really?"
"Really."
"Do I seem like the type?"
"Yeah."
"What's that mean?"
"Well, you heard Rick. You're a tiny package of kink."
She flips me off. "Really?"
"No. But you seem game for anything."
"I feel like I should hit you."
"Just being honest."
She laughs. "It's ridiculous, but I believe that in your mind, that's a completely appropriate response." She runs her fingers through her wet hair. "Okay. My turn." She twirls a strand around her finger. "Never have I ever kissed a stranger."
"Fuck." I drop a finger. "You gonna continue this line of questioning?"
"Of course." Her smile spreads over her cheeks. "I play to win."
"You're cruel."
She copies my shrug. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not.
It's adorable.
She taps my shoulder. "Your turn."
"Never have I ever taken an AP class."
"I thought this game was about sex."
"Didn't specify that."
She drops a finger. Shakes her head. What bullshit. "Never have I ever fucked a cheerleader."
"You like girls?"
"No."
"Not fair."
"There are male cheerleaders."
"Not at our school."
"Still. They exist." She nods to my pointer finger. "Drop it, dick face."
"You ever gonna realize I take that as a compliment?"
"You know, you're right."
"I am?"
"I can't call you a dick face anymore. Your dick is special enough to have jewelry. Your face on the other hand…"
"I need to get a nose ring?"
She laughs. "Eyebrow maybe."
"Lip?"
"Tongue."
"Never have I ever fucked someone with a tongue ring," I say.
"Bull."
"It's true."
"Whatever." She drops her finger. "How did you know—"
"Everybody knew about you and—what was his name?"
"Kurt."
"That was after you left."
"I kept up on gossip." Even though we're essentially alone out here—there are another half a dozen surfers, but they're spread out, focused on the waves—I lean in to whisper. "Is it true what they say?"
"What is it they say?"
"Tongue rings blow your mind?"
"Oh, when they're—" She motions to her crotch.
Fuck, it's adorable. "Yeah."
"No… not in his case. But I'm not ruling it out as a possibility."
"Scientific."
She does her best Dean impression. "Should have stuck with me, sunshine. I would have blown your mind every night, three times a night."
"Sixty-nine times a night."
Her cheeks flush. "I've never."
"Really?"
"Drop it, Maddox."
Fuck, the way she says my last name… it's not burning hate or irritation or even raw desire. It's something softer. Something that hits me everywhere.
I drop my finger. "I'm sad for you."
"Uh-huh."
"You're missing out."
"Spare me the offer to enlighten me."
"You think I go down on any gorgeous woman who asks?"
"Yeah."
I can't exactly deny the allegations. "You think that little of yourself?"
"You can have low standards and still be with someone primo."
I can't help but smile. She makes an excellent point.
A wave rolls beneath us. Crests. Falls. Crashes into the sand and turns to white foam.
"That one was better," I say.
"It's your turn." She holds up her eight fingers. Nods to my mine. "You didn't drop your finger."
I do. "Never have I ever taken a self-defense class."
"I'm starting to think you entered this game under false pretenses." She drops a finger.
"I play to win."
"So do I." She turns to the horizon. Watches a set roll in. "Never have I ever suggested someone sit on a surfboard and talk instead of surfing."
"You suggested this."
"Did not."
"You started it."
"Absolutely not."
"All right. We both started it. Lose a finger."
She gnaws on her bottom lip, turning over my words. "Fine." She drops to seven fingers.
I'm down to six.
I pull my feet from the water. Copy her cross-legged position.
The air feels cold against my wet skin, so I move closer.
Closer.
Until I can feel the heat of her body.
Fuck, it feels good.
Too good.
I look down at her. "Never have I ever chickened out of giving a tattoo."
"I didn't chicken out."
"Bullshit."
"I was concerned about your mental health. You should be thanking me."
"Drop. The. Finger."
She does. She pulls her knees into her chest. Wraps her arms around them. "It's freezing, huh?"
"Not too late for the wetsuit."
"Nope. We have to finish this game so I can warm up properly."
No, she has to strip out of that swimsuit so I can warm her up properly.
My cock stirs.
I tell it to get lost.
That isn't happening.
No matter how badly I want it.
"Never have I ever tormented a subordinate," she says.
"Am I that awful?"
She nods, but it's with a smile.
There's a part of her that likes the way I tease her.
That wants more of it.
More of me.
More of us.
But now I'm getting ahead of myself.
Chapter Twelve
Chloe
Truth be told, I haven't been surfing in ages.
Since way, way before my body betrayed me.
It's not like I was ever an expert. Gia and I went surfing a grand total of three times. We probably rode less than a dozen waves each.
I refuse to admit any of that to Dean.
He pretends like he doesn't notice. Cops some overbearing couch routine as he reminds me how to paddle, how to feel for the wave, how to jump.
It takes five tries, but I finally catch a wave.
Then another.
Another.
Another.
I surf until the beach is crowded with tourists and families. Until my lips are blue and my toes are numb and my body is screaming for food and water.
It feels good wanting something physical. Wanting everything physical.
I ride the wave into the beach. Return the board with Dean. Go back to our stuff.
"Freezing?" He pulls a towel from his bag and tosses it to me.
I wrap it around my shoulders. "Maybe."
He grabs another. Towel dries his hair haphazardly. It falls in messy waves as he wraps the towel around his shoulders.
He stays in his Speedo.
It's… I…
Why does he have to be so hot? It's wrong.
A deep breath keeps my expression neutral. "You're getting looks."
"Why's that?"
"Curious, yeah?"
He nods. "People are weird." He stretches his arms over his head. Lets out a yawn. "Don't know about you, but I could go for some Golden Needle."
My cheeks flush. It was a bitch move criticizing his tea selection. But Dean doesn't seem like a guy who drinks tea, much less cultivates an assortment of rare teas. And… well, that's no excuse. But Dean doesn't respond to earnest apologies. "You couldn't pick it out of a line up."
His smile lights up his bright eyes. "Is that a challenge?"
"Yeah." The words tumble out of my mouth without stopping in my brain. When it comes to Dean, I'm senseless. I'm compelled to push back. And to linger in his presence.
"I know just the place. But lunch first. I'm starving—"
My stomach grumbles at the thought of food.
"There's a nearby place with great cheese enchiladas."
Mmm.
"On me."
"I'm in."
This is bliss.
Cheese and tomato nirvana.
Some other plane of existence, where corn, red sauce, cheese, and guacamole meld into flavor perfection.