“I don’t know.” He props himself against one of the trees closest to the pond and folds his arms over that well-muscled chest, still with the far-too-satisfied smile. “I’m thinking maybe the addition of a nude water nymph is an improvement.”
Oh, God. Is he not even going to let me get out? I’ve got to maintain a little dignity here. Which means no, Ruby, you should not let your eyes wander from that impressive chest to the other areas you now know are equally impressive in those fitted slacks down below.
I jerk my gaze back to his face, hoping he didn’t catch that slip. “I needed to cool off,” I say.
“Understandable.”
“There wasn’t supposed to be an audience involved.”
He shrugs. “And yet, here I am . . .”
I’d splash him if I didn’t suspect that would require propelling more of me out of the water than I want to be putting on display. He deserves it, though. He doesn’t even look sweaty. Where does he get off, hiking all the way up here and still looking completely unaffected?
For a second I consider suggesting he join me. But even if that goes well, it is definitely a bad idea—did I learn nothing from last night?—and if it doesn’t . . . I don’t want to see him laugh as my attempt at propositioning falls flat on its face. I already know too well what that experience feels like.
I fish around with my foot toward the bottom of the pond. Maybe there’s some convenient vegetation I can use as a temporary cover-up?
Nope. Will cocks his head, looking increasingly amused. I glower at him. He offers a little wave, and all at once I don’t give a flying fuck. Since when do I let Will Cassidy or anyone else dictate what I do? I’m not that kind of weakling, and I’ll be damned if I start cowering now.
“Do you remember that time back in college when I said I was hungry enough to eat one of the Endless Buckets at Fernando’s Wings, and you dared me to actually do it?” I say, easing closer to the pond’s rocky bank.
Will’s expression turns vaguely confused. He doesn’t know where I’m going with this. “That was one big bucket of wings,” he says.
“And I ate every last one of them, didn’t I?” I ask. “That was the rule, to get the certificate and the gift card. It took me two hours, but I made it through.”
“You did,” Will grins. “I got a stomachache just watching you.”
And I’d had one for most of the next two days, but that wasn’t the point. “Then you really should know by now,” I say, testing my foot against the bottom and finding a spot where I can touch down, “that you’re never going to win playing chicken with me.”
I climb out careful and steady, resisting the urge to bolt for my clothes. I don’t look at Will—so what if he’s here? It’s nothing to me—but I see his jaw drop from the corner of my eye and have to smother a smile. A Sports Illustrated swimsuit model I am not, but running around keeping my clients in check has also handily kept me in shape. I pause to wring out my hair, standing there fully naked at the edge of the pond, and Will is still completely speechless.
I do let myself smile as I turn away from him to retrieve my clothes.
Panties, bra, shorts, and T-shirt. I manage to keep up the same unhurried pace as I dress, even though I can feel Will’s eyes on me the entire time. Even though the thought of him watching me leaves me hot from heat to toe. I step back into my sneakers and swivel toward the path, glancing at him for the first time since I got out of the water.
“Enjoy the view,” I say, mentally high-fiving myself for that line, and saunter off down the path without looking back.
Chapter Eight
Our second dinner at the resort is a much more casual do—everyone sitting around patio tables by the outdoor grill, where the chef is frying up a spread of burgers that leaves my mouth watering after my afternoon workout of sorts. Brooke is back from her family outing, leaning against Trevor blissfully as he plays with her hair, her freckles already darker from the sun she’s getting. Maggie is debating the merits of buttercream icing versus ganache with unexpected foodie Colin, and Lulu has draped herself on Brad’s arm while he straight-facedly answers her “fitness” questions. There’s been no sign of Will since I put on that show for him by the waterfall, which means even I’m pretty relaxed.
So naturally, just as the servers start bringing the burgers around, my phone buzzes.
I slip into the lobby. “What’s wrong, Kenneth?”
“Ruby, I think I really screwed up.” My sixteen-year-old hip-hopper of growing social media fame looks awfully tough when he’s posturing for his audience, but right now his hangdog voice sounds all kid.
Uh oh. I draw in a breath and sit down on the nearest bench, imagining all the sorts of trouble Kenneth Romano—stage name Kenneth the Krunk—might have gotten into. Mouthed off at someone who’s actually as tough as he wishes he was? Committed a petty crime for the LOLZ? Rap battle to the death?
Okay, probably not that last one, at least.
“What happened?” I say. “Tell me the whole thing.”
“Well, I was out with a bunch of the guys at this place that has karaoke,” Kenneth says. “We were just goofing around. I saw that Harlan Everett song, ‘The One For Me’—you know it?”
“Yeah.” Harlan Everett is the sappiest new country singer to ever sap, which is probably why his songs keep blowing up the charts. I’m not sure where this is heading now.
“Well, I actually kind of . . . like his stuff. So I thought I’d sing that one just as a joke. But I ended up getting really into it. And then after, my friend Darryl started laughing about how he’d recorded the whole thing, saying he’s going to put it up on YouTube to show everyone I’m really just a wuss! You can’t let him do that, Ruby.”
I press my palm to my forehead. This is the big emergency? But, to be fair, I can see why he’s concerned about his image.
After a little more talk, I determine that Kenneth isn’t all that sure his “friend” Darryl really would try to mess up his career like that, but better safe than sorry. So I’m left spending the next several minutes hashing out the situation with Kenneth’s parents, followed by a couple dozen more trying to reach the family lawyer, who’s probably busy eating his dinner, or, failing that, someone, anyone, at his firm.
I’m sitting there listening to hold music drone on and debating throwing in the towel—but I’ve already spent this much time on it, surely I’ll have it all sorted out sometime before the second coming?—when Will comes strolling over.
“Hey,” he says. “I thought you might be getting hungry in here.”
The plate he sets on the bench beside me holds a burger and a heap of home fries. My stomach gurgles.
“You didn’t have to,” I say quickly. “I’m going to be done here any minute now. Everything’s under control.”