“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” I quip.
“I didn’t roll my eyes.”
“Oh, yes you did.”
“I’m wearing sunglasses, Connor.” Her tanned arms cross over her chest, a challenging grin playing on her lips.
I move in closer, her neck falling back to hold my gaze.
“Yes. You are, indeed, wearing sunglassesinsideour hotel room.” I cock my head and let my smug grin break free. “And I know you rolled your eyes, because when you do, this brow,” I lightly strokemy finger across her right eyebrow, “lifts just a little higher than your other one.”
She stills, the air between us a live wire cranked to eleven. Then, she uncrosses her arms and closes in. Her body, warm and all baby soft skin, presses in on mine as she brings two fingers to rest against the pulse point on my neck. “AndIknow you’re turned on by this right here.” She gently taps her fingers over the throbbing vein. “It’s your biggest tell. Your body can’t hide when your heart starts racing because this pulse point damn near thrums out of your skin.”
She steps back sporting a proud grin to match mine.Well played, Gretch. Well played.
“I’ve seen it up close a time or two,” she adds as she spins to leave. “That and your erection.”
My panicked eyes dart to my swim trunks.
Gretchen laughs. “Made ya look.” She throws a pleased smile over her shoulder as she stalks toward the door. “Let’s go, old man.”
“You’re staring, QB.”
Her red two-piece pops off her tanned skin. The strapless top with a bow detail tucked between her breasts is secured by a knot at the back. She’s swept her hair up into a clip, putting the breadth of her collarbone glistening under the sun on full display. Matching retro-style red bottoms sit high on her waist and I don’t even miss the skin hidden beneath the extra material covering her lower stomach. Gretchen Fisher doesn’t need to show a ton of skin to be sexy.
Our eyes meet, smiles bouncing off each other.
“Oh, damn. I forgot.” I lower my aviators. “There.”
I swipe my t-shirt off with one pull over my shoulder and toss it into the pool bag. Gretchen props her sunglasses on her head before rubbing a layer of sunscreen over her face and down her neck.
When she hands the bottle to me, she makes a show of sliding her sunglasses back down so she can ogle me unashamedly from behind the tinted lenses. Her face breaks out in a wily smile.
“Well, look who’s staring now,” I say.
“For the record, I find your abs moderately repulsive.” She settles into the lounger next to me. “But at least you have a pretty face.”
She grabs her margarita and we clink our cups together, memories ringing through my mind like the toll of a bell.
Chapter Twenty-Six
THE PROMISE
Connor
six years ago, summer
It’sa perfect Illinois summer night. Lightning bugs flicker and the air is balmy under the setting sun.
Thanks to Mom and Dad’s relocation to North Carolina after I graduated high school, this is my first time back in Illinois since I left for college four years ago.
After a month at my parents’ beach house in the Outer Banks, Drew and I have returned to Bloomington for the next four weeks. The beach was for that one last hoorah between graduation and becoming real-life grownups, while being back here is for finding a job—or, in Drew’s case, starting law school—a place to live and adulting in general.
“Drew!”
The animated female voice shrieks from the direction of the house and I turn to see a head of jet black hair streak across the yard like smeared ink.
A red sports bra with a white cross on the front signifies her job as a lifeguard and it’s the only thing adorning her upper half. Below, a pair of denim shorts sit atop a set of smooth bronze legs.
