“Here, I’m just a guy drinking bad wine.” I shrug, slow.
“I think the wine is good.”
“You do.” I smirk. “I don’t. But I’d drink paint if it meant getting you out here for two minutes.”
That earns me a real laugh. I’ve heard her giggle and I’ve heard her gasp. But that? That’s her unguarded.
“You’re not as macho as you act, you know?” Melody glances over.
“I’m not as anything as I act,” I say. The words come out before I can pull them back.
Her head tilts slightly, as if I’ve just given something away.
Her eyes sharpen, lips parting like she’s about to ask something.
“You ever feel like you’re faking it?” I interrupt, voice lower now. “Like… you spend so much time being one version of yourself that you forget what the real one feels like?”
She doesn’t answer right away, but then nods.
“Yeah,” she whispers.
I almost say something else. Something about the version of me that lives in her phone and the one that’s here, sitting next to her, holding back every goddamn urge in his body just to keep her comfortable.
Instead, I take another sip, then glance over with a smile.
“Anyway,” I say, voice light again. “I brought you here for the view.”
“Yeah. Of the cove.” She raises a brow.
“Mmhmm.”
“Not your face.”
“Which one do you prefer?”
“God, you’re exhausting,” she mutters.
“And you’re smiling,” I say.
She smiles into her wine and empties her glass.
I hope she never goes back after this. Not to who she thought I was—thinking I’m a one-note, dick-first hockey player with nothing to offer but a smirk and a six-pack.
Because this is me.
And I hope she might be starting to like it.
The bottle’s almost empty and the glasses are half full. She’s laughing more now, looser and lighter, like the wine finally caught up to her.
I swear to God, I’ve never seen anything hotter than Melody with her head tilted back in laughter, curls loose again, dress slipping off one shoulder, feet buried in the sand.
She tips her cup back, finishes what’s left, then sighs dramatically and sets it down.
“Okay. Fine. I’ll admit it. You’re not the worst company.”
I know. You stay awake way past your bedtime each night just to talk to me.
“Is that the closest I’ll get to receiving a compliment from you?” I feign offense.
