Wyatt gets in the passenger seat. “Come on.” He motions to me.
I hesitate.
“Don’t be stupid, Brie. It’s raining,” he says.
“Don’t be a dick,” I say as I climb in. “And it’s the middle of the afternoon.”
“I’m not being a dick. And what does afternoon have to do with it?”
I sit up straight on the farthest tip of Wyatt’s legs that I can go without falling off. “You don’t get sick from warm weather rain. Everybody knows that. And calling someone stupid is the very definition of being a dick.”
“People get sick all the time whether it’s warm or not. And I didn’t call you stupid. I said don’t be stupid.”
“It’s the same thing,” I argue, knowing we’ve had this same discussion before.
“It’s not the same thing,” Wyatt and Blake both say simultaneously.
“Whatever.” I wave my hand in the air dismissing them as Blake starts the golf cart and lurches forward, throwing me back in Wyatt’s lap. My ass is now snug against the crook of his legs.
“Sorry,” he says. “Gotta get the hang of it again.”
Blake takes the first corner too sharply, and one of the bags slides off the cart, with me almost following it.
“Hang on, for fuck’s sake,” Wyatt says crossly as Blake gets out to get the bag.
“To what?” I ask since there’s literally nothing for me to hang on to. Wyatt has his hand holding the roof, so I can’t hang on there. It’s not like there are handles or doors.
Blake resituates the bag and gets back in, lurching forward as he goes.
Wyatt huffs and wraps his free arm around my waist, belting me against him. I don’t have much choice other than to grab his forearm and hang on to that.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t smell like vomit. He smells like Wyatt. And Wyatt is a scent that makes my head spin with desire. Blake takes another turn too fast and hits a bump at the same time.
“Oh god,” Wyatt says as he leans to the side and heaves. Nothing comes up, I’m sure he vacated his stomach contents already, but I can feel the strength of the muscles revolting in his abdomen against my back.
I feel really bad for him.
I still have a ginger chew in my pocket from my trip over. Just in case I started to feel sick on the ferry. I move my hips a bit to try to get to my pocket. Wyatt’s dick starts to harden beneath me. And, oh wow, that feels good.
“Sit still,” he growls in my ear. Like a bear. Or something equally grumpy.
“Calm down,” I say. “I just wanted to give you this.”
“I don’t want it,” he says. “What is it?”
“A ginger chew, it will help settle your stomach.”
He turns the hand wrapped around me palm up, and I place the chew in it just as Blake hits another corner too fast, loses the same bag again, and almost loses me.
And definitely loses the chew.
“Would you slow the fuck down, man?” Wyatt snaps at him.
“Sorry,” Blake says as he stops to grab the bag. “You guys seemed all bent out of shape at having to sit together, I was trying to make it as short a time as possible.”
“Try getting us there injury-free instead,” Wyatt says.
“I think the ginger chew fell on the floor,” I say, bending forward to look. The movement pushes the round of my butt tighter against Wyatt, I’m pretty sure I hear him moan. His hands go to my hips, maybe instinctually, I’m not sure, and holds them in place while he tries to resituate in the seat. It occurs to me that sex in this position would be pretty freaking fantastic.
