Yeah, say that ten times fast.
Sunrise Island is smaller than Seaside, with even fewer businesses and residents. The biggest business on the island is the one-hundred-and-twenty-three-acre orchard we’re sitting outside.
We met with the owner, who refused to sell us apples since they weren’t ripe yet. And after we explained it didn’t matter since we didn’t plan to eat them, he told us to get the hell off his property. His apples are “charming golden-ruby rounds of sweetly cultivated crisp and juicy flavor delights.” And the only way they should ever be used is as a nutritious source of joy and comfort.
So now we’re contemplating slipping through the fence, which isn’t remotely built for security anyway, and picking two-hundred-fifty apples ourselves. Just one or two from each tree, so it’s not noticeable. Then we’ll have Blake mail him a check to cover the cost.
“If you think about it,” I say. “We’re doing him a favor since it’s an entire bushel he won’t have to pick himself.”
“A bushel is two-hundred-fifty apples?” Brie asks.
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“You don’t even know?” she asks.
“Well, do you?” I counter.
“We don’t have time to argue about this,” she says.
“So, just agree with me.”
“You’re the last person I ever want to agree with,” she says.
“You were pretty agreeable when I had my cock buried inside you.”
“Hmm, that was a momentary lapse in judgment.”
“Each time?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “Which is why I’m never having sex with you again.”
“Me neither,” I say.
“It was hot, though.” She meets my gaze; her eyes are heated. “Being outside, you whispering that we were going to be caught.”
“So. Fucking. Hot.” I’m ready to go again. I think she’s considering it too.
Just say the word, baby.
“We should—”
I lean over and kiss her. “I was thinking the same thing,” I murmur against her lips, reaching around her waist to pull her onto my lap.
“Steal some apples,” she finishes, disengaging my arm and sliding out of the golf cart.
“Oh. Are you sure about that?” I call after her lamely. She doesn’t respond, not that I expected her to. She’s right. I may not like it, but she is.
* * *
“Thank you, Bristol.” I tie a bag closed and set it in the golf cart. “I didn’t quite understand the first few hundred times you said it. But I do now. I didn’t grab enough bags for two hundred and fifty apples. My mistake.” I glare in her direction. Daring her with my stare to say something else. But she stays silent. For once. Which is annoying.
“What? No witty comeback? No I told you so? No, I’m surprised you finally understand since you’re a dim-witted man?”
She looks up. “Nope.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because you just said it all for me. There’s no need.”
