She is far too close. I wrap my fingers around hers and remove them from my shoulder. “Go to sleep, Evie.”
“Oh—yeah, sorry.”
A nervous laugh slips past those delicious lips of hers.
I clear my throat, desperate to put distance between us.
“Here’s the lid.” I hold it out, and she takes it from my fingers. The slightest touch douses my lungs in fire before the heat dives lower.
I round the bed and crawl into my side. Patting the pillow wall for good measure, I lie back and get comfortable. Satisfied the blankets are hiding my rock-hard cock, I slide a hand under my head. The other is still draped over the pillow wall. Like even my body can’t stand the idea of not being near her.
She turns the lamp off and we lie in silence, listening to each other’s labored breathing.
Fine fingers lace through my hand. “Sorry about your head.”
I want this pillow wall to fuck off for good so I can rip that scant little nightie from her body. Instead, I give her fingers a squeeze before reclaiming my hand. “Forget about it. Night.”
She sighs, rolling over. “Night, Callum.”
Legs for days, crossed one over the other, lie bare in the spring sunshine. Evie lounges on the outdoor Adirondack chair, her laptop on the small matching table beside her, sunglasses on her face, and arms draped over the sides of the chair. Her eyes are closed, her music so loud I can hear it over my own hard breathing as I chop wood.
I ignore her.
The threadbare T-shirt she’s wearing may as well be nonexistent. Those tiny fucking shorts...
I swing the axe above my head, trying to get my mind homed in on the task at hand before I lose a limb. The price you pay for being distracted around a sharpened tool like this one is high. My tools are always kept in pristine condition, like my dad did before me. With that memory, a thought flicks through my head. What would he think of Evie?
Why am I asking that metaphorical, pointless question?
She’s far too young.
She’s leaving.
She’s better off far away from Fire Island. And its damn lighthouse keeper.
I swing the axe into the stump, as if to prove my last point.
A soft moan sounds from behind me. I miss the block entirely, and the head of the axe ghosts past my leg with a brush of air.
“Fuck me.”
I let the axe hang in my hand, my head doing the same as I swipe the other hand through my sweaty hair. Dropping the axe, I tug my shirt from my back and pluck up the tool, not bothering to look over my shoulder at the cause of my distraction.
“Get your shit together, McCreary,” I mutter.
“Did you say something?” Evie calls, too loud. My guess is her headphones are still on.
“Nope!” I grunt and shake my body out, as if that will dislodge the pent up whatever-the-hell-it-is that’s eating at me today.
Well, that’s been eating at me since that fucking hug, if I’m honest. Every night I’ve slept beside her. With the goddamn pillow wall.
Knew that nice-guy bullshit would come back to bite me in the ass. Should’ve let her cry alone.
That’ll be the last time I fall for those pretty brown eyes. That soft smile. The elegant shape of her?—
Nope.
Shut it down, bud.
