by Mia Sosa
Carter laughs, too. “I’m trying, Tori. I am. You think they’re faking us out?”
“That would be diabolical.”
Just in case, we run at full speed for another quarter mile, and after the dogs’ barking fades, we slow to a trot, and then stop altogether. I drop my hands to my knees and suck in all the air I can get.
Carter pants by my side. “Never again. I’m never running with you again.”
“Hey, at least I got you to run,” I say with a smile.
He narrows his eyes. “I’m not amused.”
I pat him on the shoulder. “Let’s walk the rest of the way to the lighthouse. I think this run was doomed from the start.”
“There is a God,” Carter mutters.
I expected to run a minimum of four miles this morning and came nowhere close to that distance. Despite the change in plans, I’m glad Carter joined me. This was a much better way to spend the morning, and how many people can say they were chased by wild dogs in Aruba?
I loop my arm through Carter’s and drag him along. “C’mon, Carter.”
I don’t think anything of the physical contact until he stiffens, and then I sever our connection. “Sorry.”
Carter stops in the middle of the sidewalk. “No. It’s fine.” He tugs my arm from behind my back and loops it with his. “I like your hands on me, Tori. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
He turns his head and pins me with a heated stare.
Warmth pools in my belly. Whoa. Shying away from his gaze, I face the hill ahead of us and point. “Look. We’re almost there.”
Carter clears his throat. “Let’s get going, then. It must be an amazing view.”
We climb the hill, and as we approach the lighthouse, the terrain changes, the grass transitioning to stone-filled land. The rocks are jagged, and I slip a few times before we reach the top.
Carter reads the plaque at the entrance to the observation area. “Says it’s named after a ship that was wrecked somewhere near here.”
The lighthouse is impressive, but the view enthralls me. It’s nothing but sky, waters in various shades of blue, and small patches of sea grass to remind us that perfection is impossible. Carter and I stand next to each other, taking it all in, remaining silent because nature is doing the talking now.
Finally, he speaks. “Wow. I know that’s inadequate, but wow.”
I’m gratified to hear he sees it like I do. “Exactly.”
Beside me, Carter’s stomach grumbles.
“Let’s get you back to the hotel,” I tell him. “You’ve taxed yourself enough for one day.”
“The taskmaster has a heart.”
I press my thumb and index finger together. “A small one.”
He laughs and holds out his hand when we get to a patch of rough ground.
“So, will you be staying in Philly awhile?” I ask as we begin the hike back.
He gives me a sideways glance. “Not sure how long, but I’m not in a rush to get back to LA. Why?”
“I could train with you for a few days. Show you a few exercises. I’d even draw up a program for you if that’s something you’d be interested in.”
It takes me a minute to realize the import of my offer. Shit. He probably thinks I’m manufacturing reasons to see him again. But he obviously needs someone’s help, so why not me?
“I’d love that,” he says. “It would be nice to have a friend in Philly.”
Right. A friend. Given my recent breakup with Mason, Carter’s offering exactly what I need: friendship. So why am I disappointed to hear that he’s placed me squarely in that zone? Argh.
Stop, stop, stop. Don’t do this, Tori. Keep it simple. Keep it light. Keep it fun. “Hey, I’m planning to go paddleboarding tomorrow. One of those excursions booked through the resort. Interested in joining me?”
He slides two fingers above his upper lip as he ponders my question. I’m staring so intently that I notice the tiny dots of perspiration that have settled there. Suddenly I’m thirsty.
“I’d love to,” he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles down at me.
Because I’m more excited about spending time with him than I should be, I quickly add another task on my to-do list: help Carter find his own island fling at the first opportunity. Maybe seeing him flirt with someone else will rid me of my unfriendly thoughts. A woman can always hope, can’t she?
Chapter Seven
Carter
YOU’RE THINKING I should have declined her invitation, right?
Here’s why I didn’t.
One, I like Tori. In the short time I’ve known her, she’s bested me in a drinking challenge, convinced me to limbo, and saved me from certain death at the hands of stray dogs. The bothersome scenes in my life fade to black when I’m around her.
Two, I’m constitutionally predisposed to engage in activities that demonstrate my skills, and stand-up paddleboarding fits the bill. Whenever I visit home in the summer, my sisters and I head out to Stonington for a few hours of paddleboarding, so this is well within my wheelhouse.
Three, I’m 99 percent certain Tori will be wearing a bikini. That thought alone puts an extra bounce in my step and gets me from my room to the travel tour’s meeting point in less than three minutes.
A small group of people stand in a loose circle in the resort’s lobby. Tori’s not among them, though. To their right, a stocky man with brown leathery skin speaks to the hotel concierge in the local language. I think it’s called Papiamento.
When the man spots me, he calls me over. “Hey, my friend, are you joining us this morning?”
“Paddleboarding?”
“Yes, yes. I’m Howie, your guide.” He points to a man tinkering under the hood of a van parked in the circular driveway. “That’s Raul. He’s my right-hand man and driver. We’re just waiting for two more and then we’ll head out.”
While we wait for Tori and someone else, the members of our group make the customary introductions. There’s a couple on their honeymoon and a mom vacationing with her teenaged daughter.
The group engages in a few more minutes of small talk, and then Tori strolls toward us, and dammit, the guy who was sniffing around our first night on the island is trailing behind her, his gaze trained on her ass. Tori’s wearing a short-sleeved scuba shirt and swimming shorts. She looks as adorable as ever, and I don’t even care that she’s not showing more skin. I’m just happy to see her again.
Tori introduces me to Mr. Aloha Shirt, whose real name is Stevie. It doesn’t suit him or his beady eyes, so let’s just call him Skeevy for the moment.
We file into the third row of the passenger van, and Tori takes the seat between Skeevy and me. He’s pointing out landmarks to Tori as we travel from the resort to the excursion site. From the front passenger seat, Howie shares facts about the island and asks whether anyone has paddleboarded before. The female honeymooner, Skeevy, and I raise our hands. Skeevy leans into Tori and whispers in her ear. She doubles over in laughter.
“Hey, Howie,” I yell. “It’s hard to hear you back here. Could you talk a little louder?”
“Sure, sure,” he yells back.
Skeevy leans forward and smirks at me.
I solemnly swear to smack him with my paddle at least once today.
Howie tells us about the wildlife we’re likely to see during the trip, and twenty minutes later, the van slows near a lagoon. We pile out of the van, and Howie and Raul distribute the boards.
The water’s clear and calm. Perfect conditions for paddleboarding. The scenery’s breathtaking, too. Mature red mangroves line one side of the lagoon, and nothing obstructs my view of the seascape. It’s eerily quiet, adding to the island mystique, but then a flock of birds shake the trees’ leaves when they escape the brush, reminding me that we’re the trespassers here.
“Why don’t you guys who’ve done this before go ahead,” Howie says. “I’m going to help the others.”
Tori’s face is flushed, and she looks like she can hardl
y contain her excitement. I walk several feet before dropping the board into the water, making sure that my fin isn’t stuck in the sand. Biggest mistake first-time paddleboarders make? Trying to stand on the board as soon as they get on. I look over at the mother-daughter duo, who aren’t waiting for Howie’s instructions, and yep, they’re struggling for that very reason.
“Get on your knees first,” I tell them.
They take my advice, and the mother gives me a thumbs-up.
The water’s cooperating today, so I mount the paddleboard with ease. I’m only seconds in when Skeevy’s board skims mine, and the moment when I’ll smack him with the board is upon us. “What’s your problem, man?”
Skeevy gives me a shit-eating grin as he struggles to stay close. “No problem at all. Just doing a little reconnaissance.”
“What does that mean?”
He jerks his chin toward the beach, where Howie is instructing Tori on how to stand on the board. “She’s what I mean. You planning on hitting that?”
Jesus. I grit my teeth in lieu of knocking him into the water. I’m hardly averse to admiring a woman’s body in my head, but talking with him about Tori like she’s a piece of ass for the taking is a hard limit for me. He probably thinks he’s earning points per the Bro Code, but I don’t subscribe to such bullshit, especially not with two sisters of my own. This guy doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near Tori. “No, I don’t plan on hitting that, asshole, and I’ll make it my life’s work to make sure you don’t hit that, either. You don’t deserve her.”
My hold on the grip is so firm my fingers are aching. But my anger subsides when I return my gaze to the object of our conversation. She peels off the scuba top to reveal a black triangle bikini top and the best motherfucking set of abs I’ve seen on a person in years. Her stomach is a fascinating study in hard and soft lines, captivating my attention because her skin is brown and smooth and utterly touchable. And she has powerhouse thighs. I bet she looks glorious on a leg press. Oh, fuck me. This is a disaster. She’s stripping, and I’m wearing board shorts that cannot mask my um . . . interest. I’m just as bad as Skeevy, and I don’t deserve her, either.
She unbuttons her shorts and they drop to the sand. I suspend the paddle in midair, unable to focus on my strokes. Behind me Skeevy whistles, which pulls me out of the spell Tori’s cast on me.
Howie calls out to us. “You guys all right out there?”
“Yeah,” I reply as I reposition the paddle to resume my strokes. But somehow I’ve gotten closer to the shore than I’d intended, and the paddle hits sand, causing the board—and me—to upend in an epic wipeout.
My gaffe probably would have gone unnoticed, but Skeevy draws attention to it with his exaggerated laughter and finger-pointing. Skeevy needs to be handled. This minute. I mount the board with revenge on the brain. But before I can maneuver the paddle to whack his board, water splashes behind me and Skeevy yelps.
“You all right back there, Skeevy?”
He’s moaning, so I turn around to check on him.
Skeevy’s in the water now, his hands wrapped around his foot and his face twisted in pain. “It’s Stevie, you dick,” he says through clenched teeth.
I look back at the shore and yell. “Howie, something’s wrong with Stevie.”
Howie shades his eyes and wades in. Tori and her amazing black bikini trudge through the water, too. Great. Now the guy’s going to get sympathy points. He probably planned this.
Howie checks Stevie’s foot. “Sea urchin. Rare for this area, but they do come in with the tides from time to time. I guess today’s your lucky day.”
And mine, Howie. And mine.
“Looks like you’ve got about eight stingers,” Howie says. “Let’s get you out of here. Carter, can you give me a hand?”
I take Stevie’s arm and lace it over my shoulder. “Ready?”
“Yes,” Howie says.
“Ow, ow, ow,” Stevie says over and over.
I feel bad for the guy. What? I do.
When we reach the sand, we help Stevie sit, and the group circles him.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Tori asks.
Miraculously, Stevie’s able to push through the pain and make a request. “Yeah. Could you pour some water over my head?”
What the fuck is water going to do? This dude. He’s back to Skeevy now.
Tori grabs a water bottle from Howie’s cooler and pours the entire contents over Skeevy’s head while Howie tries to remove the stingers from his foot.
“Tori,” Skeevy says in a breathy voice. “Could I squeeze your hand while he pulls out the stingers?”
Tori’s eyebrows snap together and then she rolls her eyes. “Sure.”
The little shit looks up at me and smirks as he clasps Tori’s hand in his.
Howie glances between us, and his eyes narrow as his gaze settles on Skeevy, finally hip to the fact that there’s no bromance between us. “I don’t have the right tools for this.”
“Hey, Howie. You know what works for easing the pain?”
“Vinegar,” Howie replies.
I clear my throat. “Or uric acid.”
Howie laughs. “That’s an old—”
I elbow Howie in the side. “You’ve seen it work before, right, Howie?”
Howie’s eyes go wide. “Oh, yeah, yeah. Plenty of times. Just a little bit of piss—sorry, ladies—and the pain fades away.”
“Seriously?” Skeevy asks in between hisses.
Howie and I nod enthusiastically.
“Yeah, then we’ll get Raul to drive you back to the resort,” Howie tells him. “The doctor should be able to pull the stingers out with tweezers. Unfortunately, my first-aid kit doesn’t have any.”
“What do you say?” I ask.
Tori, who’s been biting the fingernails of her free hand, chimes in. “You should do it, Stevie. Think of the van ride. It’ll be torture if you don’t.”
“Okay, okay.”
Oh, damn. Skeevy’s cool with this? What did I do to deserve this series of events?
Howie and I help Skeevy to an area past the jetty dividing the lagoon from the more turbulent waters on the north side of the beach.
I reach into my pants, preparing to do Skeevy a solid, but he stops me. “No, not you. And there’s no need for you to hang around.”
Howie shakes his head and mutters under his breath.
I back up with my hands in the air. “No problem. As long as you get the help you need.” I spin around and walk back to the group, reveling in the knowledge that Skeevy will forever be known to Tori as the man who let someone piss on his foot to relieve a little pain.
Tori meets me halfway and hands me a water bottle from Howie’s cooler. “Everything okay?”
“He didn’t let me do it. Took one look at my junk and said it intimidated him.”
Tori’s eyes glisten with tears as she drapes a hand over my shoulder. “Oh, Carter, you’re too much.”
I take a swig of the water, hyperaware of her touch. Under different circumstances, I’d be stoked that she’s feeling more comfortable around me. But I can’t aim for anything more than friendship, so any physical contact between us tortures me instead.
Minutes later, Skeevy returns with Howie at his side. A thin sheen of sweat covers both his forehead and the area above his upper lip.
“Feel better?” I ask him.
“Not really. No. He couldn’t . . . produce.”
Howie gives me a pointed look. “It’s probably for the best.” Our tour guide is all business now. “Raul, let’s get him back to Eagle Bay. And make sure the doc on staff sees him immediately. Be back to pick us up in an hour. If there’s any problem, let me know.”
“No problem, boss,” Raul says.
The group watches Raul and Skeevy’s departure. The latter hobbles to the van while everyone wishes him a speedy recovery.
When Raul drives away, Howie pins me with a bemused expression and shakes his head.
“What?” I
ask him.
“Did you seriously think I’d piss on his foot?”
I shrug. “It was worth a shot.”
“I’m amazed I took it that far,” he says. “Let’s finish this trip without any more shenanigans from you, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” As everyone grabs their boards and paddles, I pull Howie to the side. “I can help Tori.”
Howie chuckles, and his gaze settles on the water. “I’m not so sure she’s going to need your help.”
I follow his gaze. Tori’s already dropped the board, and she’s kneeling on it like she’s done this a million times. “Find your sweet spot,” I call out to her.
She steps to the middle of the board and rises slowly, her hands perfectly positioned on the paddle.
“She’s a natural,” Howie observes. “Guess you’ll have to find some other way to get close to her.”
I draw back and give him a “what-who-me” expression. “It’s nothing like that. I’m just enjoying her company.”
“Well, you went to great lengths to just enjoy her company.”
“C’mon, Howie. I didn’t plant the sea urchin.”
Howie nods. “True. But that piss business? You must want her badly.” He claps and yells out to Tori. “Great job.” Then he hands me my board. “Don’t go too far out, Casanova.”
I mount the board and catch up to Tori easily. “How’s it going?”
“This is so much fun. I can tell I’m going to be sore tomorrow, though.”
Her face is dotted with water droplets, and she has a streak of sunscreen down her nose. Her hair is pulled into a bun. And of course, Howie’s right: I want her badly. But I’m not going there, because pursuing her as Carter Williamson would be wrong, and she doesn’t deserve to be screwed—figuratively—by two guys in one week.
I focus on our counterparts to get my mind off Tori. The lagoon is wide enough that the group can spread out, but everyone’s within my field of vision. The male honeymooner appears to be having the most trouble, so Howie’s focused on that couple.
