“Get off my nuts.” He narrows his eyes, scanning my face. “I take it you’re feeling better?”
“Much.” I reach my arms over my head and bend side to side, stretching my waist. “What are we doing tonight?”
“You’ve been sick—”
“I’m not sick. I just ran myself into the ground. I’m all better.”
It’s true. I feel renewed and ready to rock.
“We should stay in bed.” His forehead grooves, and he sits up, inching toward me.
“Was that your big plan?”
“No.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, letting his touch linger on my neck. “My plan requires physical activity.” He raises a brow. “Outside of the house.”
“Count me in.” I move to climb off the bed, but his hand catches my arm, stopping me.
Kneeling on the bed, he yanks me against his chest and curls his fingers around my neck.
“I should probably…” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “Give you…” His lips brush the other corner. “A full body checkup.” He breathes against my lips. “Just to be sure you’re healthy.”
“I bet your checkup includes a rectal exam.” I bite his bottom lip. “Am I right?”
“Christ.” He grips my butt painfully hard, driving his fingers against the seam of my jeans. “I want to pound your fucking ass.”
“As lovely as that sounds, how about you tell me where we’re going instead?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“What should I wear?”
“What you have on.” He smacks my backside and slides off the bed. “We’ll grab something to eat on the way.”
Two hours later, I’m standing in the last place I ever expected—a locker room. Wearing something I never thought I’d wear on a date in November—a string bikini.
Cole hasn’t explained shit since he rolled his motorcycle into the empty parking lot of the scuba dive shop. He ushered me into the locker room, told me to change, and handed me the white bikini from his bag—a bikini he stole from my closet. Then he left.
I adjust the strings on my hips, double-knotting the double-knots.
Who am I kidding? He only has to flash his dimples and these itty-bitty bottoms will fall right off.
Deep breath, shoulders back, I head into the pool area to see what he has in store for me.
The fume of chlorine stings my lungs as I stroll along the indoor Olympic-sized pool. 15 ft decals mark the edges all the way around, but it looks a lot deeper than that.
It must be after business hours, because there isn’t a soul here.
I take that back. A man stands on the far side near the entrance to the store, gripping Cole in a one-armed hug. They smile and launch into an animated conversation, full of arm gestures and laughter.
About twenty-paces away, I round the final corner of the pool. The men turn their heads and fall silent.
Cole’s acquaintance has the deepest tan I’ve ever seen, and he’s stacked with so much brawn his shirt and jeans strain at the seams. His round head is shaved bald, but his face is youthful. He’s probably a couple years older than me. Around thirty? That would make him the same age as Cole and Trace.
He carries himself the way they do, exuding that heavy-handed, macho, alpha vibe. Maybe they’re all somehow connected through the military?
His eyes seem friendly. And interested. Oh man, he’s really staring at me.
I shift my attention to Cole and the single piece of clothing he’s wearing. Spandex dive shorts stretch across his thighs and sit low on his hips. They’re so tight they look painted on, and I feel a little lightheaded and winded in the presence of all that nude skin and ripped muscle. He’s only been home for a couple weeks, and he already appears bigger, bulkier, healthier. And hotter than hell.
As I close the final few feet, his focus fastens on my face. It’s a heated, captivated focus that hitches my breath and wobbles my balance.
His head turns toward the other man, but his eyes stay on mine, as if he intends to resume his conversation but he just can’t look away.
“Are you going to introduce me?” I touch his arm.
He blinks and scraps a hand through his hair. “Yeah, uh…this is the owner of the scuba shop. He’s—”
“Richard Hickey.” The man wipes a big paw on his shirt and holds it out to me, grinning.
I shake his hand. “Hi, Rich— Wait. Did you say, Richard Hickey?”
His grin falls. “Yes.”
“As in Dick Hickey?”
“As in Richard Hickey.” He narrows his eyes.
“But Dick is short for—”
“Leave the poor guy alone.” Cole shakes his head. “He’s heard that shit his entire life.”