“Yeah.” I nodded. His tone and the things he’d left unsaid underscored that there was more than one way to feel lonely. The way the Euler boys were spaced, Roger was the oldest with Oliver his ready sidekick, then Calder close enough to hang with the older two, but Arthur was enough younger that he’d probably been frequently left behind. “I’m sorry you didn’t have it as easy.”
“Eh. It’s okay. I got really good at entertaining myself, hence coming prepared for this trip.” He set his last piece down with a flourish.
“Well, I appreciate your planning ahead.” Neither of us seemed inclined to linger too much in the past, so I turned my attention to the game at hand. Arthur was a stylish player with a number of bold, flashy moves, some of which seemed more designed to get a laugh than to advance his cause.
“Damn.” He shook his head as I collected one of his rooks to add to my growing pile of his pieces. “You’re good.”
“So are you.” Our hands brushed as he quickly countered my move with one of his own, nabbing one of my few remaining pawns. His unpredictability coupled with his skill made him fun to play against, and I wasn’t sure whether it was the fast-paced game or his nearness that had my body humming. Likely both, and holding my own against the resident genius was a rush that had me whooping like a new recruit when I finally pulled out the win.
“Nicely done.” Still smiling, Arthur seemed almost as pleased about my win as I was. “Should we play next for who is sleeping in the tub?”
“No one is getting the tub.” I groaned and stretched. Somehow over the course of the game, I’d stopped fighting so hard against the inevitable. And no way could I go from a friendly game filled with stories of other matches we’d played over the years to banishing the guy to the tub or the floor. “You were right.”
“I was?” Arthur’s eyes went wide.
“We’re adults and we can share a bed. Platonically.” Swallowing hard, I glanced over at it. It seemed smaller by the second.
“Excellent.” Arthur fist-pumped like he’d scored some major prize, and I had to laugh at his unbridled enthusiasm.
“I love how easy to please you are.”
“Yeah?” Voice going softer, Arthur tilted his head like he couldn’t quite figure me out. That was okay. I couldn’t figure me out either.
“Yeah. I wish everyone could be as optimistic as you.” I was so used to all-business sailors who got their jobs done on automatic and who kept their heads down, but people who found joy in small moments were more of a rarity in my life. “The way you let little things make you happy...it’s a great quality.”
“Thanks.” He licked his lips. His very full lips. Every contour of his mouth was burned on my soul, and I watched his mouth with a new hunger as he continued, “I think that’s the nicest compliment someone has given me.”
“You deserve it.” My voice was too husky. What the heck was happening here? I wasn’t sure, and what was worse, I didn’t want to stop it either. “I’m not one for empty praise.”
“I know.” Arthur held my gaze until the air in the room thickened, electricity crackling between us like dry lightning on a humid day. “Derrick?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you still buzzed from earlier?” he asked softly, not the question I’d been expecting.
I blinked. “Did I not just kick your ass at chess? My tolerance is for shit after being on the boat so long, but it would still take more than two beers to get me tipsy.”
“Good.” Nodding firmly, he shifted in his chair, bringing his hair close enough to sniff again.
“Why?” I whispered, more than a little afraid I knew the answer already.
“I want you sober when I do this.” And with that, he leaned the rest of the way in, the scant few inches separating us closing as he brushed his mouth across mine.
Chapter Twelve
Arthur
The first time I kissed Derrick had been for show. Memorable though the kiss was, I’d spent days convincing myself that the audience had heightened my responses. Nothing could live up to that kind of playacting for real.
Or so I’d thought.
Then I kissed him because I wanted to, without a damn soul around, both of us sober and not caught up in anything other than firelight and good conversation, the sort where I felt truly seen and appreciated. I kissed him out of gratitude, but also because I couldn’t resist. All the temptation had built up to the point that the kiss seemed almost predestined.
And I discovered how very wrong I’d been. Kissing Derrick behind closed doors was better. After I gave him a soft, chaste first kiss, I paused, lips millimeters apart. No audience whooping. No cameras. No friends shouting encouragement. If Derrick wanted to keep the kiss going, he’d have to make the move on his own.