The Boyfriend Experience (The Boyfriend Experience 1)

A few feet away from them, her brother and Aaron’s canoe finally passed the buoy.

“Get a room, you two!” Garrett said, sounding completely beat.

Evie ignored him. For winning the race, they got bragging rights for the weekend, but right now, this decadent kiss was her prize, and she intended to savor every second of it.

At ten p.m. that Saturday night, Eric and Evie headed back to their cabin after spending a few hours with her family around the big bonfire located on the campgrounds for larger groups to enjoy. They sat around and her relatives brought up stories from other reunions, and as the older generation gradually retired for the evening, Garrett and Aaron took over with ridiculous horror stories, each one gorier than the last.

It had been a very long day, but Eric had a perma-smile on his face because he’d had a great time and so much fun . . . starting with winning the canoe race. Graham and Raquel had come in second to last, and she’d done nothing to disguise the fact that she was pissed that Graham hadn’t tried harder. She’d stood up in her canoe wearing her skimpy bikini and no cover-up, most likely to berate Graham from a superior position, but as she’d waved her hands in the air dramatically while she screeched like a banshee, she’d ended up falling overboard instead.

Unlike Eric, who’d tried to catch Evie before she’d plunged into the lake, Graham just watched it happen, and when Raquel bobbed to the surface, he’d merely reached out his paddle to draw her back to the canoe, while she wailed that her hair was completely wet with gross water and her false lashes were ruined—hello, they were on a lake, for crying out loud—then demanded he take her back to shore, right now. Without a word, Graham had done as he was told.

A few of them had remained out on the lake, floating next to their canoes, enjoying the warm day and swimming and playing in the cool water. It was the kind of vacation Eric remembered spending with his parents and Trish during the summers . . . when they’d been a family of four. He’d been hit with a wave of melancholy, but as he’d glanced over at Evie as she’d laughed at something her goofy brother had said, he was also struck with the realization of how relaxed he felt, how comfortable he was with her family, and how he wished that his time with Evie didn’t have to end. But he was not that guy who could give her any kind of happily ever after, and she knew that about him.

After the canoe race, most of her other relatives did their own thing for the rest of the afternoon, while he and Evie spent time with her immediate family. They’d played cornhole and spent almost two hours talking to her grandpa, who was a fascinating, interesting man. They’d gone on a nature hike with Evie’s father as a guide, with Garrett and Aaron adding hilarious side commentary. After dinner, they’d made and ate s’mores at the campfire—a first for him, but he’d definitely enjoyed licking the sticky marshmallow from Evie’s fingers.

In truth, it was one of the best days of Eric’s life since Trisha’s death. The day had been filled with so much smiling and laughing and sense of family, and never once had he felt out of place.

As they entered their cabin, Evie turned on the light on the nightstand next to the bed and released a tired groan. “God, I’m absolutely exhausted.”

Now that they were inside where there was light, he saw how pink her skin was on her face from their day in the sun, and as she pulled off her top, he could see that her shoulders and arms and anywhere else the one-piece bathing suit she was wearing had left her exposed were also a warm rose color. They’d put on sunscreen, but clearly they hadn’t applied enough.

“And you’re sunburnt,” he told her.

Her eyes rounded in surprise. “Am I really?”

“A little bit, yes.” He lightly skimmed his finger over the bridge of her nose and the tiny, almost miniscule brown dots that the sun had brought out. “And you have freckles.”

“Ugh.” She scrunched up her nose in disgust. “I hate when my freckles come out.”

He grinned and brushed his thumb along her cheek, his pulse skipping a beat at the sweet way she looked up at him. “I like them. They’re adorable.” And Jesus, when did he start waxing poetic about a woman’s complexion? “How about I rub some lotion on your shoulders and back where you’re pink?”

She raised a suspicious brow. “I didn’t see lotion in that basket, just flavored lubricant.”

“Well, if I use the flavored lubricant, I can lick you afterwards. Anywhere you’d like.” He waggled his brows for effect.