First and Tension (Summersweet Island 4)

“Sweet Christ.” His words come out on a whispered breath, and his phone slips from his hands and clatters to the deck, his eyes now mesmerized by the real me instead of the video I sent him.

“We’re not at a football stadium, but do you still want to do dirty things with the captain of the cheer squad?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips and jutting one out, some of my happiness right now stemming from the fact that I could still fit my ass and my boobs into my college cheerleading uniform.

“That video you sent was exceptionally hot, but this…” His eyes trail over my body in the white, skin-tight skirt with a thick red stripe across the bottom hem that sits low on my hips and barely covers my ass cheeks, and the white, cropped tankini-style uniform top with the same thick red stripe. It shows off my entire torso and just barely covers my boobs. “This is what football dreams are made of. I think I might be having a stroke.”

I laugh softly, my feet finally remembering how to move as I drop my hands from my hips and walk across the deck, the last of the sand falling off my feet and crunching under them as I go until I’m standing right in between Quinn’s spread legs and bent knees. He immediately leans forward and grabs my hips, making me let out a little squeal as he quickly turns me and then yanks me down to sit sideways on one of his powerful thighs. My knees are bent and legs together in between his, one of my arms thrown over his shoulder as I lean into him. Keeping his eyes locked on mine with our faces a few inches apart, Quinn wraps one arm securely around my back to hold me against his chest, and the other one is draped across my bare thighs.

“Can I just say again—that video was exceptionally hot. Care to do it again right here, so I can witness it live and in person?” he asks, the sparkle still in his eyes and the dimples now popping in his cheeks.

He has every right to be annoyed with me, but he isn’t, and that makes guilt stab into me like sharp knives all over again. I let him walk away from me after he poured his heart out, and I kept him waiting for two days. If he did that to me and then just showed up at my house, the cops would probably have to be called.

I was such an idiot.

“That video took an hour of stretching and two boozy slushes before it could be completed. I’m out of shape.” I laugh, resting my free hand against his hard, warm chest, reveling in the feel of his quickly beating heart under my palm.

“You don’t want to get back out there and audition for another team?” he asks softly, the tips of his fingers tracing small circles on my thigh where his hand is draped.

The crackling of the fire right behind us and the crashing of the ocean waves not too far off the deck sets the perfect ambiance for this quiet confession out under the stars.

“Definitely not. I did my time, and it was a blast, even though it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. But I can’t put my body through that all day, every day anymore.” I shrug in his arms, wanting to bury my face in his chest and breathe in the fresh, clean smell of him. “I still want to dance, and I still want to have some sort of involvement in cheerleading. I’d much rather be a coach at this point. I want to lead, be supportive, share my experience, and make things better for the future generations of the sport.”

“You deserve to fucking shine,” Quinn says quietly, the conviction in his voice the same as it was that night at my parents’ house when he said those same words to me.

“I know. But I’m okay shining from the sidelines now,” I tell him honestly, pausing for a few minutes to take some calming breaths before I continue. “You know, you forgot something in that speech you made in the concession stand the other night.”

Quinn raises an eyebrow at me, an amused grin on his face as he stops tracing circles on my thigh to rest his heavy palm on my inner thigh of the leg closest to him. Making me have to swallow a few times and really focus on Quinn’s face and what I’m supposed to be saying to him.

“What exactly did I forget to say to you, beautiful?” he asks, my hand against his chest curling into a fist and clinging to his shirt when he calls me that.