First and Tension (Summersweet Island 4)

“You sure about that?” he whispers with an unmistakable flicker of his eyes down to my mouth when I lick my lips.

I realize my hand is still pressed flatly against his warm, muscular chest, and somewhere along the way, he rested his on top of mine. When he starts rubbing his thumb back and forth against the top of my hand, I quickly get my wits about me. Yanking it out from under his, while he keeps his hold on the paper and pen, I hate that I can still feel the steady, strong beat of his heart against my palm.

“At least you kept your promise,” I tell him with a shrug, remembering he’s a jerk and I’m better than this.

“And which one is that?” Quinn asks with those heart-stopping dimples on full display.

“That you’d contact me when you needed to be brought down a few pegs,” I remind him. “Eat shit, and seriously, get the hell off my island.”

With a silent scream in my head and a clench of my fists, I turn away from him and walk past all of my unhelpful friends, disappearing into the back office with a slam of the door behind me.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure,” I hear Tyler lie to my friends from the other side of the door as I flop down into the computer chair behind the desk. “I just need all of you to sign these NDAs, and then we can be out of your hair. I cannot believe our driver never showed up, and now we have to walk back to that godforsaken ferry, because all the golf carts needed maintenance at the same fucking time.”

“Oh shit, that was a real job?” Bodhi chuckles. “When Frank called me from the ferry dock and said two hotshots wanted to hire a golf cart driver, I thought it was a joke. Well, if you guys are still game, so am I. I’ve got nothing else going on.”

With another silent scream when I hear footsteps several minutes later, followed by the front door opening and closing, I rest my arms on the small desk in the room, then slam my head down repeatedly on top of them.

I’m not at all sad and hurt that after five long months of wishing I could see him again, Quinn Bagley turned out to be a jerk and he’s doing exactly what I ordered him to do.

CHAPTER 6

Quinn

“Whaaat the fuck?”

“…and to your left, you’ll see Hang Five Arcade, where I currently hold the island record for—”

“No one gives a shit! Just drive—goddammit!”

I don’t even bother hiding my laugh when Bodhi, the guy who’s driving us around and looks like the coolest surfer ever, conveniently finds another muddy pothole in the street, splashing dirty water up onto Tyler’s feet.

“These are $3,000 crocodile loafers from Italy!” Tyler shouts over the tricked-out sound system that’s blasting DMX, hanging his foot out the side of the cart to shake the mud and water off as we fly down the street.

“These are $2.00 flip-flops from the grocery store,” Bodhi replies, waving one of his flip-flops over his shoulder that he slipped off while he took a corner at a high rate of speed. “Who’s the idiot now?”

When I chuckle, Tyler whips his head to the side to look at me, both of us in the back seat of the golf cart. Although I don’t know if this is technically considered a golf cart or a street-legal racing machine. It’s honestly the most badass thing I’ve ever seen. Black with blue flames painted on it, huge tires with spinning rims, black-and-blue leather racing seats, with multicolored LED lights running under the roof of the cart and the undercarriage, glowing against the asphalt and flashing in sync with the beat of the music as we drive through town.

“None of this is funny,” Tyler growls when I laugh again as Bodhi pumps one fist in the air, shouting about Ruff Ryders.

“It’s fucking hilarious. And I’m not speaking to you,” I remind him, crossing my arms in front of me and staring straight ahead as we cruise down the main drag, the businesses all lit up but not too many people out this late in the evening. “You were an asshole.”

“You were pretty rude, bro,” Bodhi shouts back over his shoulder.

“Stay out of our conversation! Just because you and all your little friends also signed NDAs doesn’t mean you get to—Fuck!” Tyler curses when Bodhi hits another pothole, Tyler’s head hits the roof of the golf cart, and he shoots me another glare when I laugh.

“You deserved that after how disrespectful you were to this place and to Emily,” I remind him.

The hurt written all over her face when Tyler had to open his big mouth and bring up the money flashes through my head, making me sick to my stomach. I was just starting to relax, knowing I could trust my initial instincts about her, still drunk on the beachy, coconut smell of her skin after I leaned down to whisper in her ear. And I could tell she was starting to warm up to me for assuming the worst about her, when Tyler had to ruin everything.