“Okay, let’s go back to my place and grab our suits—”

Holden shook his head. “No, come on. The beach is only a couple of blocks away. Let’s just walk over.”

“But if we can’t swim—”

“We’ll walk along the shoreline, collect seashells, maybe. I came all this way. I want some time to talk to you. To be with you.” The slightest smile touched his lips, and her heart gave a little flutter.

This was no good, no fair. He was playing dirty. He had to know by now what his smile did to her, how she felt knowing that he wanted something, really wanted it.

He had to know that it was almost impossible for her to deny him anything when he looked at her that way.

“Yeah, uh, okay. We can go to the beach. We should probably hurry, though. The sun will be setting soon.” Her stomach clenched as she pictured them, walking side-by-side on the shore, the orange glow of the sun’s last rays catching in Holden’s blond hair. It seemed so…intimate. So romantic.

She sucked in her cheeks. This was a colossal mistake. If it wasn’t too late, there was a chance she could take it back, though. If only she could—

“All right, let’s go.” Holden grinned and started toward the door. And with a deep breath, she followed along behind him, swallowing all her protests in one terror-filled gulp.

Chapter Six

Fred Fitzgerald.

Holden barely managed to swallow back a snort of disgust. What the fuck kind of name was that, anyway? Sounded like a trust-fund brat…or maybe an insurance salesman.

Whatever the case, Holden hated his guts already. Which was pathetic, considering the poor bastard was probably in the same spot he, himself, was right this minute.

Crazy for Avery Forrester with almost no chance of having her.

Sure, he’d had her in the biblical sense—he refused to wonder whether or not Fred Fitzgerald could say the same—but having Avery and holding her were two totally different things. But today was the day. Today, he was going to make his move. Win, lose, or draw, it was worth the risk. Then he’d finally know, for sure, how she felt. Worst-case scenario? She’d shoot him down, and he could comfort himself with the fact that at least he’d gone out swinging. Best-case scenario?

He wouldn’t even allow himself to think about it.

“Wait up,” he called after her, lengthening his stride until they were side-by-side again. “Jesus, Avery, where’s the fire…other than in my mouth from those hot wings?” he asked with a laugh.

Good. Keep it casual. And the best way to do that was to disarm her with small talk. Keep it light and then, BAM! Drop it like a bomb before she knew what hit her.

“Oh Lord, you’re such a baby,” she said, shoulder checking him gently as they walked. “Hey, if you still can’t take the heat, I can give Fred a call and tell him to bring his firehose—”

“Nope,” he answered sharply. “It’s all good, I was just kidding.” Because fuck Fred and his firehose. His blood instantly went hot at the second mention of the fire captain, and it took him a minute to get his head right as they walked in silence.

He’d just mentally put together the opening to the speech he’d been working on for the past twenty-four hours when she let out a gasp.

“Wow, check it out!” She ran ahead again, and he followed her path with his gaze.

A dozen yards away, the form of a massive turtle made out of sand covered an eight-foot section of the beach. Avery slowed as she reached it and turned back, shooting him a wide grin over her shoulder.

“It’s amazing. Hurry up, slow poke.”

Despite his irritation at yet another interruption, he had to admit she was right. The display of sand art was definitely expert level. The shell was massive and looked so lifelike, he wanted to reach out and touch it. Best of all was the animal’s face. It looked like the turtle was smiling, which clearly delighted Avery to no end.

“This must have taken hours,” he said, not sure what was more c

ompelling, her ecstatic face or the sand sculpture. It was hard to stay irritated with her when she looked so goddamned beautiful.

“It probably did, but I bet whoever did this had a blast.” Her green eyes snapped with fire as she closed the distance between them and tugged him off the dry sand over to the cooler, sea-soaked shore. “We still have a solid hour until sunset, so let’s make our own sand sculpture. Look, there’s an old cracked bucket right there,” she said, her face as animated as a kid’s on Christmas morning. “And we can use some big shells to scoop the wet sand into it.”

He eyed the cruddy yellow bucket as she picked it up and shook his head slowly. “I’m pretty sure they had better tools than that when they made the turtle,” he replied with a chuckle.

“Maybe, but who cares? Ours will still be cooler. Come on, Holden, don’t poop on my party.”

Tags: Allison Gatta Erotic
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