Bad Cruz

My phone was already pressed to my ear. “There’s no signal down here.”

“It’s pretty loud in here,” Cruz said when we got to the upper deck, and I finally got a signal only to get Bear’s voicemail.

The waterpark.

Bear wasn’t kidding.

This place was as big as a city.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

“You’re welcome, Catty Woman.”

“Wit looks good on you, Dr. Costello.”

“You should see what’s underneath it.”

That was the first time we’d treaded on the verge of flirting, and even that had enough venom to kill a herd of elephants.

“Might take you up on the offer,” I drawled sarcastically. “Everyone in Fairhope knows I give out the goods easily.”

He screeched to a stop, his chin sloping down, his deep-blue eyes darkening. Suddenly, we were staring at each other, our noses not even an inch apart, and the noise and shrieks and laughter and kids cannonballing into pools ceased to exist.

Cruz Costello looked…hungry.

And not for food.

My heart cartwheeled into a pool of something warm and gooey, and I resisted to urge to lick my lips.

For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. He clutched me deeper against his pecs, muscular as a Greek god, and every nerve ending in my body sizzled.

My insides turned into thick, syrupy liquid…and then I remembered who he was and what he’d done to me.

And also, that he had a girlfriend I hated (sometimes. In my head).

I snapped my head to the other side, making a show of checking out my two-inch nails.

“What the heck was that, Costello?”

“Nothing, Turner. You were just looking at me weird, so I searched for obvious signs of a heart attack. Your pupils are dilated, by the way.”

“Uh-huh. Just remember you have a girlfriend.”

“I don’t, actually.”

I had no business feeling as gleeful as I felt when he said that.

He resumed his sauntering with me in his arms. Only now, he was trudging. I felt his irritated footsteps on my spine.

We still couldn’t spot our families at the bar. It was packed, loud, and spilling over with people in different states of undress and intoxication.

The scent of BO, chlorine, and cheap alcohol drifted into my nostrils. Heaven. How come no one had ever bottled it into a perfume?

“Nawwww.” I made an exaggerated gesture, placing a hand on my heart. “But you were so perfect together. Oatmeal Couple of the Year. So, am I your next conquest? Your rebound?”

“Rebounds aren’t my speed.”

Was it me, or had he not flat-out denied it?