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hug invitation. “I thought we were supposed to explore the beach.”
    “I’m a man of many talents.” I point to the ocean and the swelling, crashing waves that always feel like home. “You ready for this? It’s not a snuggle-a-thon, but it has its perks.”
    She nods, walks to me with those damn sexy swaying hips, and traces her fingers over my arm while I focus on not hyperventilating. I clear my throat and try to keep things light and loose. “The deal is, I show you all the super awesome secrets of this particular beach, and you let me ogle you in your bikini. But it’s gotta be a super small bikini. If it isn’t small enough, I’m totally cool with hunting down a nude beach.”
    She rolls her eyes and pulls her shirt over her head slowly. Two tiny red triangles and some string cover her smooth skin, and I feel like I’m twelve years old again, sneaking my grandpa’s Playboys in the crawlspace under the porch. As I’m doing my best to cover the beginnings of a raging hard-on with a well-placed beach towel, she lets the tiny shorts slide off her hips and there is a very limited amount of black fabric and some more string. My head spins like I bashed it hard. Super hard. All normal body functions shut down, and I am fairly sure I’m probably drooling down my chest. And I don’t give a flying fuck.
    “Small enough?” she asks, but there’s a hitch in her voice, and I notice her arms stiff at her sides, like she’s resisting the urge the cover herself up with them.
    “It’ll do,” I manage to get out. “So, did anyone ever tell you that you were made to wear a bikini? Because I’m going to go ahead and suggest you only wear them, like exclusively. The only thing I can imagine you looking better in is nothing, and I get that you’d be cold a lot of the time if you took that route.”
    She laughs and her arms relax a little. “Um, no one’s ever told me anything about how I look in a bikini, because this is my very first one.”
    A flare of possessive goodness flicks through me. “Your first bikini? Right here, today?” With me. For me?
    She nods. “I’ve had it for a few weeks, but I never actually wore it. Before.” She has no idea where to look, so she’s kind of letting her eyes dart on anything and everything except me.
    “Right here, right now, we’re popping your bikini cherry?” I clarify.
    She nods, and that shy way she moves her head mixed with those fucking sweet freckles set up against that sexy barely-there bikini knocks the fucking wind out of me. “What is it?” She wiggles her toes, painted a sparkly blue, in the sand.
    “I’m just thinking that twenty-two is probably going to be the best year of my entire life.”

 
     
                  -Six-
    Whit
     
                  His words twist in the air around us. How do you even respond to a statement like that?               Especially when he’s looking at me like that? So I don’t.
              I change the subject. “What do you wanna do?”
    “I’ve got a few ideas. You’re not in Pennsylvania anymore, are you Dorothy?” His smile is ridiculously contagious.
    “Yeah. It’s been an adjustment.”
    “So, what brought you to our lovely hamlet? School? Family? Strapping young man who blows up your phone with inappropriate text messages while you’re at work?”
    My face is on fire. I should deny it, but I don’t. I just let him stew in his vision for a minute. Let him think what he wants.
    “Mostly school. And that young man? You know, I wouldn’t say he’s strapping, but he makes it worth my while,” I say with a wink.
    His jaw goes slack. He’s surprised. And turned on.
    “You’re trouble. I can tell.” He points at me and shakes his head slowly, his words trying to be stern around his grin. “I mean, the bikini was a dead giveaway, but that right there, what you just said? Hardcore proof.”
    I grin back at him. Flirting is easier than admitting the real