Page 58 of My Best French Wedding

“What are you doing?” Walter gritted out.

“Look at those poor babies,” she said through her smile. “It’s like they’re getting picked last for kickball. At their own wedding! We have to help them.”

“Are you sure that’s…” He trailed off mid-thought as Hildy shrugged her arms free of her cover-up.

“It’s a brilliant idea,” she finished for him, shimmying the dress down her legs until she could step out of it. Her bathing suit was not exactly sporty, but it wasn’t a G-string either. Not that Walter could tell, with his eyes locked on the grass.

“Your turn.” She clapped her hands like a coach, two quickget movingslaps. “Unless you’re planning to wear your shirt in the pool?”

“It might be better.” His fingers twisted the hem. “For you to hold on to.”

“I need both arms to whack people.” She was a little concerned by his limited grasp of battle tactics. “Your job is to hold on to me. And not fall over.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Something was obviously weighing on him, so it was time for one of her legendary pep talks. “Listen. It’s like kickboxing, only in the water and with more props. Plus the piggyback element. And I could really use the workout. Bottom line, it’ll make Fiona and Robbie happy, so suck it up.”

He gave a slow nod, falling in beside her as she walked over to the referee’s chair. It would have been cooler if there was one of those movie sequences where everyone geared up and checked their weapons like they were going to war, but a pool noodle was a pool noodle. It didn’t make cool sound effects. Hildy let Fiona choose first, and was only mildly surprised when she took the neon green one.

“Robbie’s favorite color,” Fiona explained.

“That works out, because Walter loves pink.” Hildy grabbed the other noodle, tapping it against Fiona’s in a quick salute, one warrior to another.

“No hits to the face,” the ref reminded them.

“Everything else is fair game though, right?” Hildy asked.

“Glad you’re on my team,” Walter murmured behind her.

She turned to stick her tongue out at him, but that plan flew out the window when she registered his shirtlessness. There was no time to process the discovery now, so she took a mental snapshot of his naked torso for future contemplation. Maybe she could paste it on a dartboard, with the bull’s-eye in that delicious valley between his pecs.

“I guess we should do it in the pool,” Walter said.

Hildy blinked at him.

“You getting on my shoulders,” he clarified, red-faced.

“That’s what I thought you meant,” she lied, waving at him to go first.

Sighing like he was about to walk the plank, Walter climbed the short flight of steps and lowered himself into the water on the other side. Hildy started to ask if it was cold, then realized that would sound weak. Also, she could just check his nipples.

That was a yes, then.

She had a brief out-of-body experience during the… mounting, for lack of a better word. Walter hunched down, Hildy attempted to climb onto his back with dignity and poise, there was some slipping and sliding involving her inner thigh and parts of his face, as well as boob-to-back contact (but who was counting?), and then finally she was sitting on him.

His shoulders. She was sitting on his shoulders, with her legs dangling down his chest.

“Is this okay?” Walter asked, taking a tentative hold of her shins as he straightened from a crouch.

She wiggled her hips, worried she might slip backward and take them both down. “I’m not humping the back of your head, FYI.”

“I appreciate the clarification.”

“We just need a nice, tight fit,” Hildy continued, as if overexplaining would make it less awkward. “Meaning your grip.”

“That’s exactly where my mind went.”

“Walter.”