Page 77 of The Wild Card

“Ah.” Foster takes a long sip, eyes dancing. “The classic sunscreen move. Crew, buddy, I’m proud of you. That’s basically foreplay.”

“It’s sun protection.”

“It’s skin-on-skin contact under the guise of practicality.” He toasts me with his beer. “Oldest trick in the book.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Emmie’s laughter fills the air, loosening something in my chest despite my irritation. She looks happy, relaxed, golden in the afternoon sun.

“I’m going to swim,” she announces, standing up.

I watch her walk to the edge of the pool, noticing the sway of her hips and how the sun catches the water droplets still clinging to her stomach from Foster’s cannonball.

Most women would ease in, test the temperature, and worry about their hair and makeup.

Not Emmie.

She reaches up, pulls out the claw clip holding her hair, and shakes it loose so it tumbles down her back in messy waves. She tosses the clip onto a nearby chair, backs up three steps, takes a running start, and launches herself into the deep end.

No hesitation. No delicate toe-dipping. Just a full-body plunge that sends water arcing in all directions, leaving me sitting here like an idiot with my mouth half-open.

She surfaces laughing, pushing soaked hair back from her face. Water streams down her neck and chest, pooling in the hollow of her throat before sliding lower.

“You’re staring,” Foster says quietly.

“I’m not.”

“Buddy, you are. And you look like you want to eat her alive.”

I tear my gaze away. “Shut up.”

“Just making an observation.” He’s watching me now with something that looks almost like concern. “You’ve got it bad, my man.”

“There’s nothing to have. It’s an arrangement.”

“Uh-huh.” He takes another sip of beer. “Is that why you nearly broke my nose at the gala for flirting with her?”

“I didn’t nearly break your nose.”

“You wanted to. I could see it in your eyes.” He leans back, crossing his ankles. “You know, it’s okay to admit you have feelings. It won’t kill you.”

“I don’t—”

“Crew! Foster!” Emmie waves at us from the pool. “Get in! The water’s great! Very refreshing.”

Foster’s already on his feet. “Race you.”

He dives in before I can respond, surfacing next to Emmie with a splash that makes her shriek. She retaliates by splashing water at his face, and suddenly they’re in a splash war, laughing like kids.

I should join them. That’s what normal people do. They get in pools, splash around, and have fun.

Instead, I sit here, watching Emmie’s wet skin glisten in the sunlight, watching Foster make her laugh, and yearning for something I want more than I’ve ever wanted anything with no idea how to reach for it.

“Crew!” She’s waving again. “Come on!”

I stand and walk to the edge.