The Unhoneymooners(32)

I’d intended to do it to needle him, but actually . . . it’s nice.

His skin is sun-warmed, firm, distracting.

It’s like having a single bite of something delicious; I want to go back for more. The point of contact where my thumb touches his hip is suddenly the hottest part of my body.

With a cheesy growl, Billy pulls Sophie onto his lap, and she kicks her feet up, giggly and petite. After a stretch of silence during which I really should have seen it coming, Ethan sits, too, jerking me down onto his thighs. I fall far less gracefully—far less petite—and let out a burp when I land.

“What are you doing?” I ask under my breath.

“God, I don’t know,” he whispers, pained. “Just go with it.”

“I can feel your penis.”

He shifts beneath me. “This was so much easier last night.”

“Because you weren’t invested!”

“Why is she up here?” he hisses. “There’s an entire boat!”

“You guys are so cute over there,” Sophie calls, smiling. “So chatty!”

“So chatty,” Ethan repeats, smiling through clenched teeth. “Can’t get enough of each other.”

“Totally,” I add, and make it even worse by giving a double thumbs-up.

Sophie and Billy look so natural at this. We, however, do not. It was one thing in the restaurant last night with Mr. Hamilton, where we had our own chairs and some degree of personal space. But here, my sunscreen-slicked legs slide all over Ethan’s, and he has to adjust me again. I’m sucking in my stomach and my thighs are shaking from the restraint it’s taking to not lean my full weight into him. As if sensing this, he pulls me back into his chest, trying to get me to relax.

“Is this comfortable?” he mumbles.

“No.” I am acutely conscious of every doughnut I’ve ever eaten in my entire life.

“Turn sideways.”

“What?”

“Like . . .” He guides both of my legs to the right, helping me curl into his chest. “Better?”

“I mean . . .” Yes. It is better. “Whatever.”

He stretches his arms across the deck railing and, gamely, I wrap an arm around his neck, trying to look like someone who enjoys frequent sex with him.

When I glance up, he’s just looking up from my chest again.

“Very subtle.”

He looks away, blushes, and an electric zap travels down my neck. “They are pretty great, you know,” he finally admits.

“I know.”

“They do look better in this than in the Skittle dress.”

“Your opinion is so important to me.” I shift, wondering why I’m so flushed. “And I can feel your penis again.”

“Of course you can,” he says, with a tiny wink. “It’d be hard not to.”

“Is that a size joke, or a boner joke?”

“Uh, definitely a size joke, Orville.”

I take a gulp of my drink and then exhale directly into his face so that he winces from the fumes of cheap vodka.

Squinting, he says, “You’re a real seductress.”

“I hear that a lot.”

He coughs, and I swear I see Ethan Thomas battling a genuine smile.

And I get it. As much as I hate him . . . I think I’m starting to like us.

“Have you ever snorkeled?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you usually better at conversations than you are with me?”

“Yes.”

We fall back into silence, but we are so close, and across the deck there’s only the wet sounds of Sophie and Billy making out. Ethan and I can’t not talk. “What’s your favorite drink?”

He looks at me with pained patience, growling, “Do we have to do this?”

I nod over toward Ethan’s ex and her new fiancé, who look like they’re only seconds away from dry humping. “Would you rather watch them? Or we could make out.”

“Caipirinhas,” he answers. “You?”

“I’m a margarita girl. But if you like caipirinhas, there’s a place a couple miles from my apartment that makes the best ones I’ve ever had.”

“We should go there,” he says, and it’s clear he’s done it without thinking because we both immediately let out the ha-ha-ha of the Oop, that’s not going to happen! laugh.

“Is it weird that you’re not as unpleasant as I initially thought?” he asks.

I use his monosyllabic tactic against him. “Yes.”

He rolls his eyes.

Over Ethan’s shoulder, the Molokini Crater comes fully into view. It is vibrant green, crescent-shaped, and stunning. Even from here I can see that the clear blue bay is dotted with boats just like ours.

“Look.” I nod to the horizon. “We aren’t lost at sea.”

He lets out a quiet “Wow.” And there, for a single breath, we give in to a really lovely moment of enjoying something together. Until Ethan decides to ruin it: “I hope you don’t drown out there.”

I smile down at him. “If I do, the husband is always a suspect.”

“I take back my ‘unpleasant’ comment.”