Uncharted(43)

“Why did you do that?”

“Ian was right. You would’ve busted your ass.” He shrugs lightly. “Figured I should stop you before you could.”

“As I already assured Ian, I’m perfectly capable of doing this. I can pull off a flawless scorpion pose with a one-man base, for Christ’s sake.”

Beck’s brows lift, but otherwise he gives no indication that he understands a word I’ve just said.

“A bow and arrow,” I offer.

The blank stare persists.

“A needle. A tick tock. A liberty.”

His lips twitch. “Either you’ve had a stroke or I’ve missed a crucial piece of information.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s just making things up, at this point,” Ian adds.

I scowl at them both. “I was a varsity cheerleader. A flyer. That means I was always the one at the top of the pyramid of girls.”

“Oh. Let’s pause here. I think we need to discuss this pile of women,” Ian murmurs wolfishly. “Preferably in as much detail as possible.”

Beck cuts him a severe look.

I ignore them both. “If I can stand on one foot, being held over a spotter’s head by a single hand, I’m damn sure I’ll be able to reach those coconuts by myself. Hell, if one of the guys from my cheer team was here, we’d already be drinking them instead of standing around talking about it.”

“There were guys on your cheerleading squad?” Ian snorts. “And here I thought it was tough being a male flight attendant…”

I roll my eyes.

“I could do it,” Beck offers quietly. “I could… be your base.”

My eyes widen. “Seriously?”

He nods. “Just tell me what to do.”



Stripped down to just my bra and the thin black shorts, I stand pressed as close to Beck as I’ve ever been. So close, I can feel each of his breaths stirring the wispy hairs at the back of my neck. I swallow hard and try to gather my composure.

“Ready?” His voice is a rumble, rolling over me like thunder.

“Yes.” Dear lord, I’m already breathless and we haven’t even started the stunt. “Let’s go for it.”

His hands encircle my waist, each finger digging into my bare flesh. The rasp of his calluses against my sensitive skin is almost too much to bear. I try to put it from my mind, so I can focus on the task at hand, but there’s an undeniable lump in my throat as he bends low and lifts me up onto his shoulders in one smooth motion. Settled with my thighs sandwiching his head, I ignore the butterflies swarming in my stomach and position my bare feet in his hands. I almost moan at the sensation of his thumbs brushing against the balls of my feet.

There is something seriously wrong with me.

When he straightens his arms up over his head, I lock my knees and engage my core muscles to keep from toppling over. Fully extended, I can just reach the top of the tree. Plucking a dozen coconuts from the hanging bunch, I toss them down onto the sand. I’m still grinning like an idiot when Beck lowers me back to earth.

“YES!” I exclaim, giddy with success.

Victories here have been few and far between. I needed a win, a single moment of triumph after all the darkness and defeat. Maybe we all did. Ian cheers riotously, as though I’ve just landed a perfect Double Arabian that would make even his beloved Nastia turn green with envy. And Beck looks down at me with an honest to god grin lighting up his features. The effect is intense — I feel my heart skip a beat at the mere sight of all those white teeth, this close to my face.

“Thank you,” I tell him sincerely.

“You’re welcome.”

For a while we stand there grinning at each other like idiots. Perhaps we’re leaning a little too close, playing with gasoline near a sparking power line, but I can’t force my feet to move away from him. It’s amazing to feel joy zipping through my bloodstream again as we laugh together.

“Tell the truth,” Ian calls. “Beck, you were on an all-male cheer squad. It’s okay, you can tell us. We won’t laugh.” He pauses. “Nah, I take that back, we’ll definitely laugh.”

“You caught me,” Beck jokes, shaking his head. “But it was actually rhythmic gymnastics. I’m quite light on my toes.”

“Downright dainty,” I quip, eyes on his large feet. He must be at least a size twelve. “How ever did you find ballet slippers that big?”

Ian cackles.

Beck snorts in amusement as he steps away from me, walking over to sit by the fire as I collect the coconuts. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being in the circle of his arms as soon as I stepped out of them, but I push those thoughts aside, determined to hang onto the light mood of the past few moments.

The atmosphere conspires to aid me on that front — it’s a clear night with no breeze, so we stoke the fire higher than we’ve ever dared before. Showers of sparks dance upward and dissipate as we watch, clacking our coconut shells together in a celebratory cheers as the sky turns jet. They’re not margaritas, but they’re not half bad.

Over a dinner of fire-roasted crab and sea clams, Ian entertains us with endless stories of terrible flight passengers, until all three of us are in stitches. Before I know it, the moon is high in the sky and my eyes are drooping closed. Ian’s face splits in a giant yawn, mid-tale.