“Okay,” I reply with a quiet voice.
“I meant what I said. I do think that.” CJ slides closer, his one hand flattening on the bar as he tips forward until he’s practically hovering on top of me. Then he bends down and drops his head next to mine, tickling my cheek with his breath. “I probably shouldn’t be thinking everything I’m thinking. You being Reed’s sister and him being a good friend of mine. It’s fucked up, darlin’, but I’m having trouble concentrating on anything else right now. You want to know if I’m serious and I don’t mind telling you, you look really fucking pretty sitting here next to me, Riley. On top of thinking that, I’m wondering how the fuck I’ve gone years without knowing about you.”
I am no longer breathing. I have completely forgotten how to breathe.
CJ leans back but doesn’t step away, so he’s still hovering, his legs still pressing against mine and his large body shadowing me while he waits for my response.
And I want to give him one. It’s just there’s a lot to focus on at the moment. CJ gives me plenty of information to respond to, like the thinking parts—him thinking things he shouldn’t be thinking. What things? I want to ask about that but instead, I decide to explain his last inquiry.
Forcing air into my lungs, I look up into his summer sky-blue eyes and say, “I don’t usually spend time with Reed and his friends. Him and I are close, but we don’t hang out like that. We never have. He’s older than me, so—”
“How much older?”
The tone in CJ’s voice grows more serious and dips lower. I know why he’s asking this.
At least, I think I know.
“Five years.”
“Which makes you . . .”
“Twenty-two.”
I watch his eyes move over my face. He stares at my nose and my lips and my cheeks. I swear he can see every freckle I thought I hid with my makeup and is taking the time to count them.
Every. Single. One.
“How old are you?” I ask, sounding as nervous as I feel but hoping a question will distract me from it.
“Thirty.”
“That’s a good age. I like thirty.”
God, what am I saying? I like thirty? I’ve never cared about a number before.
The corner of CJ’s mouth lifts.
I half expect him to turn away now and find someone else to look at since I’ve clearly lost my mind, but he doesn’t. He keeps looking at me.
And I suddenly realize how crushed I’d be if he did look somewhere else.
I like this. I like that it’s him looking. There’s something about CJ—something familiar and warm. I hardly know him, but I feel like I do.
Crazy. This is crazy. I’m crazy.
I’m probably imagining all of this. He’s being friendly. That’s it. And I’m nervous and my heart is pounding. He isn’t counting my freckles. God, what am I thinking? I need a distraction. I need to get the subject off me and my very legal age, and I need to do it before I go imagining anything else.
I decide on throwing out the first thought that pops into my head.
“Do all palm trees have coconuts?”
CJ blinks several times, jerking back. “Say what?” he asks, looking at me like I’ve suddenly grown two heads and he isn’t interested in counting the freckles on either one of them.
Okay. There’s more space between us. I can breathe a little now. This is good.
I feel my shoulders relax, then I lift both with a shrug and repeat, “Do all palm trees have coconuts? I’ve always wondered that.”
“And you’re wondering that right now?”
“Well, we are surrounded by them.” I gesture at the tropical enclosure around the bar. “I honestly don’t think they all have coconuts. Just the island ones, like where Tom Hanks got stranded. But I don’t know for sure and thought maybe you knew the answer. I’m a naturally curious person.”
CJ stares at me, then smiles through a shake of his head. “You're a naturally curious person,” he repeats.
I nod, replying, “Yep.”
“And you’re curious about palm trees.”
I feel my lips curve up. “Yep.”
He steps back and looks around the bar while gripping the back of his neck. I watch his white tee ride up a little, exposing a hard, tanned stomach.
Would it be weird if I reached out and touched it?
Good Lord, what is wrong with me? Yes! Of course it would be weird. What am I thinking?
Rule number two when in the presence of CJ Tully: Do not touch anything. Don’t even think about touching anything. And don’t imagine he wants you to touch, because he doesn’t.
After surveying our surroundings, he drops his arm and extends his hand to me.
“What?” I ask, looking between his hand and his face.
“You wanna know so bad, let’s go find out.”
I blink at him. “Really? You . . . you want me to go somewhere with you?”
I do a quick glance around the bar. Did anyone else hear that? I’m not imagining full conversations now, am I?
CJ laughs, drawing my head back around. “Absofuckinlutely,” he says, wearing a smile full of mischief. “Come on, darlin’. Go somewhere with me.”
I debate for a solid second about leaving the bar with CJ, and it might’ve been a longer debate if he wasn’t smiling like he has some big secret he wants to share with me and dropping darlin’s while offering his hand like a gentleman, but he is. I’m not dreaming this. I’m not crazy. And as much as I want to think maybe I shouldn’t like the idea of holding this particular hand so much, I can’t. I like CJ. And I want to know what this feels like.
Even if he only holds my hand for a second.
“The shots were on the Tennyson tab,” I inform the bartender before taking the hand being held out for me and getting to my feet.
CJ moves us through the crowd, and he does this while keeping hold of me.
I can’t stop smiling.
And that only quickens my steps and makes this decision that much easier.
CJ doesn’t let go of my hand until we get to the other side of the resort and make it to a large grouping of palm trees separating the villas from the beach.
“I don’t see any coconuts,” he says, standing directly underneath one with his head tilted way back and his hands on his hips. “But I can’t really see shit from down here. Hold up.”
My eyes widen.
“Oh, my God,” I giggle, slapping a hand over my mouth as CJ grabs one of the low hanging branches and uses it to hoist himself up the tree. I move closer and watch him climb up. “You’re crazy! I don’t think you’re allowed to do that.”
“What are they going to do? Call the cops? I am the motherfuckin’ police.”
My smile grows bigger. “And it would be a crime if we didn’t crack this case, right?”
“Fucking A, babe,” he calls out.
I press my hands to my cheeks as my heart races with excitement. The risk of getting caught quickens my breath.
When was the last time I had this much fun?
“Anything yet?” I ask after a couple of minutes pass.
CJ mumbles something I can’t make out, then after a quick maneuver between branches he drops down, brushes his hands off on his shorts and moves to stand in front of me.