Even though we should be an hour or two past the lunch rush, he’s right. “Thanks.”
“Go ahead,” Echo says as soon as we reach our chaises.
I don’t want to leave her here alone, so I scan the beach for Xavian. No sign of him.
“It’ll wait.”
She frowns. “Don’t be silly. You’re hungry. I’ll just chill on my lounger and catch some sun. I’ll be here when you get back.”
My stomach rumbles again. “You sure?”
“Totally.” She settles onto her back and closes her eyes, seemingly unaware of the water drops caressing her as they make love to her golden skin.
My mouth goes dry.
“Want anything?”
“Bottle of water.”
“Sure. I’ll be back.” But I can’t find the will to leave. I gape. I can’t keep my fucking stare off her.
I’m getting hard again. And if she opens her eyes, there’s no way she won’t see that.
Stop being a lech.
She cracks an eye open. “Something wrong?”
“Nope. I’m, um…making sure I’ve got my room key.”
And now you’re a liar, too?
With a sigh, I look around for Xavian one more time. He’s nowhere. I sigh.
The hike up to the stand takes forever. Darting around playing kids and resort employees delivering drinks poolside isn’t easy. And like the thirty-something guy on the beach warned, the line is long. Thankfully, it moves. And fifteen minutes later, I have a turkey on wheat with swiss and spinach, along with a bag of chips and two bottles of water.
Juggling the food, I trudge back to the beach. As soon as I hit the sand, I glance toward my bestie. But I can’t see her anymore. She’s been swallowed up by a wall of testosterone.
Are you fucking kidding me?
At least a half dozen guys crowd around Echo, all gawking and drooling, trying to chat her up.
Xavian wasn’t lying when he said he couldn’t leave her alone on the beach.
Wearing that bikini, what did you expect?
“C’mon, baby. What’s your name?” calls one.
Another curls his hand along the side of the lounger, hovering too close. “How long are you here?”
A guy eye-fucking her creeps in. “Did you come with anyone?”
That’s my cue.
“She came with me. Get lost.” I wedge in between a hulk who’s the size of a pro football player and a dude who’s got the surfer-bro thing down, complete with a long-bang flip.
Echo sits up as I lower myself to the chaise beside hers. “Here’s your water…sweetheart.”
She flashes her dimple at me as she takes the bottle from my hand. “Thanks…babe.”
With a chorus of groans and grumbles, her horde of boy-toy wannabes wander away.
“Holy shit,” I mutter once we’re alone. “I wasn’t gone twenty minutes.”
With a shrug, she perches a pair of round, wire-rimmed sunglasses on her nose and stares at me over the top. “About thirty seconds after you left they started coming over. Xavian shooed them away once. I don’t know what they want.”
Can she seriously put on that bikini, look in a mirror, and still say that with a straight face?
Maybe she doesn’t understand. Has she been wearing her baggy-saggies and flown under the radar of every guy on campus—me included—for so long that she doesn’t realize how sexy she is? It’s a shock to me, so maybe it’s even a shock to her.
“They want you.”
She frowns. “Not sure why, but whatever. So what did you get?”
“Turkey and swiss.” I take a bite, and we talk about dinner, the honeymoon couple a few loungers down who are getting awfully serious with their PDA for a semi-public beach, and the sublime Hawaiian weather.
After I’m done eating, I spray on some sunscreen Echo brought in her oversize beach bag, then ease back to my chaise. At least since I’ve returned, the dudes have backed off from my bestie. But I still see them staring. I wish they would fuck off.
But they won’t. Neither will Xavian; he’s made that clear. And Echo seems determined to lose her virginity this week. Hell, if I hadn’t intervened, she would have already spent a night in X’s bed…and probably regretted it. She didn’t ask me to save her from herself, but shouldn’t a good friend do that?
Hell yeah.
But where does that leave me?
Making hard decisions.
Everything boils down to this: Who should be Echo’s first, Xavian? Some other asshole? Or me?
Chapter Four
I glance at the clock. Three a.m.
I lie in bed, acutely aware of Echo beside me in a matching pajama set. The sage green shorts with white polka dots cling to her hips and barely reach her thighs. Half of her incredible ass is hanging out. She can’t possibly be wearing underwear.
And the tank top… I grit my teeth. It ought to be illegal. It tries to be cute with The Snuggle is Real emblazoned across the front. But the spaghetti straps cling by a thread to her otherwise bare shoulders. And the top either shrank in the wash or she bought it too small because it doesn’t cover her midriff and it totally grips her tits, emphasizing the fact she’s braless.
Everything she’s worn this week has made me realize I know Echo as a human—probably better than anyone else—but I barely know her as a woman.
Worse, the question I asked myself on the beach pelts me over and over, circling like a fighter jet ready to drop more bombs on my brain. Do I want to risk her first time being with someone, who, I hope, won’t bruise her tender heart? If I did the job myself, I wouldn’t worry about her well-being. Hell, I’d worship her—happily. But if I take her to bed—even once—can we go back to being just friends? Would she hate me when I go on with my life?
Maybe. But it’s also possible I’ve underestimated her. Xavian swears she’s ready for a one-night fling simply to pop her cherry.
But what about you? Are you ready to spend a night inside Echo, touching her in every way, then let her go?
Given how much I want her? The way our kiss last night replays on a constant loop in my head? How hard I am every moment I’m around her?
I don’t know.
Suddenly, I wake up to a face full of sun, sweating and disoriented, and glance at the clock again. Crap, it’s after ten.
And I hear Echo singing in the shower, bless her off-key heart.
On the nightstand, her phone buzzes.
Glowering, I grab it. If that’s Xavian trying to chat her up and into bed, he can go fuck himself. But the display says it’s Fay Henderson, co-founder of the nonprofit Echo interviewed with last week.
Shit. She won’t want to miss this call, but she won’t be out of the shower in time. I hesitate, but on the third ring, I give into the urge to answer. “Hello?”
“May I speak to Echo Hope?”
“She’s not here at the moment. This is her…boyfriend. Can I help you?”
“How nice to talk to you, Hayes. Echo told us so much about you. It’s obvious she loves you.”
Obvious how? “My girl is incredibly special. I’m lucky.”
“You are. I was hoping to speak to her. Do you know when she’ll be available?”