“Oh hush. I can’t give that a rating, because I haven’t seen it. And I’m not going to see it, because it’s against the rules. And he’s a rules guy. Plus, that’s not the reason I’m here.”

  “Blah, blah, blah. I feel like I should be supportive and say something affirmational about your willpower, like, ‘Yes, stay true to your man-batical.’ But I can’t.” She brings her face closer to the screen, and stage whispers. “Because I’ve seen the tour company’s Instagram feed.”

  “You stalked their Instagram?”

  She nods as she stretches on her couch. “One, it’s not stalking, it’s appreciating their social media marketing. Two, it’s in the friend code. Rule three, section five, provision ten: thou shall check out all potential suitors and render a Verdict of Suitability. Assuming he’s the one with the dark-blond hair, perfect cheekbones, and those eyes . . .”

  I sigh happily. “As blue as the ocean.”

  “Then my verdict is—break the rules.”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “Okay, then. Bend them. Because provision eleven dictates: thou shall report back to said good friend on all rule-breaking activity while on a tropical island. It’s the Tropical Tryst Addendum,” she says, with a wink.

  As an island breeze gently blows my sundress, I say, “First, the Tropical Tryst Addendum would have to state that one’s friends should engage in tropical trysts.”

  “Exactly. It’s an addendum. Follow it!”

  “You are such an enabler,” I tease, moving from the balcony to the lounge chair, as the waves lap against the shore in a gentle nighttime whoosh.

  “That’s also in the friend code. Especially for friends who might not enable themselves and might need a push.”

  “I guess I’m a rule breaker then. Because I’m going to break that rule and not have a tropical tryst.”

  She sighs, dejected. Then takes a deep breath, gives me a more intense stare. “But seriously, just tell me why this is a bad idea. You like him. You can have a conversation with him. You flirted with him all through dinner.”

  Her questions are good and valid, and yet, a fling would be risky. “Because flings are the type of thing that I started the single-versary fund to avoid. Because he has a clingy ex. Because he lives in Hawaii and I’m all the way over in San Francisco.”

  “Look, all of that is true, but you’re stronger than you think. You started the fund and fulfilled the fund. That was the hard work. Now you can enjoy yourself. It’s not falling back into old habits. It’s having fun. And you deserve fun.”

  Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s not as risky as I think. But there’s another issue. The how. There are other people around us pretty much all of the time.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say.

  “Good. Because I think you deserve a fling. That’s not the enabler in me. That’s the true friend.”

  I smile, glad that she is precisely that.

  No one mills around on the beach near my hotel this morning.

  Well, plenty of people lounge and splash, but none of our tour group. And I didn’t see anyone as I walked over.

  Just the guide, leaning against a fence and looking good enough to eat, or at least lick all over.

  Metaphorically.

  Caleb straightens as I reach him.

  “Hi. Um. Did I sleep through a zombie uprising last night that took out the rest of the tour?”

  He grimaces, which doesn’t bode well. “You could say there was an uprising, yeah.” At my confusion, he explains, “It was the halibut.”

  “Zombie halibut?” I look toward the waves in horror. “And you think I’m going to go in the water for this surfing lesson?”

  Caleb laughs. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to want to do this less.”

  I glare at him. Not really, but kind of. “Undead fish, Caleb. Going in the water with live ones is difficult enough.”

  “No zombies were involved at all. It was the halibut the rest of the group had at their hotel. The ‘something on the side’ was a case of food poisoning.”

  I cover my gasp of sympathy. “Oh no! How awful for them.”

  “How lucky that we had burgers,” he says.

  “Those burgers might be on my best things list now.”

  “Agreed. Anyway, it’s just you and me today.”

  “Oh. It is?” My voice climbed an octave. “Okay . . .”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course!” I say, too brightly. I’m bordering on chipper, actually. “Of course it’s okay.”

  He eyes me suspiciously. “Yeah?”

  Yeah, except for the temptation-athon that is unfolding before me. It’s going to take all my willpower not to invoke the Tropical Tryst Addendum.

  “Sure,” I say in a more normal voice. “It means we can skip the surfing lesson and go shopping. I saw some super-cute boutiques in the downtown area.”

  I start to turn, but Caleb catches my arm, which is the opposite of helpful in the temptation department. “Not so fast.”

  “Yes, this fast. That sounds like a perfect day.”

  “Let’s make a deal. I give you a surfing lesson and then you can give me a shopping lesson. But I’m not going to wear . . . nothing.” His mouth curves in a rule-breaking smile. “Unless you’re super convincing.”

  I suck in a breath at the idea of what I could do to convince him. “You are evil. And fine, I promise not to tempt you with birthday suits.”

  “Well, you don’t have to promise . . .”

  “Yes, I do. I’ll never keep to the rules. So, focus on something else. Anything. Even . . .” I pretend to gag. “Surfing.”

  We go over to where he has two surfboards stuck in the sand.

  Like really tall tombstones.

  “Let’s start with the basics of surfing etiquette.”

  “Like what side of the board the fork goes on?” I quip, and Caleb laughs.

  “More like share the water. Don’t cut in. Don’t hog the waves. Observe the right of way . . .”

  “This sounds a bit like driving lessons. Nobody likes Driver’s Ed, Caleb. But people really like shopping.”

  He shakes his head. “Is there anything you won’t do to try to get out of this?”

  “Of course there is. Everyone has their limits.”

  “Well, aren’t you here on your single-versary to push yours?”

  Suddenly the beach is a lot hotter.

  “I promise this is easy,” Caleb reassures me. “Grab your board and let’s go.”

  I don’t carry my board so much as drag it toward the surf, following Caleb into the shallows. He stops when the water is waist-deep and turns to me. “We’re going to start by just lying on the board. That’s how you’re going to get a feel for it.”

  Following his example, I pull myself onto the board lengthwise on my belly. “I think this might give me a feel for napping in the sun. I’m down with that.”

  A chilling spray hits my back. Caleb splashed me! I shriek and roll off the board. I pop up again, wiping water from my face. “Hey!”

  “Still feel like napping?” he asks with a smirk.

  “Not so much.” I shake my head, flicking him with water. “Might as well surf.”

  His mouth widens into a grin. “That is music to my ears.”

  For the millionth time, I fall off the board—gravity and the waves are conspiring against me. And for the million-and-first time, I haul myself back up onto it and lie on my belly.

  I can just do this for a while. I’m good at this part. Or I can paddle to shore. I got the hang of paddling pretty quickly. Caleb says I’m A-plus at paddling. I tell him he’s an A-plus teacher.

  And he is.

  “Just keep doing it,” he says after five hundred wipeouts. And when I get myself back on the board: “That’s it. Just keep getting right back up. Eventually you’ll get the hang of it.”

  “This is my final attempt,” I tell him, calling over the waves. “After this one, I’m going ashore.”

  “You keep saying that,” he calls back. “But you keep getting back up. You’re doing great.”

  The swell of a wave looms closer. I get ready, boosting myself to my feet, into position.

  “That’s it,” Caleb says. “You’re doing it! You’re riding the wave!”

  I am! I am totally upright and moving forward. I’m showing the ocean who’s boss!

  Look who’s out of her comfort zone now.

  I barely have the strength to drag my surfboard out of the water. As soon as I do, I fall to my knees in the soft sand and flop onto my back. A minute later, Caleb stands beside my prone body.

  “I did it,” I pant. “I actually surfed for a full two seconds.”

  “You did!”

  “I told you that was my final attempt.”

  “Technically, it was your first success.”

  I shade my eyes so I can see his smile—no, his damn proud grin. “What did the trick for you?”

  “Thinking that we would go shopping next if I got that one right.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “A deal is a deal.”

  “I know where my talents lie.”

  He holds out a hand to help me up. “So, come on. Impress me.”

  We take Caleb’s Jeep downtown, where I get my second wind as soon as I’m in sight of the shops.

  “Now,” I say, rubbing my hands together, “it’s my turn. Your lesson in shopping.” Caleb walks along the sidewalk beside me, a good sport but unenthusiastic. “What do you hate most about clothes?”

  “Shopping for them.” His gaze turns heated as he looks at me. “Sometimes wearing them.”

  “Hmm . . . I can see you’ll be a hard one.”

  “Hard indeed.”

  I bump him with my shoulder to get him to behave, but it brings home—again—how muscular he is, and it makes me imagine—again—what those arms would feel like around me.

  This attraction has gone from temptation to nemesis.

  Focus on something else, Skyler.

  “Right. Well, to help ease you into the experience, you can watch me shop like a professional first.”

  10

  Caleb

  The only thing I enjoy about shopping is Skyler’s gorgeous new sundress.

  No. Her new sundress with a spectacular Skyler in it.

  The rest is a haze of boutiques and dressing room doors that might as well revolve, she comes out and goes back in so many times. Everything looks nice on her, and then—whammo—she walks out in this sunshine-yellow dress that shows off her tanned shoulders and hints at her breasts and reveals those strong legs, and I can’t breathe.

  Nor do I need to again, I’m convinced.

  I can subsist off the view of this woman.

  I’ve thought she was gorgeous from the moment I saw her on the dock, but getting to know her, watching her get up on the surfboard again and again? She’s breathtaking.

  We grab dinner, and as we come out of Sunset Bob’s, Skyler says, “Thanks for dinner. Shopping makes me hungry.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t the surfing that made you hungry?” I ask.

  “It was definitely the shopping.”

  I chuckle, even though I knew she’d say that. “Have I mentioned you look spectacular in that sundress?”

  “A few times.” She smiles. “But it’s nice to hear.” We start toward the Jeep, neither of us seeming in a hurry. “You know what’s spectacular?” she asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and gesturing to the orange and pink sky flaming up above us. “That sunset.”

  “Yeah. It never really gets old. Funny how it happens every day, and every day you can’t look away from it.”

  “Do you want to go down to the beach and watch the sunset?” she asks, her voice soft. “Or is that against the rules?”

  I scoff. “Watching the sunset is never against the rules. And in the Hawaii rule book, it’s a requirement.”

  Her eyes twinkle up at me. “Then we’d better do it. Or else.”

  “Just a couple of rule-abiding citizens.”

  On the beach, we don’t hurry, and we don’t talk much either. The shush of the waves is a gentle soundtrack.

  Skyler sighs, sounding wistful. “This is magical.”

  “It is,” I agree, in the same I’d-like-to-stop-time way. “Some mornings I wake up early and go outside and watch the sunrise. And it never fails to reset me.”

  “Right? Like, it reminds you everything will be okay.”

  “Exactly. The sun rises, the sun sets, and it’s gorgeous every time. Because every time it brings new possibilities.”

  “New things you can learn,” Skyler says.

  Neither of us is looking at the sunset. Instead, I’m looking at the beautiful woman across from me, the sunset setting her auburn hair on fire, the gentle breeze sending waves of goosebumps over her skin.

  “New people you can meet,” I say.

  “New experiences with new people.”

  “First kisses,” I say. I catch myself and clear my throat, and, well, I have no strategy for this. “I know this is against the rules, but you look really beautiful against the sunset. And it’s not just because of the dress, or because of the sunset. It’s because you’re you. I really like talking to you.”

  “I like talking to you too,” she says. She wets her bottom lip. “But I’d also like . . .”

  I step closer, curling a hand around her hip. “First kisses that are also sunset kisses?”

  Her breath hitches. “I wonder where that would be on the list of best things.”

  Another inch—I’m officially in the kissing zone now, and there’s no place else I’d rather be. Especially when she lifts her chin and parts her lips.

  “I suspect it would be off the charts,” I reply, but I more than suspect. I know it.

  Her eyes twinkle like she knows the same thing. Her arms wind around my neck, and yeah, we fit just right. “Let’s find out,” she says, so damn seductively that I’m done for.

  Rules? What rules?

  Closing my eyes, I dip my head to capture her mouth in a kiss. Her soft, lush lips brush against mine, her island scent swirling around us as we explore each other. Tongues skate, hands skim, soft sighs mingle.

  She tugs me closer, and I comply, hauling her against me, ramping up the kiss, deepening it, savoring her.

  Her murmurs tell me to keep going, and who am I to deny either one of us this—a sunset kiss.

  Yes, kisses are just better at sunset, with the ocean lapping the shore, the breeze caressing our skin, and the island setting the mood.

  That mood is—don’t stop.

  So we don’t.

  We kiss and then kiss some more, and soon, she’s not only gone to my head, she’s filled my mind. She’s my only, all-consuming thought.

  And I want to kiss her everywhere.

  But first, I need to pause for breath, if only to refuel with oxygen.

  Skyler’s eyes are closed, her expression blissful. When her lashes flutter open, she lets out a dazed, “Whoa.”

  “‘Whoa’ is right.”

  She blinks at me then the sky. “What time is it? Is that the moon?”

  I glance up as if to check. “I do believe it is. Which means we’ve been kissing for, I dunno, an hour, give or take.”

  Our arms are still looped around one another, and her fingers play with the ends of my hair. “So, I have a thought.”

  “I’m having several.” I tug her more firmly against me. “We should see if they match up.”

  Now her fingers thread through my hair. “I’m thinking of invoking the Tropical Tryst Addendum.”

  “Tell me more. Because this sounds like a rule I’m into already.”

  “It’s an exclusion in the Dating Hiatus Decree. See, since I’m leaving in a few days, and since you live here, and I live—”

  I don’t need to hear any more. “I don’t live here, but that’s beside the point. If you’re suggesting we break the rules for one night, my answer is yes. An infinity of yeses. Screw the rules.”

  “Then let’s get out of the comfort zone.”

  11

  Skyler

  We don’t even bother with the bed.

  The second the door of my hotel room snicks shut, Caleb crowds me against the wall, and yes, I like alpha Caleb very much.

  I like when he grabs my wrists, pins my arms over my head, and slams his mouth down on mine.

  My head is a static haze of want.

  My body aches.

  My pulse throbs in my chest and in my throat and between my legs.

  Touch me now, take me now.

  I want to scream those words, but he’s devouring my lips, consuming my mouth, and it’s all so mind-bendingly good.

  So worth breaking the rules for.

  As he fucks my mouth with his tongue, Caleb lets go of my wrists and snakes his hand up my skirt, right where I want him.

  His fingers glide over the wet cotton panel of my panties. A groan rumbles from his chest as he breaks the kiss. “Oh yeah, you definitely need me to break the rules.”

  “I do,” I say breathlessly. Desperately.

  He grabs his wallet from his shorts pocket, produces a condom, then hands it to me.

  My brow knits. “Um . . .”

  Then I shift to an “Oh” as Caleb strips in seconds flat.

  And hello.

  He’s even hotter naked.

  Like, tropical-island-dream hot.

  Like so damn sexy I want to watch him walk out of the ocean, all ripped muscles and wet hair and thick cock.

  “Happy vacation to me,” I say, wrapping an eager hand around his length.

  He shudders, groaning as I stroke him, then he slides his hand inside my panties again, stroking my clit. I shudder, pleasure already rolling through me, as if the time we’ve spent over these last few days—talking, teasing, trying new things—has been all the foreplay I could ever possibly want.

  As tension coils inside me and I grow close, closer still, he pushes my hand away. “Need to get inside you, Skyler. Now,” he commands, and same. Same here, Caleb. Let’s go.