“Sure . . . ,” I said, starting to unbutton his shirt, because yes, Cole still wears button-downs, even on Sundays. It’s his MO, and I’m not breaking him of the habit. Why would I? I like it. “We could call my parents back if you want?”

  I sounded like a seductress, and it was working. Already Cole’s eyelids were growing heavy with desire. Once the first few buttons were undone, I bent down to kiss along his neck and collarbone, taking my time and appreciating every sculpted inch of him. He’s gloriously tan. Those Sicilian grandparents of his were getting a letter of thanks first thing in the morning.

  I traced my finger down the center of his chest, watching his lungs constrict and expand. I loved knowing I was the reason he was breathing so hard. All his precious control was starting to slip . . .

  “Or we could enjoy our first night as roommates,” I suggested innocently.

  “You’re more than my roommate,” he said, his tone full of fire. He slid his hands into my shirt and started to lift it up and over my head. It was too easy. He had me down to my bra in an instant.

  “Oh, right. More than roommates . . . Friends, then?” I quipped, knowing it would rankle him. We are most definitely past that point, but I still can’t help but tease him about it.

  His gaze sharpened on mine, and he hoisted his hips just enough that I tipped forward, flat against his chest. My girlish yelp only served to satisfy him as he reached up to unclasp my bra. The soft material slipped off my bare skin, and I shivered in his arms.

  “You want to be my friend?” he asked huskily, his mouth flush against my ear. “Be my friend, Paige. Grind down on me.”

  Mama MIA.

  That’s the thing about Cole, his dirty little secret. He might be a buttoned-up director of operations during the day, but at night, in the bedroom, Mr. Spreadsheets and Numbers takes no prisoners.

  He looked me up and down with pure possession, trailing his eyes with his hands so he could unbutton my shorts and work them off my hips. I complied, trying to hide my desperation, but he saw it all the same; he heard it in the way I sighed with relief when we were skin to skin, flushed and sweaty. Warmth radiated from where we touched, and tingles skittered across my body.

  He took me there on the couch, with my head thrown back and my hands propped behind me on his knees. It was a precarious position, and I’d have been scared I’d tumble back onto the floor if not for Cole’s tight grip on my waist. He thrust up into me, seating himself to the hilt, and once there, he groaned and closed his eyes like he couldn’t help it. It was too good. It might’ve been too much as he fought to regain his composure. When he opened his eyes again, his lips twisted up into a salacious smile.

  “You are such a good friend,” he said as he started to rock his hips, and his teasing praise made me feel hotter than ever.

  He hit a spot that undid me, and my lips parted as I sucked in a sharp breath. All the while, he kept right on talking. “The best friend.”

  I became a passive participant, pliant in his arms as he hoisted me up and down using his grip on my waist. When he was deeper than ever, a weak cry spilled out of me.

  Cole can be tender and sweet, but right then, he left the softness at the door.

  He picked up the pace, faster, and my grip tightened on his knees. I was forced to close my eyes. It was all too much and I came too fast, too soon. His fingers bit into my waist as he felt me ride it out on him, and the delicious curses that wrung from his mouth sent me tail-spinning even harder.

  I came out of it in a frenzy, almost angry at the way he made me feel. I blinked my eyes open, leaned forward, and kissed him hard as he continued, so close behind me it was only seconds before I felt him jerk and thrust, moan, and then go perfectly still. Our wild breathing was the only sound in the room.

  Then I sort of chuckled.

  He laughed.

  I turned my cheek, and he kissed me, checking in. “You okay?”

  “Barely.”

  It’s a wonder we still have time for life outside of our relationship, but I make a point not to cut myself off from the rest of the world. At least not completely.

  The next night, I took Cole with me to a bonfire Oscar and Théo were setting up. That’s right. I finally invited Cole to a bonfire. Big steps here, people. I halfway assumed he was going to don his most practical suit and tie and head down to the beach in penny loafers. The whole thing was going to be so awkward, I knew it. I was in the bathroom, finishing putting on my bikini and cover-up, and when I walked out, Cole was in gray board shorts and a T-shirt fitted enough that it wasn’t too loose or too tight, i.e., perfection. A gasp sputtered out of me.

  “What are you wearing?”

  He frowned and looked down, running a hand over his stomach. “My shirt?” he asked, clearly confused. “Is there a stain or something?”

  So it turns out I was wrong about Cole. His wardrobe is far more diverse than I long assumed. And his people skills? Not half-bad either. He wasn’t the biggest social butterfly there ever was at the bonfire, but it’s because he’s reserved, not stuck up. He’s the quieter one out of the two of us, the yin to my yang, but he still chatted with Oscar and Théo, and when they were having trouble with the fire, he stepped up to help them when it was clear no one else really wanted to volunteer for the task. Afterward, with sparks fanning up into the darkening sky, we sat in a circle, all spread out on our lounge chairs, towels, and blankets. It was a smaller group than usual. Just the guys, Lara, Camila, and me. Everyone passed around the small cooler filled with cold, mismatched beers and seltzers. My contribution was snacks: the all-important marshmallows and a few bags of chips. Later, when we were filled with all the white sugary fluff we could handle, I tugged a bag of sour Skittles out of my pocket and secretly waved them at Cole like I was his dealer trying to entice him.

  “Now you’re speaking my language,” he said, practically yanking them out of my hand.

  I pulled them out of reach just before he succeeded.

  “Ah ah ah,” I tsked. “Not so fast. I bought these with my hard-earned money.”

  He smiled, falling into character and cutting to the chase. “What do you want?”

  My eyebrow quirked. “What are you offering?”

  His gaze raked down my body like he wasn’t the least bit perturbed by the fact that we were in public.

  “Cole Clark,” I hissed under my breath, warning him. “You’re looking at me like you’re about to—”

  “What?” he said, leaning in, his eyes intently focused on my lips. “About to what? Say it.”

  “Eat. Me. Alive.”

  His gaze sparked like it was a brilliant idea.

  Suddenly sweaty at the prospect of just how far he’d take this in front of our friends, I tossed him the Skittles. It felt like I was trying to escape an angry bull by distracting him with something red and shiny. It worked for a little while. Right up until the end of the night, when the sky was a million stars and the bonfire had burned down to glowing embers. The conversation was lazy and quiet, but no less good. Cole looked over to me and nodded his head toward the path, asking a silent question.

  We gave our farewells but insisted that no one get up on our account.

  “Should we do this again soon?” Théo called out as we walked away.

  “Soon!” we promised.

  “Ready to go home?” Cole asked me when we were walking along the pebble path.

  His home. Our home.

  I smiled. “Let’s go.”

  Weeks passed, and though Cole is concretely part of our weird, eclectic group now, my favorite nights aren’t when we’re out on the town with friends; it’s when he and I are building a life together, the steadfast, solid kind—the one that a teenager would find dead boring but that I find absolutely lovely. We’ve decided to take up cooking. We’re working our way through a cookbook by Chloe Ricci—it’s filled with easy summer meals and pastry desserts. We’re not too precious about it, so our finished products barely even resemble the glossy pictures in the book, but they taste amazing, so who even cares?

  Believe it or not, we even cooked dinner for Serge and Blaze the other night. It was a double date. And more than that, it was fun!

  On our days off, Cole and I explore the island together—hiking, biking, kayaking, snorkeling. We love it all. He’s even helped me come up with some new and exciting excursion ideas, including creative ways to make them slightly less injury inducing, so it’s a win-win for everyone.

  This morning, we have an all-staff meeting at the crack of dawn in the Turtle Cove Ballroom. Cole is leading it, and I’m so proud of him, I’m front row center. I was the first person here (mostly because I walked here with him), but I still would have been early otherwise. If it were appropriate, I’d be wearing a T-shirt with his name on it and holding up a little witty sign like I’m a fangirl at his concert. In case it’s not completely obvious, I’m smitten. In love, deeply, obnoxiously, hopelessly. Lara and Camila joke that my relationship with Cole makes them want to throw up, and I get it! I make me want to throw up, too, but I just can’t stop smiling!

  Lara and Camila suddenly look at me, and I try to relax my face, but I can’t.

  I expect another eye roll, an audible gag, but they’re smiling too.

  “Girl,” Lara hisses, her eyes widening with excitement.

  What? What’d I miss?

  This has been a long meeting—there’s a lot of ground to cover during these things because we don’t have them very often—and my caffeine isn’t cutting it this morning.

  Cole worked late last night preparing for today. By the time he got home, I was already in bed, asleep. He woke me up by stringing a line of kisses up my stomach, starting at my navel as he pushed my nightshirt slowly up as he went. It was that delicious half-asleep, half-awake sensation that had me absolutely crazed for him by the time I came to and realized he was crawling on top of me while unbuttoning his shirt.

  The moonlight was streaming in through the drapes on either side of our bed, the cool light highlighting his sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes. He slid into me slowly while he watched my reaction, feeding off my soft moans. I pulled him down to me and kissed him, and he whispered against my lips.

  “I missed you today.”

  And so, yeah, your girl is h-a-p-p-y.

  But also highly distractible.

  “What’s going on?”

  I feel like the entire ballroom is looking at me, and upon further inspection, they totally are, even Cole.

  “Paige, would you mind coming up onstage?” he asks me, his tone brimming with barely restrained excitement.

  Oh god.

  This feels ominous, and my first thought is that Cole is about to propose. Which is absurd. We haven’t even been dating all that long, and we’ve talked about it. I’ve told him that I would rather my future fiancé—we both agree it’s him—pop the question to me somewhere private, just the two of us. I don’t want it to be a spectacle. Oh my god, if he proposes to me during a staff meeting, I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him—resuscitate him—and then kill him again.

  I know that’s not what’s about to happen, but still, I feel woozy as I get to my feet.

  Why on earth is he calling me up onstage?

  It’s dead silent in the ballroom as I ascend the stairs.

  “Woo! Go, Paige,” Lara calls out, trying to help cut the tension, but it’s not enough.

  Camila follows this up with a resounding whistle.

  I scurry up the last few steps as fast as I can, hoping to get this over with swiftly.

  “What is this?” I hiss at Cole as I reach him.

  His smile widens. “A promotion.”

  I stutter to a stop.

  Then he turns to address the audience. “Over the last few months, we’ve conducted a random survey to get a baseline for what our guests value most here at Siesta Playa”—he turns back to me—“and your excursions ranked as one of the top resort activities . . . right after our beloved buffets.”

  The crowd laughs.

  Meanwhile, I’m close to tears. I have to look away and collect myself. It’s one thing to love what I do and to give it my all day in and day out, strategizing how best to lead a rowdy group through a sailing trip or being my most chipper self during a hike even when I’m not feeling up to it. It’s another thing to actually be recognized for it. I always hear the complainers and the squeaky wheels. The guests who hate every minute of the torture I subject them to shout the loudest and therefore stick in my mind the most. Sure, every now and then someone will make a point to stop and tell me they had a great day or they enjoyed a particular activity. But I had no idea I was a fan favorite around here.

  There are other employees who work excursions who’ve been here longer than I have, but none that care about the job like I do. For Camila and Lara, this job is a means to an end. They enjoy having a carefree island life; they aren’t looking to move up in the company.

  “A promotion has been long overdue,” Cole tells me.

  “In front of everyone, though . . . ?” I whisper, giving the massive audience the side-eye, like, Hello! You can see them, too, right?

  Cole shrugs off my concern. “Everyone will find out eventually. This way we all get to celebrate with you.”

  I hate him.

  That is . . . until he tells me my new title. Right into the microphone, nice and loud, he knights me “Paige Young, director of excursions within the entertainment and hospitality department at Siesta Playa, a subsidiary of . . .” Yada yada, you get it.

  Oh wow. I can quite literally feel my head expanding like a hot air balloon with this surge of new power. My heels come off the stage a little.

  I’ll never let Cole live this down. Tonight, at dinner, he will have to refer to me as Director Paige Young if he wants me to pass the salt, or maybe even the esteemed Paige Young. Are only lawyers allowed to use esquire? Because that could be a seriously cool title too . . .

  I’m so lost in my thoughts that it takes me a moment to realize the crowd is clapping for me, and not just in that half-assed way where they think if they do it, it’ll make this whole thing end faster. Okay, the girl got a promotion. Whoop-de-do.

  They’re actually happy for me!

  When I look out at the sea of smiling faces, my eyes well up with unshed tears. There’s Dr. Missick right up front, giving me two enthusiastic thumbs up. Desiree and Maddox are going crazy right behind him, thankfully fully clothed today. Serge and Blaze sit a few rows back, and I see Blaze mouth “Good job, Paula!” And for a microsecond I’m concerned that the poor guy just cannot get it together enough to remember my actual name. Then he winks and redeems himself.

  Camila and Lara, Oscar, Théo—they all cheer the loudest.

  Just when I think the crowd might band together and do a proper wave or give a resounding Go, Paige! Go!, the clapping trickles down and people mostly get bored again, like, What now? Am I getting a promotion?

  “Will there be refreshments in the lobby? A custom cake in the shape of my head?”

  Cole’s expression sobers. “No. Meeting adjourned. Back to work.”

  There’re only weak protests as everyone shuffles out.

  Cole turns his microphone off and nestles it back in the stand before turning to face me with a sheepish smile.

  “Do you hate me?” he asks, tilting his head in that adorable way.

  With that face, if I was harboring any anger, it would have already dissolved.

  I narrow my eyes. “Only a little. I would have appreciated a heads-up.”

  “But that would have ruined the surprise.”

  “Hmm . . . surprise, huh? Well, give me the details. Does my promotion come with a raise?” I waggle my eyebrows at the possibility.

  He keeps his smile in check when he replies. He’s the boss man right now, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it a little. “Yes, I’ve suggested one with HR. You’ll work out the kinks with Beverly. Also, the excursion team will get a sizable budget increase.”

  What! Under Todd, our budget was laughably small. There was no way to keep all our equipment up to date, and all our complaints fell on deaf ears. When we worked up the courage to bring it up with him, Todd would inevitably shoo us out of his office with a brush-off equivalent to Here’s five dollars . . . don’t spend it all at once, kid.

  “Oh my god! We can upgrade our yoga mats and paddle boards. Oh! Oh, we can get better snorkeling gear!”

  Cole’s smiling, watching me flail around. I can’t wait to tell everyone. They’ll be so excited. We’ll have to catalog and inventory our current gear and then create a system to figure out what we need to replace first. My heart skips a beat I’m so excited.

  Oh dear.

  Maybe I’m more like Cole than I thought. This much excitement over work?!

  “We’ll celebrate tonight,” Cole tells me, his gaze holding a dangerous promise.

  My stomach flutters, and I step closer. I can’t touch him, even though I’m dying to. We’re still up onstage, and while most everyone has already trickled out, it’s still not appropriate. We’ll have to save it for later.

  Speaking of . . .

  “I know just the way to celebrate. You should do a real excursion with me! Y’know . . . goat yoga, hot-coal walk, late-night forest trek. Your choice.” I wink.

  He fights to hold back an eye roll. “As tempting as it sounds to exercise with hooved animals, I was thinking of something a little more private . . .” His leisurely gaze eats me up from head to toe. “Maybe like a personal, behind-the-scenes tour of your . . .” He leans in close and finishes his sentence by whispering a word into my ear.

  “COLE!”

  I playfully shove him back. My cheeks are on fire.

  He doesn’t even look slightly contrite. Mostly just smoking hot. Ugh. The injustice of it all!

  I recover from shock and decide to turn the tables a little. “Well, just so you know . . . that excursion can be a bit strenuous—are you sure you’re up for it? I wouldn’t want to be the cause of any more injuries.”

  Cole’s whiteboard in the break room has officially been retired. I’d hate to have to bring it back out of storage.