7

"The last time I was on a boat, I was wearing a tiny pink speedo," I casually bring up as we step onto the launch ramp at dinnertime the next day. Connor chokes on nothing, inhaling so quickly that he coughs and turns his head as his cheeks flame. My face lights up with a grin that I can't suppress as I sling my arm around his shoulders.

Well, I try, but he's so broad I end up just draping my hand over his neck.

"What's the matter, chippoke?"

After another small cough, he twists and glances at me, face still red. "That's the second time you've called me that."

"It is."

"What does it mean?"

"Hmm…" I tap my hand on my chin as I pretend to consider his question. "I'm not sure you've earned the right to know yet."

"Oh?"

He steps onto the boat's deck and faces me again, offering his hand like I'm some delicate Victorian lady who needs help to hold her skirts. I roll my eyes, but inside, I melt at what a gentleman he is.

It's been a long, long time since I found myself faced with a chivalrous man like Connor, and even the nice guys from my past don't come anywhere close to him.

His nature is to take care of others, and I hate admitting how much I want him to extend that care to me.

In so many ways.

There's a fine line between polite and flirting, and I'm trying my best not to interpret everything he does as another sign that he feels this same intense connection between us. Then I remember that almost-kiss in the room yesterday, and again on the beach. I'd have to be an idiot not to recognize this for what it is.

That's what scares me.

Everyone knows you never fall for the straight man you meet on vacation, but we feel inevitable… and we feel temporary.

Is it better to miss out on the chance for something extraordinary because it has an expiration date, or dive into it wholeheartedly despite knowing it will eventually end?

My heart and brain are at war, and it's no surprise who's winning.

The heart.

Of course, the fucking heart.

That stupid, stupid organ that beats double time whenever he's near.

"What do I have to do to earn that knowledge?" Connor asks, hand on my waist as we make our way to the dining room on the resort's boat. His thumb swirls against the dip of my spine, driving me mad with every little spin.

"Save me from this dinner when it gets too crazy," I say, remembering how Teri kept grabbing my arm at the last group event. Does the fact that I'm in the bridal party and happily wearing a lilac suit not scream token gay friend loud enough?

"Or if the bridesmaids get too handsy," I add, and Connor's fingers flex around my shirt as he tugs me closer. And did he just… growl ?

Jesus Christ, I might come in my pants if he does that again.

"What's wrong, big guy?" I half turn into him as we slow our pace.

Looking down at me, he fists the fabric of my shirt that's bunched between his fingers. "You don't want people touching you?"

"I don't want other people to touch me."

He swallows roughly, so loud I can hear it over the surrounding clamor. "Just making sure I haven't misread the situation."

"You haven't," I say in a rush, as the tip of his finger slips under my shirt, brushing the skin of my lower back. "Misread anything… you haven't."

"Say the word and I'll swoop in to save you."

"What's the word?" I tease, running my knuckles up the line of buttons on the front of his shirt. "Maybe we need to come up with a bird call or something?" His quiet laugh breaks the tension as his grip eases, and we both stare into the upscale restaurant as though we're entering a leper colony.

It's absurd how possessive I am over him, not wanting to share with anyone, even just for a few hours. As if he is reading my mind, he pulls me closer and nuzzles his nose into my hair. His chest rises in a deep inhale, and I swear a ghost of a kiss brushes against my temple.

"Just to be clear," I say, my heart thudding behind my ribs, "I like it when you touch me." It needs to be said, because he needs to hear it.

"Good… because I like touching you."

"Are you always this affectionate with your friends?"

"Friends?" he whispers, nothing more than a breath. He pauses, and this time I'm positive he presses his lips against my forehead. "No. You're different… everything's different with you."

My head tilts back and our eyes meet, the flutters in my stomach flapping and thrashing so hard they surge up into my neck. His eyes dip to my mouth and back up, and then he's leaning closer. The hair on his nape is soft between my fingers as I tug on his neck.

Breath on my lips, and stubble against my cheek, and…

A high-pitched ring erupts from Connor's pocket, causing him to jump in surprise, turning his head with an awkward laugh. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he mumbles, scrubbing his hand over his face before he pulls his phone out and heaves a sigh at the screen. "I… I need to answer this." Apology and regret dance across his expression, accompanied by the obvious hint of confusion that always seems to be present when it concerns me.

"Yeah, okay," I say, untangling myself from his embrace as I try to get my head on straight. "I'm just gonna…" I gesture over my shoulder towards the restaurant, and he nods.

"Right. I'll, uh… I'll see you in there, alright?" He swipes at the screen and pulls the phone to his ear, turning his back to me as he walks to the railing and leans against it.

It's a marvelous view, but really, fate?

You can't throw a man a bone?

Before I enter and join the party, I fix a hard stare at the heavens and send a few choice words to the powers that be, then exhale slowly, bringing a tranquil smile to my face.

Dinner turns out to be what I expected, another social call to get the group together. Impatience nips at my heels as I suffer through small talk, despite knowing my annoyance is irrational. I am part of the wedding party, after all. This isn't an unreasonable request, and under normal circumstances, I'd be ready for human interaction by now.

Under normal circumstances, though, I wouldn't have Connor.

Wouldn't have the hint of his lips on mine, or the trace of his cologne on my shirt.

Throughout the meal, our eyes find their way back to each other over and over, and his reaction to Teri touching me again is a pointed, menacing snarl. Anger flashes in his eyes for the first time as I politely remove my hand and hold his stare. It's fine, I try to communicate across the table. She's not the one I want.

Cho and Andrew go over plans for the week, and paying attention turns out to be a chore. The rehearsal is tomorrow, and the wedding the following afternoon, with a reception that will probably last into the night.

Three days from now, the bridesmaids and groomsmen will pack up and leave, and I'll be here.

Alone.

The thought hurts more than it should.

For two hours, stories pass back and forth about Cho and Andrew. Tales of how they first crossed paths and their connections to each person at the table. Years of my self-control are challenged as I compel myself not to check the time every few minutes.

The constant, rhythmic buzz of the boat's motor hums beneath us, a reminder that even if we make our escape, we're stuck on the dinner cruise for another few hours.

My time with Connor ticks away, a noose tightening around my neck, and I force myself to breathe and loosen the knot.

A half hour goes by before Cho announces they're going upstairs to dance, and everyone jumps up as one and disburses. Teri hesitates beside me, but my focus is elsewhere.

Like two planets in orbit, this inexplicable power draws Connor and me together. Finally side by side, we both smile. The touch of his hand on my back drags me in, and I lean into his warmth as we yield to the irresistible pull of gravity.

It's futile trying to fight.

"What's your big plan for tonight?" he asks, and I grin and nod my head towards the stairs.

"Follow me."

Upstairs in the bar, Connor and I sit across from each other at a high-top table. Karaoke is in full swing, and Cho stands with a line of swaying, half-drunk people waiting for their turn on the stage. The poor girl can't sing to save her life, but she has no shame.

"Drinking games?" Connor sweeps his hand over the three shot glasses in front of each of us, lined up in a row.

"Nah, just drinking."

"When do we take a shot?"

I pick one up and raise it to my lips, smiling around the rim. "Whenever we want to."

"Hold up a second!" Connor shouts, and a few drops splash onto my lips as I pull it away in surprise. His eyes drop to my mouth as I lick them off, then he grabs one for himself. "Rude to drink without me, don't you think?" He lifts the glass higher, staring at the milky liquid inside it. "What's in this?"

"Fireball and RumChata, with a cinnamon sugar rim. They're fucking delicious."

"We doing this or what?" he asks, and I roll my eyes at his impatience, since he's the reason for the delay. He holds his drink out towards me. "To us."

Two simple words, but they cause my heart to skip a full beat inside my chest. "To us," I parrot, clicking my glass against his before we both toss them back. The alcohol has a fiery, sweet flavor that makes me hiss as it slides down my throat, but the aftertaste is delicious.

"Alright, you first, chippoke." He understands without needing to ask.

He glares, pointing his empty shot glass at me. "I dare you to tell me what that means."

"Ahh, but how will you reciprocate that dare?" I tease, and he wrinkles up his nose.

"Fine, I dare you to take another shot."

"So original." We each grab one, clink our glasses, and gulp the shots.

A rogue clump of sugar sits on the corner of his mouth, and I bite my lip, reaching forward to wipe it away before I change my mind. My thumb swipes against his bottom lip, and he catches my wrist. Eyes never leaving mine, his tongue darts out and licks the sugar from my skin.

"You're going to kill me," I say, and his smile is radiant.

He presses a soft kiss on the pad of my thumb before he releases me. "It's your turn."

I flash him a smirk, glancing past him and nodding my head at the busy bar. "Do a runway strut to the bar and back."

Connor doesn't even hesitate, jumping to his feet and putting a saucy hand on his waist. Hips swinging like a pendulum, he places one foot directly in front of the other as he struts.

A man his size should not be able to high-step so gracefully.

He reaches the counter and does a dramatic spin, arms flying out before landing on his hips again. I shove my knuckle between my teeth, biting it as I try not to laugh, my shoulders shaking with the effort.

Halfway back to the table, he stops and pretends to flip his hair over his shoulder, blowing a kiss at the cluster of women who are giggling at him. They explode in a loud burst of laughter, and he keeps strutting, bypassing his chair and stopping in front of me, bending so we're face to face. "How was that?"

"It was great until you gave someone else your kisses," I scold playfully, a touch of jealousy lining my words.

"Oh, so that's how it is, huh? Stand up," he orders, and I obediently rise to my feet, face tilted up towards him. He leans forward and plants a soft kiss to my temple, then to my cheek, then to the very corner of my mouth, and my breath is coming in jagged pants when he puts enough distance between us to meet my eyes. "Is that better?"

"Almost," I whisper, and he grins before he leans into my ear.

"It's your turn," he murmurs, his lips lingering on my jaw for a brief moment. The sight of his smirk as he pulls away leaves me ready to drop dead, convinced my heart can't take any more.

What am I even…

Right. The dare.

"Watch and learn, big boy," I tease, pulling my ponytail free so that my hair falls around my shoulders. I approach the bartender with an exaggerated swagger, my body loose and rolling with a graceful flow. She grins at me, obviously entertained after watching Connor's walk before mine. I wink at her and gesture towards the bar. "Can I borrow that for a second?"

"Oh, by all means, please do." I snatch the small fan off the counter and turn, angling it towards my face and posing dramatically with my feet far apart and my face pointed at the ceiling. My hair cyclones in the air, swirling and smacking me in the face as I try to maintain a serious expression.

All things considered, I do pretty well, until Connor's roar of laughter reaches me. He's absolutely obnoxious as he howls, fist thumping on the tabletop. Tears streak my face and my cheeks ache as I put the fan on the bar and strut to our table.

His entire face is beet red as he laughs, and I'm giggling uncontrollably by the time I drop into my chair. His laughter only intensifies when the bartender comes by and leaves two more shots, claiming they were courtesy of America's Next Top Model.

"Alright, Tyra, take a shot," he says, swiping at his damp cheeks, and we toss one back. Our fingers brush as I sit my glass on the table, and he grabs me, lacing our hands together as we chat.

It's so open and unafraid, the way he holds my hand, displayed there for anyone to see. It chips away at my weakening defenses, destroying another piece of this flimsy protective armor.

We toss a few more dares back and forth, and by the time we take our fourth shot, I'm fuzzy and exhilarated, drunk off the alcohol and intoxicated by his presence.

Connor gets louder with every drink, his booming voice carrying much further than he realizes, and his lack of awareness makes me laugh. "Okay, Tai, I dare you… no, I double…" He hiccups, pulling his fist to his mouth to cover it. "I double dare you to sing karaoke."

A smirk crosses my lips as I lean forward, resting my elbow on the table. "That's what you want?"

"Yes!" he bellows, turning a few heads, and I chuckle again as I stand.

His eyes don't leave mine as I walk over to him, dropping into his lap and kissing his cheek. A heavy exhale leaves his nose as he grabs at my hips. "You're sure about that?"

"Positive." His gravelly whisper is like fingernails across my scalp, and I shudder.

"Alright, chippoke." He scowls and I throw my head back in another laugh. "You just sit pretty, okay?"