Page 43 of Teach Me Your Ways

Grady sighed. “She’s just a dumb kid. She’ll look back on this later in life and cringe.”

I tilted my head. “If she’s a dumb kid, what am I?”

His eyes locked onto mine. “Not dumb. And you’re not a kid.”

“You know she’s like a year younger than I am, right?”

He shook his head. “Maybe in years, but something tells me you are far more mature.”

Having a kid will do that to you.

And for some stupid reason, I didn’t want to be the mature one. I wanted to be the flirty one. I was always the responsible one. The last couple of weeks I’d watched Lina fawn all over him.

A slow grin spread across my face. “Let me guess… you’d like me better like this?” I unzipped the front of my wetsuit just enough to pop out my cleavage, mimicking Lina’s earlier move. It was a joke—mostly. But I wanted to see his reaction.

Grady cleared his throat, his gaze flickering downward for half a second before snapping back up. “It’s best if I don’t have an opinion on that.”

I laughed. “How about like this?” I peeled the wetsuit off my arms and started shimmying it down my hips, intending to flash him my bikini-clad butt the way Lina had—though mine had a lot more coverage.

Except, dammit.

Wide hips and a still-damp wetsuit did not make for a smooth exit. I tugged and pushed. It didn’t budge. I wiggled and tried my best to look graceful, but I knew I was failing miserably.

Grady crossed his arms, watching my struggle with undisguised amusement. “You alright there, Ariel?”

“I might need a little help,” I admitted, shooting him a look.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Fine. Let’s get you to the locker room so you can sit.”

The place was empty, so it wasn’t like it mattered if he followed me in. I plopped down on the bench. My ego was seriously bruised. It was exactly why I shouldn’t try to look sexy. Some people had it; others didn’t. I was in the latter category. Graceful and sexy was not my thing. I felt more like a bull in a china shop.

“I can do it,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve got things to do.”

“I’ll help you.” His grin said he was enjoying seeing me struggle.

Grady knelt between my legs, his hands gripping the stubborn neoprene. The position alone was enough to make my breath catch, but I tried to play it cool.

“This might take some doing,” he muttered, his voice rougher than usual.

He started tugging at the wetsuit, working it down my hips inch by stubborn inch. The material clung to my damp skin like it had been glued on. His hands were warm against my legs as he gripped the neoprene, pulling and adjusting, trying to work it free.

“Come on,” he growled under his breath, giving it another firm tug.

I had to brace my hands on the bench behind me as he worked, my body jostling with each pull. The friction of the material sliding against my skin, combined with his hands so close to places they shouldn’t be, was making it hard to think straight.

“Almost got it,” he said, giving another hard yank.

That’s when it happened. The wetsuit finally gave way, sliding down my hips in one swift motion—but it took my bikini bottoms with it.

We both froze.

Grady’s eyes went wide as he zeroed in between my legs, unable to look away.

It was stupid, really. We’d been dancing around this for weeks—teasing, flirting, pretending we weren’t both hyper-aware of every accidental touch. But now, with him on his knees in front of me, his breath warm against my thighs, there was no denying it.

Neither of us said a word. Our eyes met.

I should have been embarrassed. Should have scrambled to cover myself, made some joke about wardrobe malfunctions. Instead, I found myself leaning back on my hands, heart hammering as I watched his face.