Page 228 of On the Breakaway

“I’m not getting in a damn swan boat.”

“C’mon, it’s for old time’s sake.”

“Go by yourself if you want to reminisce.”

I shift, and the box in my pocket pokes into my side. Going by myself is definitely not part of the plan.

“Do you always have to be difficult?”

She grins. “Yes. You should know that by now.”

“You’re right. I’m well aware that you like to be a pain in my ass for sport.”

“Good. Now walk past the swan boats, and nobody has to embarrass themselves today.”

My feet stay firmly planted by the sidewalk, and she rolls her eyes.

It’s two years later, and absolutely nothing has changed. Well, almost nothing. Her hair is cut shorter, and she wears my old Boston Blades hoodies more than anything she owns. She smiles more easily and laughs louder, but she still hates swan boats with a concerning amount of passion.

After today, I’m hoping to change that.

I shake my head. “What do I have to do to get you on one of those damn boats?”

She quirks her brow. “That desperate?”

“Chaos, don’t test me. You know I’ll get you on it one way or another.”

A mix of defiance and hunger flashes across her eyes as they blaze into me.

“Now I’m kind of interested in just how you plan to make me.”

I let out a low chuckle before yanking her against me. She gasps at the sudden movement, eyes burning brighter now that she’s against me. I shift my hips against hers, and her gaze drops to my lips, thinking the same thing I am.

My lips crash into hers in a way that isn’t suitable for a public park, not that that’s ever stopped us before. Her arms tug on the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me toward her. My hand cups her cheek, deepening the kiss while my other hand slides down her back until I can feel the sliver of skin that peeks out above her leggings.

Her arms slide down my body, and only then do I remember what’s in my pocket and how close she is to finding it all on her own.

Fuck.

I pull away quickly, forcing my breathing to slow. I force an easy smile on my face even though my heart is beating out of my chest.

“Now will you come on the boat?”

“Not sure that was convincing enough.” Her cheeks are pink, and she chews on the inside of her lip.

“And if I promise to finish that in a much more satisfying way when we get home?”

“What kind of way?” She steps forward just slightly, as if drawn to me without realizing it.

I lean in. “The kind of way where you’re sprawled out beneath me while I use my tongue to wring every single ounce of pleasure from your body.”

Her breath hitches with our faces only inches apart, then she jolts back.

“I actually love swan boats.” She calls out, sprinting down the sidewalk to the entrance. “C’mon, Grayson, stop dragging your feet.”

I laugh, watching her go. Years later, she’s keeping me on my toes as much as she ever has.

“You’re impossible,” I yell after her, trying to catch up.