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“This is weird,” Evie admits, echoing my sentiments exactly. We’ve spent a ton of time together lately. But this has the air of starting something new about it.
“It feels . . . normal,” I say.
As we drive, my hand makes its way to Evie’s leg. Resting it there, and trying to ignore the draw of her bare skin under my hand, I’m rewarded with Evie’s hand atop mine.
Although she asks, I refuse to tell her where we’re going. I’m sure she thought it was strange when I suggested we meet this late. It’s already after eight o’clock. But for someone who spends most of their waking hours in a restaurant, I figured we should do something different than the standard dinner date.
By the time we pull onto the road to the mountain, Evie is thoroughly confused.
“Um, the only thing up this way is the Laurel Mountain Water Park.”
In the winter, Laurel Mountain is the closest ski hill to Bridgewater. But in the summer, it’s transformed into a water park. This time of year, before the high season starts, it happens to close early on a Sunday night.
“Aaaand . . . it’s closed?”
As a few stragglers, likely water park employees, make their way toward their cars, we park our own.
“You told me to bring a bathing suit?” she asks, clearly bemused.
The jig is up.
“Right, because we’re going inside.”
Her eyes widen. “We’re breaking into a water park?”
“I’m not that much of a rebel. A good friend of mine owns the place.”
“A good friend of yours owns Laurel Mountain Ski Resort?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And . . .”
I lift up a set of keys, jiggling them. “You ready to have some fun?”
Before she answers, I reach in the back seat for her bag, and mine.
“Let’s go.”
It’s not until we walk down the long set of stairs to the entrance and Evie is emerging from a changing room that she realizes I’m not full of shit.
“I can’t believe this.”
Though it’s already getting dark, the water park lights are still on. Most of them, anyway. Steve gave me the rundown. The lazy river will be on, and all of the body slides are fair game. The only thing he asked me to avoid was the wave pool and the bigger waterslides.
“Cool, right?”
Although Evie is wearing a cover-up, my imagination takes flight as her gaze travels downward.
“Are you checking me out, Miss Fuller?”
Dropping her bag and closing the distance between us, her hands are quick to explore.
“How do you have time to look this good?” she says as I pull her in toward me.
“My brothers,” is all I say, and Evie understands. We have an unwritten competition years in the making. Lusanne teases the hell out of us, but counting visible abs is a very DeLuca pastime.
Our lips meet. How will I possibly do this? It takes everything I have not to lift that white cover-up over Evie’s head this very moment.
