The beach was stunning in the dark. The sand looked even paler in the moonlight, and it reached the sandy bottom of the sea. It made me wanna go in.
“Midnight swim?” I suggested.
“After two bottles of wine? Boy, you’re mad.”
“That’s what makes it a great idea.” In fact, I was going in, no matter if he joined me or not. As soon as I got close to the edge of the water, I started shedding my clothes. Because of the upscale location, I’d opted to dress the part, but that meant I was hot now. “Come on, it’ll feel awesome to cool off.”
He stared at me like I was insane.
“Don’t think, just do.” Once I was stripped down to my underwear, I made a run for it and darted straight out into the water before I could dive under.
Holy fuck, that felt good. I ghosted my palms along the soft, sandy floor. Goose bumps appeared all over my body, and I resurfaced with a sharp intake of air as the refreshing sensation coursed through me.
The heat of the day lingered in the water and—huh, it wasn’t as salty as it should’ve been. This was the Mediterranean, for chrissakes. It was gorgeous but usually a salty bitch. There had to be an inlet nearby, maybe to a freshwater lake.
“You have to get in, Shan,” I called. “The water’s perfect.”
He was stubborn. “We could be enjoying our third bottle of wine on our terrace right now—and opening that chocolate assortment we bought.”
“So we’ll do that after.” I swam closer to shore, until my knees hit the bottom and the surface reached my shoulders. “Join me. Please.”
He let out an impatient sigh, surrendering.
I only needed a bit more surrender.
“This is what I get for traveling with youngsters,” he muttered, folding his suit jacket over a boulder. “Reckless adventures instead of wine and chocolate.”
I snorted. Last night, didn’t we have espetos and sangria for dinner on our balcony and spend two hours discussing the Battle of Dunkirk? How juvenile.
My eyes had adjusted to the poor light just in time for Shannon to reach the water’s edge wearing only boxer briefs. He stared at the water and tested the temperature first, and I saw how his shoulders lost some tension. He’d anticipated the water being colder.
“Rip off the Band-Aid,” I encouraged.
He sent me a quick scowl, but that was the approach he took a beat later. He jogged out into the water and dove when it was deep enough.
I followed, wanting to get to where I could stand properly.
Shan broke through the surface with an exhaled “Fuck.”
“Nice, huh?” I swam a circle around him.
He pushed back his hair and wiped water off his face. “I’d rather not give you the satisfaction of being right.”
I grinned.
“I hope we get the beach to ourselves tomorrow,” I said.
He smirked faintly and dipped lower, his lips almost touching the surface. “I’m beginning to believe that you don’t like to share.”
“Some things, absolutely,” I agreed.
“Such as?”
I started swimming around him in slow circles. “My clothes. Luna has stolen exactly two hoodies and one tee from me, and I still give her shit for it. My cars—I barely tolerate Finn driving it, and I had to take two shots of whiskey before I let Emilia try the R8.”
Shan rumbled a low laugh.
“Season tickets,” I added to the list. I rarely went to games anymore, but I remembered when I had season tickets to the Flyers, and as soon as I couldn’t attend a game, some fucker wanted to “borrow” my seat. “Last but not least…I wouldn’t share a man either. I have a feeling I’d get possessive.”
He hummed and leaned back, eyes going to the night sky. “Are there things you do like to share?”
Definitely. “Food and books. I like trying new things from different cultures. Sharing platters are fucking awesome. Or if you go with a mate and you order different things so you can try both.”
“I like that too,” he murmured.
My feet landed on the bottom again, and I bit my lip. He had his eyes closed and looked so content. Part of me didn’t wanna disrupt the peace.
Another part of me wanted to push.
“I like sharing my bed.” The words were out before I could rethink.
He opened his eyes at that but didn’t leave his half-horizontal position. “Did you just admit to being a manwhore, son?”
Aw, shite. I cringed and replayed what I’d said. Yeah, okay, that could easily be misinterpreted.
“Far from it—that’s not what I meant.”
He chuckled drowsily and finally lifted his head and planted his feet on the ocean floor. “I know what you meant.” He inched closer until we were only a couple feet apart. “I don’t mind sharing my cars,” he said quietly. “Material things rarely matter to me, but I understand why they’re important to you.”