Better Than Revenge

by EJ Blaise

Genres: New Adult Romance; Romantic Comedy; Sports Romance

Synopsis

Your next favourite read is here! Dive into this hilarious, romantic and sexy college romance by bestseller EJ Blaise!

🏊Fake dating
🏊Black cat/Golden retriever
🏊Grumpy/Sunshine
🏊Opposites attract
🏊Found family

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Daniela Williams is furious.

A nasty break up after being cheated on is a crappy way to start the year.

What's worse? Her ex and his new girlfriend are on Daniela's swim team.

If she wasn't so against showing she cares about anything, she'd drown him in the pool. This is what she gets for dating teammates.

But Daniela never admits defeat in anything - both in and out of the pool.

Enter Heath Belfort; a captivating and stupidly handsome local surfer. . . and her ex's biggest swimming rival. Heath smiles through her ex's jabs and beats him in every race. So, what better way to get revenge than to fake date the one person her ex hates most?

Heath's up for the challenge . . . on one condition: Daniela agrees to tutor him so he can pass his history class.

Private lessons and staged kisses are just fine with her, but can anyone make it out of a fake relationship unscathed?

______________________________

Release date: August 25, 2026

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 384

Sample

ANY MINUTE NOW, I’M GOING TO COMMIT A CRIME.

Because if I hear my name whispered in a scandalized tone one more time, somebody’s getting murdered.

Hoisting myself out of the pool and ripping off my goggles and swim cap, I just about manage to resist the urge to ping them both at the gaggle of people lingering nearby, sneering at me like I’m the devil incarnate. Like I’ve done something wrong. Like I cheated on my boyfriend, on my partner of almost two fucking years, on the only person I’ve ever been with. Like I left him for my side piece – not the other way around.

Unbelievable. It’s un-fucking-believable to them that the tall, raven-haired dickhead right there amongst them could possibly be the villain. Ben is the dirty bastard here, yet I’m the one with metaphorical daggers slashing my skin while he holds court, his little posse all one pathetic move away from dropping to their knees and kissing his feet.

Snagging my towel from the bench I dropped it on at the beginning of practice, I dry myself off with a little more vigor than necessary, tangled wet hair falling in my face as I bend over to scrub at my legs until light brown skin blushes red. It’s not like I was best friends with anyone on the team to begin with – hell, it’s not like I was really friends with anyone. I’m not heartbroken to lose their oh-so-dear companionship, but come the fuck on. How has Ben managed to shit all over our relationship and still come out smelling like roses?

And her. Jesus Christ, how is she not the antichrist? Sienna is petite and blonde, and she smiles with all of her shiny white teeth without looking like a predator, so that makes it okay that she slept with my boyfriend? Repeatedly? How the hell does that work?

I don’t get it. I really, really don’t get it. I’m utterly baffled, but I’d rather pull out my own teeth than ask for an explanation. It already physically pains me that I care, that I spent half of this first practice of the season glowering about Ben and pretty, perfect Sienna. So much so that I almost let a girl whose personal best I could swim while dead asleep – I could swim it dead, full stop – beat me in a practice race.

Distracted, I practically hear my dad hissing from beyond the grave. Not good enough, Daniela. Not you.

He wouldn’t be wrong. It isn’t good enough. It isn’t me. Shit, didn’t Ben demolish our relationship a few months ago – on the very last day of sophomore year, to be precise – specifically because of my hyper-focus on swimming? As much as I would get off on proving him wrong, the sacrifice wouldn’t be worth it. Ben isn’t worth it.

Slinging my towel over my shoulder, I tilt my chin upwards, readying myself to march past my teammates as if their subtly veiled disparaging doesn’t make me want to jump back in the pool and take some frustration out on the water. But I only make it a handful of steps before the doors to the pool complex fly open and a cacophony of noise suddenly floods the building.

‘What the hell are they doing here?’ someone murmurs, just as I think it. As tension throbs between my shoulder blades and tightens my posture, a groan brews low in my throat, and something between a scowl and a grimace contorts my face as I watch the Cove College swim team – our closest, fiercest rivals – strut inside.

And I do mean strut. They’re all big, tangible energy, loud and rambunctious, their young coach not doing all that much to keep them in line – a stark contrast to Haven Cove University’s very own drill sergeant, who turns up his nose at the intruders and audibly scoffs.

And at the center of it all, there’s him.

Heath Belfort.

Six feet and a neck-breaking amount of inches of tan, tattooed, infuriatingly attractive presence. Unavoidable. Unignorable. Against my will, my eyes track him as he saunters toward the pool, laughing and smiling and messing around with his teammates in a way that makes me think Oh! That’s what camaraderie looks like!

Because unlikeable he is not. And, sometimes, I wonder if that’s why my ex hates him so much. If it infuriates Ben not only that his sworn rival is so well-liked, but that he is infinitely more well-liked. Probably. That, and the whole him-being-abetter-swimmer thing. Like, a lot better. Like, has beat him in every race they’ve ever swum kind of better. Like, so good even I can’t help but be impressed – and a little irritated, because I’m not sure he even knows how good he is. And I’m not sure he cares. I can’t claim to know him – our interactions have rarely gone beyond me trying not to laugh whenever he and Ben traded silly, oh-so-manly barbs – but I know he doesn’t really act like a competitive swimmer. He doesn’t have that drive. He doesn’t—

‘What the fuck is this?’

Oh, here we go.

See, before, when I was still playing the painstakingly perfected role of the dutiful girlfriend, I would’ve rushed over and stood stoically at a simmering Ben’s side. I would’ve listened to him snap at Heath, would’ve watched Heath playfully retort, would’ve listened somewhat intently to Ben’s bitching when it was all over and feigned sympathy for his poor, fragile ego being wounded once again by someone with more talent, more personality, and more wit.

For a split second, habit drives me forward a step. Moves me closer until reality – until common sense – kicks in and I remember that Prince freaking Charming has a new doting damsel by his side.

Sienna doesn’t look like she’s feigning anything. She looks genuinely distraught as she pouts and rubs Ben’s back soothingly, so supportive as he faces the man I genuinely, unironically heard him call his worst enemy more than once.

A stark contrast to all the glowering happening on the HCU side of this odd little stand-off, the Cove College contingent only smile – smirk, really – at my teammates and at each other, exchanging looks like they know something we don’t.

It’s Heath who explains their unexpected presence, self-satisfied not even close to correctly describing his tone. ‘Didn’t you hear, Pullman? We’re moving in.’

Despite the weather outside doing its very best to hang on to summer, the temperature indoors suddenly plummets. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Our pool filter broke,’ the brunet, just-as-smarmy guy beside Heath chimes in – Kai Shen: I recognize him almost as easily as I do his golden best friend. The second-best swimmer at Cove College and, consequently, public enemy number two for Ben. ‘So, I guess we’re sharing for a while.’

‘What?’ Ben splutters, all but stomping his feet like a disgruntled toddler. ‘No!’

‘Don’t cry, Benny.’ One corner of his full mouth curling upwards, Heath adds, ‘Again.’

Before I manage to stifle it, a snicker escapes me. I can’t help it. I’ve been holding one in since Heath decimated Ben’s time in a relay a year or so ago, and my then-boyfriend damn near burst into tears, never mind the fact his team still won.

Yet my dedication to the sport was the problem. Okay.

Like he did all those months ago when I gently – okay, maybe not-so-gently – told him it wasn’t that big of a deal, Ben swings a scowl my way.

Heath, on the other hand, flashes me a smile. A wide, bright smile that I imagine has sent many a girl to her knees.

Mine, obviously, remain steady.

‘Hey, Dani.’

I crook a brow – a silent why are you talking to me? that doesn’t actually do anything to deter him. In fact, it seems to spur him on, that ever-present grin stretching wider, and it definitely, unintentionally draws him an inch closer.

‘Been meaning to congratulate you.’

Up goes the second brow, though this one is marginally more intrigued than sarcastic.

Blue-green eyes shimmer with pure mischief, reminiscent of the sun catching on a piece of sea glass, and then he winks. ‘Heard you lost some dead weight recently.’

Another snicker tickles the back of my throat. Lost, stolen. Potato, potato-h.

‘Freedom looks good on you,’ Heath continues, and I swear those eyes light up even brighter when, finally, I bite.

‘Nice to know I looked like shit before.’

‘You?’ Heath blows out a breath, looking startlingly sincere for someone who never seems to stop kidding round. ‘Never.’

Yeah, okay. I get it. The charm, the smile, the pretty words – I can see why half the town is in love with this guy. If I were that kind of person – soft and loving and susceptible to flattery – I’m not sure I’d be able to resist either.

But I’m not. I’m… well, according to the general populace, I’m a mean, heartless viper who drives men into the arms of other women with the sheer power of my bitterness. So, when Heath sidles closer and croons suggestively about some party on the beach tonight, I’m more than capable of maintaining my usual blank, uncaring stare. ‘Have fun.’

That pretty, close-shaven head cocks to one side. ‘You don’t wanna come?’

This time, the snicker doesn’t come from me. ‘Daniela doesn’t party,’ someone on my team quips, and I’d be grateful for the back-up, if it didn’t feel more like a knife in the back.

Before I can say anything, Heath fires back, ‘Maybe Daniela just doesn’t party with you.’

‘Daniela can speak for herself.’ I roll my eyes. Oh, handsome knight, how shiny your armor looks. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’

Heath pouts a little, but he doesn’t push. Not really. Just suggests that I ‘think about it’.

‘Yeah,’ I drone, non-committal, as I start toward the changing rooms, my parting wave dismissive. ‘I’ll think real hard.’

‘Help,’ I yell half-heartedly as I let myself into the apartment I live in alone, yet for some reason I don’t find empty. ‘Call 911. There’s an overgrown manchild stealing my chips.’

Slightly older, only a few inches taller, and a hell of a lot less mature, the man sprawled on my couch like it’s his couch barely spares me a cursory glance, too focused on the shitty reality show playing on the laptop screen in front of him. ‘Stealing?’ my brother scoffs, waving a hand coated in barbecue seasoning dismissively. ‘Please. More like saving. We both know these weren’t getting eaten any time soon.’

Not true. I had grand plans for kicking off the season by demolishing the entire bag – before my coach’s nose properly attunes to the scent of trans fats and excessive sodium.

Kicking off my flip-flops by the front door, I drop my bag and pad into the kitchen. One hand undoing the crude braid I’d hastily fixed my damp hair in for the walk home, I grab a kombucha from the fridge with the other, and one more too, because I know that even though Sebastian swears they taste like straight vinegar, his aforementioned manchild energy means he always wants whatever I have. ‘What’re you doing here?’

Between mouthfuls of my chips, he explains, ‘Wellness check. Mother Dearest says you’re not answering her calls.’

‘She’s not my mother.’ I cluck my tongue as I hip-check the fridge door closed, hard enough to make the contents rattle. ‘And I’ve been busy.’

‘You’re always busy.’

God, have I heard that one before. ‘Yeah, it’s called having a life.’ Another snort echoes around my studio. ‘You don’t have a life, Dani. You have structure.’

Even though Sebastian easily catches the can I chuck at him, he still swears at me shrilly, shaking out his hand like the big drama queen he is. ‘Pendeja. For that, I’m telling you to come to dinner tonight instead of asking.’

An honest-to-God chill runs down my spine. There are a whole list of things I would rather do than spend the evening sandwiched between my stepmother and my brother, fielding questions I don’t want to answer and defending my life choices.

Sandwiching myself between my cheating ex and his mistress, for example. Or re-taking Intro to Anthropology with Mr Henson, the professor from hell. Or swimming in the ocean.

All hard nos in my day-to-day life, but akin to a spa day in comparison to a Williams family dinner.

‘Sorry.’ I shrug as I crack open my drink. ‘I don’t think that fits my structure.’

My brother groans as he drops his head back against the arm of my sofa. ‘Daniela.’

‘Sebastian.’ I mimic his childish tone. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Stuff.’

‘What stuff?’ he presses. ‘Drinking protein shakes? Doing homework? Throwing darts at a picture of Ben?’

‘Actually,’ I set a hand on my hip, fingers drumming against the denim shorts covering a yellow swimsuit, mouth moving before common sense can catch up with it. ‘I’m going to a party.’

Sebastian blinks. ‘A party.’

I swallow, and, fuck, if it doesn’t taste like desperation. ‘Uh-huh.’

Eyes the same shade of chocolate-brown as mine narrow. ‘Where?’

‘The Inlet.’ I quickly name the stretch of sand nestled along the craggy coastline that I know college kids frequent whenever the temperamental Pacific Northwest weather is just right.

My brother remains unconvinced. ‘With who?’

‘Some people from the team.’

Now that makes him laugh, deep and snarky. ‘Yeah fuckin’ right.’

‘Not my team,’ I correct, clearing my throat before digging my hole just a little deeper. ‘Heath Belfort invited me.’

A pair of dark brows meet a darker hairline. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard me.’ My thumb repeatedly flicking the tab of my can, I round the tiny island separating the kitchen from the living room and make a beeline for the even tinier bathroom. ‘Done interrogating me yet? Because I need to shower.’

‘Wait.’ With far more grace than such a long body should be capable of, Sebastian scrambles over the back of the sofa. Genuine wonder lighting up his entire face, he manages to jam his foot between the bathroom door and the doorframe before I can lock myself away. ‘Are you being serious?’

‘Yes,’ I technically don’t lie. He did invite me, I guess. Loosely. The only lie is me having any intention of actually going.

Except the look on my brother’s face makes my gut sink – evokes a whiney fuck my life, how am I getting out of this? too.

‘Heath Belfort,’ he repeats, whistling as he leans a shoulder against the doorframe. ‘Wow. How’d you manage that?’

Something in his tone makes my eye twitch. Right. How could the Wicked Witch of the Cove possibly attract the attention of the human equivalent of a golden unicorn? Unfathomable. ‘Charmed him, obviously.’

‘Scared him, more like.’ Elbowing his way further into the bathroom, Sebastian drops a hand on each of my shoulders, squeezing in a disconcertingly affectionate way. ‘This is good, Dani. You need to have some fun.’

I have fun, I want to insist, but the ensuing argument wouldn’t be worth it. ‘If you’re satisfied with my social calendar, can you leave now?’

Sebastian laughs, and that sunken feeling in my gut? It multiplies.

‘Oh, mi hermanita.’ He clutches me even tighter, giving me a shake for good measure. ‘You think I’m gonna miss a chance to watch Ben watch you get all cozy with fuckin’ Belfort?’

My chest itches, a sure-fire sign of the pesky stress rashes that’ve been plaguing me since, oh, I don’t know, birth. ‘Aren’t you a little old for a college party?’

My twenty-five-year-old, fully-fucking-grown brother actually hisses at me in mock outrage. ‘Bite your tongue. I’m still a student at heart.’

He still drinks like a student, he means.

‘Besides,’ Seba continues, patting my cheek. ‘The Inlet isn’t a frat house, Dani. God knows I won’t be the oldest person there.’

But he will be there.

Yeah. Fuck my life.

I CHANGED MY MIND.

There is something less enjoyable than spending time with my stepmother – descending a freaking cliff in search of a college beach party teeming with people I don’t particularly care for, and who don’t particularly care for me either, as the setting sun casts my impending death scene in pretty, golden light.

‘Seba,’ I hiss in my brother’s wake, as he skips down the sketchy path like a freaking mountain goat. Meanwhile, I struggle like a dumb-ass, rocks scraping my bare feet as the Birkenstocks dangling from one hand severely impede my ability to balance. ‘Slow the fuck down.’

Like the show-off he’s always been, Sebastian turns to walk backwards, flashing me a smirk. ‘Por qué? Nervous?

I scowl. ‘To break my neck? Yeah.’

‘To see your new man,’ he corrects, in an irritating sing-song tone. ‘God, this is gonna be good.’

I disagree. Wholeheartedly. I have the distinct feeling that this is going to be an absolute nightmare. I’m going to eventually reach the bottom of this godforsaken cliff, people are going to notice me and wonder what the hell I’m doing here, and… well, shit, I’m not easily embarrassed, not by a long shot, but this might be too much, even for me.

Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a robot. I have the capacity to feel real, human emotions – other than rage and irritation, of course. Like trepidation. And unease. Both of which I feel right now, with a little nausea added to the mix as I anticipate the looks of pure and utter shock I’m about to be on the receiving end of.

And Sebastian is going to witness everything. He’s going to know I was lying, because Heath fucking Belfort is not going to come bounding up to me, delighted by my presence. He invited me as a joke, as a way to rile up Ben, I know that, but it won’t look like I know that. It will look like I took it seriously. Like I showed up here expecting… God knows what. ‘Listen, Seba—’

Too late. It’s too goddamn late. His feet have already hit sand, he’s already scurrying toward the group of twenty-something-year-olds sprawled across the shoreline, each of them toting an alcoholic beverage of some description – each of them looking in my direction, because my loud-ass brother easily captures their attention with his arrival.

Unlike me, Seba is extremely likeable. Like, chronically. He was on the cusp of his final year of college when we moved here, an entirely shitty position to land yourself in, yet he had zero trouble falling in with the popular crowd. Just like he has zero trouble finding them now. He’s swept up before I even make it to the sand, a drink shoved at him and a phone screen turned his way as he’s commanded to add to the playlist being whipped along the beach by a coastal wind.

No such thing happens to me. Unsurprising, but still a little… I don’t know. Demoralizing, I guess. I’m a big girl, a tough girl – chingona, my mom used to proudly call me – but still. Fuck. Talk about uncomfortable.

Seba doesn’t even look back at me, and I guess that’s kind of the way our relationship has always been. That’s the kind of hold I’ve always had in his life. Fleeting and loose.

I don’t let it get to me. Never have, and certainly not now, when I’m the center of freaking attention.

It takes no more than five seconds to find a pair of familiar dark blue eyes, squinting as they train themselves on me, blatantly confused and a little pissed. Which is, once again, unsurprising. Even when our relationship was actually good, I never wanted to party with Ben. I rarely let him force me to go out, and on the rare occasions I did, it was only when his pleading started giving me a migraine. I bet me being here – at Heath’s request, no less – is killing him.

I wonder if it’s killing Sienna, how intently her boyfriend peers at me while she frowns up at him.

God, I hope it is.

Karma, bitch.

Flicking my hair over my shoulder, I smile. My version of a smile, at least. Terrifying, I’ve heard it described as more than once, and that suits me just fine. That’s what I’m going for. That’ s—

‘You came.’

Head swinging abruptly to the side, I reel back just a little when I find turquoise eyes far closer than I anticipated. ‘Jesus.’ My hand flies to my chest, my smile already gone. ‘You need a bell.’

‘Kinky.’ Mouth stuck in that perpetual grin, Heath winks before smoothing out his expression – softening it. ‘Guess all that “thinking” worked in my favor.’

I cross my arms with a huff, brows knitting together in a forced frown. ‘You think I’m here for you?’

Heath glances over one broad, muscular shoulder, then the other, before fixing those damn ridiculous eyes back on me. ‘Who else, Daniela?’

Jesus. I shift as something that’s not quite discomfort wiggles in my belly. ‘I’m here with my brother, actually.’

When I nod in his direction, Heath follows my gaze and lets out a soft, unconvinced, slightly smarmy, ‘ah.’ ‘You joining him?’

Eyeing Sebastian as he chugs a beer while single-handedly cracking open another, I repress a grimace. ‘You got a better offer?’

Heath snorts. ‘Oh, Dani. Do I ever.’

Except he doesn’t offer. He doesn’t give me much of a choice at all. Before I can really protest, he cups my elbow and guides me toward the small group gathered around a makeshift firepit. More people I vaguely recognize greet me – a softly smiling Black girl with braids down to her waist and a vintage-looking camera slung around her neck, two near-identical redheads sitting side-by-side, and, obviously, the infamous Kai. He’s the one who hands me a drink: a cup filled to the brim with something dark that smells like cola, but I know better.

‘It’s rum,’ Heath tells me, as he drags me down to the sand, settling right beside me, almost too close for comfort. ‘That okay? We’ve got plain soda and water and stuff if you prefer. I know you don’t really drink.’

I tap my pointer finger against my cup in an offbeat rhythm, huffing a humorless laugh. ‘Oh, you know that, do you?’

Resting his forearms against his bent knees, Heath shrugs, but there’s nothing casual about the way he looks me dead in the eye. ‘I pay attention.’

Unnerved, I look away, bringing the cup to my lips just to give myself something to do, something else to focus on. ‘I drink.’ Not often, but I do. I’m partial to rum, actually, and I can’t help but wonder if the one in my grip is simply a coincidence, or another display of attention. ‘Thanks.’

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Heath lean forward, trying to catch my gaze. ‘Be honest. It hurt you to say that?’

‘Yes. Deeply. I believe I’ll burst into flames at any moment now.’

A melodic chuckle floats toward me. ‘You’re funny.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised.’

‘I’m not.’ Heath shifts, rocking ever-so-slightly to one side so our shoulders brush. ‘I already knew you were funny.’

‘You know a lot about someone you’ve never spoken to.’ ‘We’ve spoken.’

‘We’ve interacted through a third party.’

‘Hmm. Sounds so sexy when you put it like that.’

Now it’s my turn to laugh. I’m not sure I’ve ever made anything sound sexy in my life – I believe that was among Ben’s complaints. Not sexy.

Not sexual.

‘Hey.’ Once again the side of Heath’s body brushes against mine. ‘What’s that face for?’

‘Nothing.’ I kiss my teeth. ‘Nothing at all.’

I’m unsure how, exactly, I get so drunk so quickly.

I just know that it happens. I just know that I’m drunk. Obscenely so. So much that I’ve started to anthropomorphize the fire in front of me, my rum-addled brain convincing me that the flames are smiling.

I smile back. I laugh quietly beneath my breath as I wonder if fire is my only friend, as a snippet of my dad likening me to it scratches the far corners of my memory, as I sag against the person beside me – the person who hasn’t left my side. Who hasn’t pushed me into conversation. No one around me has. They’ve just let me exist in their presence – out of pity, I think, but I’ll take it.

For now. Tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll kick my own ass for not just getting up and leaving, but, for now, I don’t have the wherewithal.

So I sit and I listen and I don’t listen too as I get lost in my own thoughts, and every so often, I sneak a glance at Heath. Leaning into me as much as I do him. Freaking gleaming in the firelight, sculpted features cast in shadows, flames dancing in those pretty, pretty eyes and reflecting off buzzed golden hair. He catches me more than once, always cracking a smile, sometimes bumping his shoulder against mine. One time, he yanks a strand of my hair, and I actually laugh – I like it. It’s playful. Fun. Casual. Things I don’t get to be, things I’m not. Things my last relationship wasn’t.

God, I can’t even count how many times my emotions around that doomed coupling derived from stress and tension and pressure. If I’m honest, when I realized Ben was breaking up with me – before I got the sordid details of it all – I was grateful. Genuinely. Before the words ‘I slept with someone else’ left his mouth, I breathed an actual sigh of relief.

Relief. Honestly. Briefly, I wondered if I really was a robot like people say. I wondered why I wasn’t heartbroken, wondered what was wrong with me, before coming to my senses and concluding there wasn’t anything wrong with me. There isn’t anything wrong with me.

‘Didn’t say there was.’

I jolt, my head heavy as I lift it to frown at Heath. ‘What?’

‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.’

‘Oh.’ Shit. I said that out loud? ‘Thanks.’

‘Two thanks in one night?’ A long, low whistle makes me shiver. ‘I think I deserve a prize for that.’

‘Such a man,’ I drawl – slur, really. ‘Wanting a reward for someone else’s accomplishments. I’m the one being polite.’

‘Oh, so you want a reward?’

Something about his tone makes me gulp. Something about the way he dips his head, bringing us eye-to-eye, almost forehead-to-forehead, makes my stomach twist.

‘Tell me,’ he croons, eyes flicking between both of mine. ‘What’s your reward, Dani?’

I have an idea. A wild, rum-fueled idea that does not align with reality, that can’t possibly be something I’d actually want. A slightly spiteful notion that I quickly swat away, shaking my head as I draw backwards. ‘Stop that.’

Heath follows my retreat, refusing to relinquish our close proximity. ‘Stop what?’

‘That.’ I flick my hand at him. ‘Being all… Heath.’

‘Being all Heath,’ he repeats, with a laugh, crooking a brow. ‘What does that mean?’

I shoot him a dry look. ‘You know exactly what it means.’

‘Humor me.’

‘Listen, pretty boy. I’m not the one, okay? All that,’ I gesture to… well, all of him, ‘is wasted on me. I’m a waste.’

Heath simply stares for a moment, silent until one corner of his mouth lifts smugly. ‘You think I’m pretty?’

Of course that’s what he took from that.

‘Okay.’ Huffing another laugh, and shaking my head again too, I plant both palms in the sand. ‘I’m gonna go now.’

Or at least I intend to. I try to, but the moment I push upright, gravity yanks me back down. In a true feat of grace, I topple onto Heath, get caught with a grunt and an exhale that brushes… my mouth.

His breath brushes my mouth.

Because that’s how close we suddenly are. So close that when his tongue darts out to trace his bottom lip, I practically feel it on mine. I certainly feel his gaze, bouncing from my eyes to my mouth and back up again, as tangible as the steadying fingers that graze my bicep on an upwards path until a thumb traces the protrusion of my collarbone.

Head tilting to one side, Heath drawls, ‘A waste, huh?’

I swallow thickly, unsettled by the sudden… energy floating around us. ‘Uh-huh.’

‘Hmm.’ He nods slowly, thoughtfully. ‘Better try harder, then.’

I have to look away.

Except my quest for turquoise-free peace only grants me a different kind of torture.

At some point, Ben has found his way to the firepit. Settled directly across from me, the new love of his life relaxes in his embrace, but he watches me intently. With his mouth set in a rigid line, he wears an expression I know all too well, one I’ve been on the receiving end of so many times.

Somehow, the jackass thinks he still has a right to be pissed at me. He thinks he can be mad that I’m talking to someone he doesn’t like. He thinks I give a flying fuck about what he thinks.

Frustration itches beneath my skin. Averting my gaze, I’m once again bombarded by unnaturally bright irises that suck me in, draw me forward, make that itchy feeling calm down just a little.

Vaguely, like muffled noise in the background of a phone call, I register a voice abruptly getting louder, seeking attention.

A voice I recognize because I heard it every day for almost two years.

A voice that, only a few months ago, worked so damn hard to rip me apart.

A voice that showers me in spite and spurs me to lean forward and press my lips to Heath’s.

Part of me – the deeply insecure part that I mostly manage to keep under lock and key – expects him to push me away. To yell or laugh or quip something mocking, or do some combination of all three.

Except he doesn’t. He hesitates for a moment, an awful, mortifying moment, and then… fuck, he kisses me. He really kisses me. Like, one hand cupping my neck, the other gliding across my cheek before burrowing in the hair at my nape kind of kissing. Using his grip to tilt my head back and grant himself better access kind of kissing. Dizzying, discombobulating kind of kissing that makes me forget who I’m kissing, where I’m kissing him, why I’m kissing him.

Even if I remembered, I don’t think I’d