“I’m going to my volunteering gig, should be back around noon,” Evan’s note says.
But it’s already past noon.
Where did he—
“There you are,” Evan says, startling me.
I turn and take him in. And just like that, something flutters in my chest. Are these heart palpitations—a lesser-known hangover symptom? Also, my underwear suddenly feels damp and my nipples overly sensitive. Is a teenager’s libido another side effect of excessive alcohol consumption?
“How are you?” Evan asks softly, studying me.
I wince. “Do you have a guillotine?”
He shows me the jar he’s holding. “Drink this. It helped me, tremendously.”
Hmm. If this is anything like the sunburn poultice, I’d better give it a try.
Cautiously, I approach him and reach for the jar. He again smells alluringly like wax and the salty ocean, with a touch of starfruit. My head was already spinning, but the proximity of his big, masculine frame makes it—along with the dampness in my panties and the nipple situation—much worse.
As I grab the jar, our fingers brush, and I get a flashback of last night, those same fingers all over my—
“Don’t sniff it,” Evan warns. “Just gulp.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.” Ignoring my body’s unruly reactions, I unscrew the jar.
If you were to put stinky cheese into a compost pile, a year later the contents would taste and smell a lot like this jar. But hey, after I take a swig, my libido calms the fuck down.
“I know it’s bad,” Evan says. “But my headache is gone.”
“This may be a case of the cure being worse than the disease.” And yet I force myself to take another swig.
Harry waltzes in and looks at me longingly.
“You’re a weirdo,” Evan says to him before turning to me. “Any chance you can share some with him? He tried it earlier and clearly liked it.”
I poke my finger into the horribleness and let Harry lick it off, which the dog does with greedy enthusiasm.
Huh. I guess if sniffing butts is one’s idea of fun, one’s bar for what’s gross is a bit lower than mine.
“Now what?” I ask when the jar is almost empty, and I can’t even imagine stomaching another sip.
“Harry gets the rest,” Evan says with a grin. “Meanwhile, how about you and I get some lunch?”
“Sure.” I don’t feel particularly hungry, but more food should help with the hangover.
Hopefully.
Also, sitting down for a meal might give us a chance to discuss last night. Like, what did it mean?
We head to the kitchen, and I watch in fascination as Evan preps food for the two of us once again. He looks extremely sexy as he does it.
When the meal is ready, I taste it without really tasting it, but compliment the chef nevertheless.
“So,” I say, unsure how to bring up the topic of yesterday. “The treasure hunt was sure a hoot. Right?”
Grr. That was pathetic.
But hey, Evan smiles, so that’s something. “It really was,” he says. “And if you’re not feeling too hungover, I’d like to continue. Maybe head over to Marianna?”
So that’s how he’s playing it? Avoiding the topic.
He looks at me worriedly. “Is it too soon?”
“I guess I could go,” I say. “But no drinking.”
Evan winces. “Not even if I had a gun to my head.”
“Do you think you can drive smoothly?” I ask. “A bump on the road might just make my brain explode.”
“I’ll be like that song,” he says. “A smooth operator.”
A song about a man who is good at playing women? Is Evan giving me a hint about last night?
As we eat our meal, I don’t dare ask, and he doesn’t volunteer any answers. Instead, we simply learn more about each other—and the same is true on the drive to our next treasure map destination.
I learn who Evan’s first kiss was, and he learns about Brian, the horror show that was my first boyfriend. I tell him about my friends, and he tells me about his, as well as his dad.
The whole car ride, I keep thinking that if I wanted to come clean about Reagan, this would be the perfect chance, but I can’t bring myself to do so.
“Why here?” Evan asks when we pull up to the parking lot near the entrance to the famous caverns.
“Because one of the clues was the year soda was invented,” I explain.
Evan arches an eyebrow.
I sigh. “This place has something called the Soda Straw Room.”
“Ah.”
Evan gets us a private tour to make sure we can do the sleuthing once underground. Our tour guide, with his long, shaggy hair, looks exactly like a Puli… or Reagan for that matter.
Actually, no. Reagan doesn’t look like a Puli at all. In fact, no one has bred a dog cute enough to compare with my son. If they ever do, they’ll make billions.
I’m startled out of my reverie by the tour guide’s booming tone. I glance at Evan. Once again, I feel like we’re on a date—and a nice one at that. Between the cool underground air, the drip of water, and the majestic stalactites and stalagmites, I half expect to see Tolkien dwarves just around the corner—and I love every second of it.
The problem is, when we reach the Soda Straw Room (named that on account of all the tubular stalactites), there are no clues anywhere—and we look, hard.
“Maybe you’ll want to check out some of our other famous spots?” the Puli suggests when we give up and look disappointed.
It doesn’t hurt to check, so we let him take us around as he explains what each place is called and why. The tour turns out to be awesome, of course, but again, no clues are to be found in either the Great Room, the Drapery Room, or anywhere else.
“Ready to give up?” Evan asks when the Puli takes us back to the gift shop. “Or should I book another tour?”
“No. This is Flagler College all over again. I’m starting to think you chose the wrong person to help you with the hunt.”
Evan shakes his head. “You’re doing much better than I did. Besides, we’ve got two more locations to check out.”
“Fair.” I step outside and wait for Evan to join me.
“How’s your headache?” he asks after he exits. “I’m not sure if it was the cave air, Dad’s cure, the food, or simply time, but mine is completely gone.”
Huh. “Mine is gone too.”
“Great.” He gestures into the distance. “Did you know you can rent kayaks nearby?”
“You can?” And why is this topic making my heart flutter?
I glance at my tracker as if checking the time, but really it’s to see if my heartrate is elevated—and it is.
My dear Precious, your heart is a nine-ounce marvel in this universe of madness and darkness, and I squeal in ecstasy with its every luscious pump.
“Yep,” Evan says. “There are kayaks and boats. And I’m not sure if I told you this, but I love kayaks… only no one ever wants to ride them with me.”
There it is. Until now, I could tell myself we were on a treasure hunt, but if we go do this activity, that will be a lot closer to a date—so I should say no. Right? But I came here on vacation, and I’ve always wanted to try kayaking, so I tell Evan that I’d be happy to join him.
“Yes!” Evan is so psyched that I start to wonder if he really meant it when he said no one ever wants to go with him.
In any case, he gets the kayak and sits in the front.
Oh, boy. Even with the life jacket over his T-shirt, I can see his muscles work as he rows, which seriously distracts me from the greenery and the calm waters. Still, I feel myself de-stressing, all the tensions—except for the sexual one—leaving my body with every stroke of the paddles.
Soon, we spot an otter. And a manatee after that—not to mention a number of turtles and different birds.
“I love kayaking,” I say when we’re done. “Who knew?”
Evan beams at me. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“My friends—the ones who booked me this vacation—will be very happy to know I got to properly relax.” And they’ll insist Evan deserves a reward for making it happen. A lewd reward.
“But the day isn’t over,” Evan says. “Want to check out some local sights?”
He starts walking excitedly before I even voice my agreement, and I almost grab his hand as I fall into step beside him. Thankfully, I stop myself because—for the millionth time—this isn’t an actual date.
Unless it is? No idea, but soon, I’m having too much fun to worry about the status of our relationship, and I only return to those thoughts on the drive back.
“How do you feel about eating out at some nice place on the way?” Evan asks and then lists a few options, all of which sound very fancy.
Eat somewhere nice? Again?
That’s it.
I can’t hold it in anymore.
“Are we on a date?”