“Ah,” he said, a smirk creeping onto his face “Here we go.”

He cleared his throat dramatically before reading out loud, his voice slow and amused.

“His hands slid down her body, tracing every inch like he was committing her to memory. She shivered beneath his touch, pressing closer, aching for more⁠—”

“Blake.”

“His lips skimmed along her throat, teasing, promising. Her breath hitched as he whispered her name, as if it was a prayer, as if she was something sacred⁠—”

My face burned. “Blake⁠—”

“She gasped his name as he pressed her back against the wall, hands greedy, desperate to memorize the shape of her⁠—”

“Oh my God,” I snapped, reaching for the book.

Blake turned his head slightly, looking at me through his sunglasses, voice low. “You like that, B?”

I narrowed my eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Give. It. Back.”

“You wish Nathan would do this to you, hmm?” he continued, flipping another page. “You want him whispering your name like a prayer? Pressing you against a wall⁠—”

“Jesus Christ,” I hissed, reaching for the book again.

Blake rolled, shifting just enough that I nearly fell against his bare chest before he held the book above us, just out of my reach. “You do like this,” he mused. “You want⁠—”

I clamped a hand over his mouth. He made a muffled sound of protest, his lips hot against my palm. I yanked my hand away, mortified. “I hate you.”

“Sure you do,” he said, turning his attention back to the book. “So, do you have a thing for guys with swords, or⁠—”

“Blake—”

“This guy ravishes her, B.”

I hated that nickname.

I hated that I still liked hearing it from his mouth.

I hated him.

“You like that word? You want Nathan to ravish you?”

“Give me my book!” I all but launched myself at him, but he was too quick. He twisted away, stretching out on Nathan’s towel like he had all the time in the world, my book balanced on his stomach. I glared down at him, fuming, fists clenched at my sides. Blake smirked up at me, his sunglasses sliding down just enough for me to see the infuriatingly amused glint in his green eyes.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re flustered,” he shot back.

“You’re an asshole.”

“I’m honest,” he corrected.

“No, you’re the worst.”

“I’ve been told.” He tapped the book. “And yet, I bet this guy,” he pointed at the hero’s name, “Fabio St. James, is worse than me.”

I ignored him, as if that could erase whatever just happened.

Blake chuckled, shifting onto his side. “You’re blushing, B.”

“Shut up, Blake.”

“Better get back to your boyfriend. He’s probably wondering where his innocent, romance-reading girlfriend ran off to.”

I threw sand at him. “You have no right to act like this.”