Brady did an eyebrow wiggle. One that screamed of a sexy answer with a dose of teasing. Normally Sloane would have taken a beat or two, flamed red, and then stumbled over her words. But since she’d just stripped and literally jumped overboard to avoid playing a game with Carol and Co.?

Something had changed.

She didn’t know what it was or if it was temporary, but Sloane did know one thing.

There was no way she was going to be caught at the pageant with their metaphorical pants down.

Sloane splashed him. “Nothing that constitutes an eyebrow wiggle is going to be appropriate on a stage,” she said. “I can almost guarantee you that.”

Brady laughed again. He’d been doing it more and more throughout the day. Sloane couldn’t help but like when she was the cause of it.

“Okay, okay. Fine,” he relented. “Let’s see…as far as talents that two people can do onstage that are rated PG…” He made a face after a moment. “Well, shit, I have no idea.”

“Here, let’s take this approach. Instead of two truths and a lie, let’s say three things we’re really good at and see if we can’t get something from that.”

Brady nodded, then dipped underwater. When he popped back up, Sloane’s libido made it slow-motion. This was the third time she had seen the man bare and wet. It still didn’t disappoint.

His hair, dark now from the water, looked different but good slicked back. Like he’d styled it for a night out at the opera or some fancy gala. One where he’d don a three-piece suit and a trendy pocket square that he would, no doubt, complain about.

Then there was that toned upper body Sloane had already admired. Even though the two of them were bobbing around in water that covered up most of him, Sloane was still getting an uninhibited view of his pecs and up.

And when all of that had water pouring off it, glinting in the summer sun?

Well goodness gracious if that wasn’t some kind of modern, awe-inspiring art.

Brady ran his hand over his face and then mussed that slicked-back hair she’d only just admired in thought.

“Three things I’m good at,” he started. “I always thought it looked stupid when bartenders slung shakers around when making drinks…so I learned how to do it to spite them all. Though I can only juggle shakers, nothing else. Glasses? I break them. Knives? Nearly lost a finger. It’s just shakers. Something Dixon has always dogged me about.”

“I can’t juggle,” Sloane was quick to interject. “In fact, I’m not even that great at throwing and catching anything. My dad tried really hard to teach me, but that is a skill this one has never come close to mastering.”

“So what’s one thing you have mastered?”