I lean back on my hands and search for a way to change the subject. “What’s your favorite flavor of cake?” It’s dawning on me, kind of slowly and also all at once, how I know all the big things about this guy that I’ve known for most of my life but not many of the little ones. That I know what his parents are like and what he does for a living and that he’s really good at basketball, but I don’t know his favorite color or his favorite movie or his favorite kind of cake.

Just how he looks naked.

“Of cake?”

I nod.

“Chocolate.”

I wait, but he doesn’t reciprocate the question. Instead, he’s looking at me with his head tilted, like I’m a puzzle with pieces he’s missing.

“Aren’t you going to ask me mine? It’s proper cake flavor etiquette.”

Gray chuckles before he answers. “I don’t need to. I already know your favorite flavor is carrot.”

I stare at him.

“No red today?”

“What?” I’m still recovering from the revelation Gray Phillips knows my favorite flavor of cake when I spent a healthy portion of adolescence unsure if he knew I was even in the same room.

He leans over and trails one finger along the black string of my bikini, just above my left breast.

“Oh. No. I finally did some unpacking. That one didn’t really…fit.”

“I thought it fit.”

Double meanings hang heavy as his fingers trail over my shoulder and down my arm. It’s an innocent, small brush that feels anything but. His touch seeps away all my confidence about me being able to walk away from whatever this is between us if he isn’t.

I know it will end when he leaves.

I just won’t be the reason it stops before then.

I embrace the weakness rather than shy away from it as I lean into his touch.

“You free tonight, Dr. Collins?”

“To do what, Captain Phillips?”

He grins. “Me.”

“I’m not that easy, Gray.” I feel obligated to say it even though when it comes to him, I absolutely have been.

I expect a teasing comment, but Gray looks serious when he replies, “I don’t think you’re easy, Evie.”

“I promised Sloane I’d go out with her tonight.”

“Downtown?”

“Yeah.”

I watch him closely. Watch his jaw tighten and relax. He doesn’t like that I’m going out. I like that he doesn’t like it.

“Fun.”

I smirk. “Yeah. Was Colorado fun?”

He narrows his eyes, like he’s not sure if he is ready to move on from the topic of tonight’s plans. But there’s nothing else to say, and we both know it. We’re not dating. He doesn’t have the right to have an opinion on any part of my life.