I pretend to think about it. “If I win, I’ll give you a blowjob when we get back to the room.”

Gray has a hell of a poker face. I make a mental note never to play cards with him. “You realize that will require me to lose?”

“Yep.” I pop the P. “Gentlemen first.”

He narrows his eyes at me, like he’s trying to figure out what my end goal is. Good luck to him because I don’t know either. I feel light and loose, thanks to the alcohol and easygoing ambiance. Thanks to him. Being around Gray makes me overthink less. Ironic for two reasons.

One, I used to second-guess everything I did around him in hopes of impressing him.

Two, Gray is one of the most serious guys I’ve ever met. Together, we should be uptight, not playful.

I never find out if my incentive had any effect on Gray’s competitive side. One of the rules I should have listened to spelled out which balls I was supposed to send into the pockets and which I wasn’t. Gray doubles over, laughing, when I start celebrating as I hit his in instead of mine, thinking I’m winning.

After he officially wins our game, we leave. The bar is becoming rowdier and rowdier as it grows later, and neither of us is in the mood to drink more. I wouldn’t mind grinding up against him as payback for the pool lessons, but I’d rather do it in the privacy of our room, followed by sex and sleep.

“Want to walk back along the beach?” Gray suggests as we step outside.

“Yeah.”

Rather than head straight along the street, we turn toward the sound of the surf, stepping onto sand after a couple hundred feet. I kick my wedges off and sink my toes into the sand. The waves are twice the size as they were when we were here earlier. They’re huge, aggressive. They pound the shore like they’re trying to prove a point, sending drops of spray flying. Salty wind swirls my hair and dress. Tiny birds run from each new swell, flying across the wet sand as fast as their little legs will carry them.

I laugh. When I look over, Gray is smiling at me.

“What are you laughing at?”

“I don’t really know. I’m just…happy?” I say the statement like a question. Like happiness is a confusing concept.

Isn’t it, though? It means something different to everyone. How do you know when you’re truly happy?

Is it knowing you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else, with anyone else? If so, then, yeah, I’m happy.

“Are you?”

“In general, or right now?”

I hope he’s happy all the time. But what I really want to know is whether he’s happy around me. “Right now.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Good.”