I don’t expect Conor to join me, or to come as close as he does. And yet, here we are. Studying each other as he watches me stay afloat, the indigo-tinted shadows playing on the bones of his face.

“I can’t believe it,” I tell him.

“What?”

“Last night you made me come, and I didn’t even wake up to your customary ‘It was a mistake’ note.” I pout. “I thought it was our thing.”

It’s a joke. A funny one, I would argue. But his eyes turn laser-focused. “Do you regret—”

“No,” I say forcefully. Shaking my head, I swim back toward the edge until my feet find solid ground. I sit on the rock and lean back, watching Conor not trust me about my own fucking inner life.

“If you don’t want to—”

“Conor, please.” I meet his gaze with a steady, amused expression. “I know it’s asking for a lot, but do me the favor of not explaining my consent to me.” His eyes shift skyward, but he comes back up, too. The water barely laps at his upper thighs. “I like you, this way,” I tease.

“What way?”

I point at his body. The shorts plastered to his skin. The thick outline against the cotton. “When you can’t hide that you want me.”

“I always want you, Maya. And I’ve never been good at hiding it.”

My toes curl against the stone. “Most people, including your closest friends, have no idea,” I say, remembering what Minami told me last night.

His snort echoes against the walls.

“Then again,” I continue, “you’ve been giving them what they wanted to see for a long while, haven’t you?” I lean back. Cross my legs. For the first time since we stepped on the island, I glance down at myself. He really does have an excellent view of my tits. And of everything else. “Do you really think that I’m a childish brat?”

He winces, as though the conversation we had on the first day has been an ugly, achy thorn for him, too. “I think you’re impatient. I think you can be ruthless when it comes to getting what you want. And given the hand you have been dealt, you have every right to be.” He wets his lips. “I don’t think you’re childish. And even if you were…You’re young. You have so much room to grow. And…” A long, long pause. “It doesn’t matter, Maya. Because I like you the way you are.”

I smile. “It’s nice, when you let yourself treat me like I’m an adult woman.”

He works his jaw, like he’s debating something inside his thick, unyielding skull. “I like it, too,” he says at last, kneeling in front of me. The lower half of his body is submerged. “It’s my favorite thing in the world.”

“What is?” I exhale. Let him unfold my legs like I’m a doll and pick a position for me. “Acknowledging biographical truths?”

He shakes his head. Leans down, and I’m dizzy. I can’t think when his tongue does that—licking droplets of saltwater off my skin, finding a pebbled nipple through the see-through lace. “Pretending. That this could work. God, Maya.”