COASTAL DETOUR

A GAME ON Bonus Chapter

I’ve never known Gabi to stay quiet for more than four consecutive minutes, and today’s no exception.

“You’re the reason we missed the exit, Levi.”

 “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I saw the sign.”

 “Well, I’m not, because I’m not the one driving—”

 “—but you are the one who refuses to use Google Maps because he ‘trusts his gut.’

Newsflash: your gut sucks. And now Fox has to loop an extra ten miles just so you can prove you’re not wrong.”

In the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of Levi’s jaw working as if he’s chewing invisible gravel. Ella, shotgun seat, tips her head against the window and grins.

I don’t say anything, but the real reason we missed the exit is because I was watching the way her sundress rode up her thighs when she shifted in her seat. Like I’d ever rely on Levi to navigate a left turn, let alone the southeastern coastline, especially not when Ella’s sitting next to me with her legs bare and laughing like this is all one big joke.

“You wanted to bring them,” I say under my breath, nudging her thigh with the back of my hand. “You still happy about that decision?”

She shrugs. “It’s like traveling with a pair of ill-behaved children. Adds texture.”

The sun glints through her window, lighting up the flush on her cheeks. Her legs are bare and sandy already—she kicked her shoes off two hours ago somewhere outside Wilmington, feet on the dash like we’re in a damn car commercial.

I glance over again, just long enough to catch her twisting her hair into a knot, one of her signature white bows tucked in as usual. I think it might be the same one she wore the night we met. I want to pull it loose with my teeth.

By the time we roll into the parking lot by the beach access point thirty minutes later, the sky’s turning that unreal Carolina blue you think they edit in travel magazines. It’s hot—wet heat, thick as molasses. Gabi’s already unbuckling before we’re at a full stop.

“We’re stopping here?” Levi asks, voice gruff. “Didn’t you say the next beach down has better waves?”

“I said I don’t care,” I reply, turning the key and killing the engine. “And I meant it.”

Gabi swings her door open, narrowly missing a parked Jeep. “Thank God. I need air that isn’t Levi-flavored.”

“I swear to God, Gabs—”

Ella slides out with a little groan, stretching out from her seat like a cat. Makes me miss Sourdough, who’s currently living his best life at my mom’s place while we travel before heading to Oxford at the end of summer. She sent me photo updates of Sour twice a week—him perched on her windowsill like he owns the zip code, or curled inside a laundry basket full of clean towels he has absolutely no remorse about claiming.

“Come on,” Ella says now, tossing a smile over her shoulder at me. “Ocean’s not gonna ogle itself.”

We haul our bags down the sandy path from the lot, the boardwalk creaking under our steps and the smell of salt thick in the air. The beach opens wide and sunbleached before us—dunes topped with spiky grass, shells glinting like confetti, and water so blue it looks fake. A gull screeches overhead and Levi immediately declares war on it. Gabi calls him a drama queen. So far, the vibes are immaculate.

The beach is scattered with driftwood and locals, half of them playing cornhole, the other half letting their kids run feral near the dunes. We set up near a crooked pier that looks one good storm away from collapsing.

I toss the blanket down and peel off my shirt, taking my time with it just to make her glance my way.

Ella whistles low. “Still way too cocky for your own good.”

I glance over. She’s already stripped down to a cherry red bikini. It must be hard, I think, pretending she doesn’t notice me looking like I’d drown myself just to taste the salt on her skin.

“You didn’t seem to mind last night,” I murmur.

“I didn’t say I minded now.”

There’s a wicked curl to her mouth. My blood shifts direction, pooling low. We’re in public. I’m a grown man. I’ve also just imagined her bent over the boardwalk railing, so I excuse myself to ‘check the tide chart’ and spend a few minutes trying to cool down in the surf.

Levi trails me partway down, holding two Red Bulls and a beach chair under one arm. “You good, or are you trying to baptize yourself?”

“Hydration and repentance,” I say. “Bit of both.”

He grunts. “She does look hot today.”

I shoot him a look that tells him I’ll kill him if he says one more word about Ella.

He blinks. “What? I meant, like, in the sun. Temperature-wise.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Jesus. I was complimenting your girlfriend.”

“Try again.”

“Fine. She could potentially look very good, as I’m sure she usually does. But I wouldn’t know because I haven’t looked at her. In fact, I’ve been staring directly into the sun this entire time.”

“Thank you.”

He takes a swig of his drink. “Fucking unstable. If you die trying to hump her leg in the Atlantic, I’m not flying your body back.”

I snatch one of the Red Bulls and crack it open. “Say something like that again and I’ll be burying you in the sand.”

“Do it. Then I won’t have to hear Gabi explain the paddleboard rules like she invented water.”

I shrug. “Seems like a her-and-you problem.”

“Bro, I’m ten minutes away from faking a leg injury and hitchhiking to Tennessee.” Levi snaps, before heading back to the girls.

I circle back to the umbrella to find Levi and Gabi off arguing about paddleboards with a rental guy who looks five minutes from quitting his job. Ella’s reclining beneath the shade, flipping through a paperback.

“Hot?” I ask, crouching beside her.

She fans herself lazily. “Mmm. Roasting.”

“There’s a cold shower down by the changing rooms.”

She raises one eyebrow. “Are you telling me to shower, or volunteering to help?”

I grin. “Both.”

She carefully marks her page—something I find outrageously endearing given what I plan to do to her in the next five minutes—and tucks her hand in mine as we stroll down the beach like we’re just two innocent people looking for relief from the heat. Which we are. Sort of.

The changing room is nothing special: aluminum siding, cement floor, a warped mirror clinging to the wall like it’s lost the will to live. It’s blessedly empty. I lock the door behind us.

Ella props her hands on her hips. “We’re gonna get caught.”

“Not if you keep your voice down.”

She grins. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I guess I better make it worth it.”

I back her up until her spine hits the wooden paneling. She’s still damp from the ocean, skin warm and salty under my palms. Her mouth tastes like sunscreen and cherry ChapStick when I kiss her—sweet and a little messy.

When I press my thigh between hers, she gasps and grabs my shoulders. “Hudson,” she murmurs, laughing softly, “there’s sand everywhere.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“You never are.”

“Like you’d ever ask me to be.”

She tilts her head as she considers my words. “Fair.”

I kneel down in front of her, easing the strings of her bikini bottom over her hips, mouthing at the skin I uncover like I’ve got all the time in the world. She’s already panting by the time I lick a slow stripe up the inside of her thigh.

“You are not doing that here,” she hisses. “There’s a family eating potato salad thirty feet away.”

“They’ll survive.”

Her fingers sink into my hair.

And just like that, I’m gone. The taste of her, the sound of her clouding my brain until I can think of nothing but Ella. She braces herself against the changing room wall, trying to stay quiet but failing spectacularly when I slide two fingers inside her, curling just right.

She’s slick and hot around them, pulsing when I add my tongue to the mix. Every little twitch, every shaky exhale, only makes me want to drag it out. I suck on her clit just enough to make her hips jerk, then ease up, teasing her with the edge of it.

Her thighs are already trembling. One of her flip-flops skids sideways on the tile.

“Hudson,” she gasps, her voice strangled and desperate. “Please.”

Her breath comes in hot, broken bursts, and when she comes, it’s with a soft cry muffled into the crook of her arm.

She pulls me up by the collar of my T-shirt. “Take your damn shorts off.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We fumble with each other’s swimsuits, laughing into our kisses, elbows knocking against the wall. There’s a thud when I accidentally send the bottle of free sunblock clattering off the shelf.

“Smooth,” she whispers.

When I finally push into her, it’s slow—like the tide dragging back out, reluctant to leave the shore. She clings to me, one leg hitched around my hip, teeth grazing my shoulder to keep herself quiet.

The room smells like salt and sweat and coconut. My head spins. I feel drunk on her—on this—on the fact that we get to do this, that this is our life now.

I kiss her slow as I move. “You good?”

She nods against my neck, breath hot. “So good.”

I reach down and squeeze her ass, dragging her hips flush to mine with one hand while the other slides up her spine. I tease the tip of my thumb just between her cheeks—barely there, but enough to make her gasp and grip me harder.

Then I fuck into her, deep and smooth, the kind of stroke that knocks the air out of both of us. Every time I pull back, I feel her tighten, like her body’s trying to keep me inside. The pressure coils low in my gut. My balls are heavy, aching with it—every nerve lit up, begging for release.

She clenches around me a second time, and that’s it. I follow with a groan, hips stuttering, forehead resting against hers. My cock throbs, spilling into her in thick, pulsing waves.

Her hair’s sticking to her temple, and I press a kiss just there.

“Darlin’, I’m so fucking in love with you,” I murmur, throat tight.

She smiles like she’s heard it all before, like she could hear it a thousand times more and still not be sick of it.

“I know,” she says. “Right back at you, baby.”