Chapter 119: Madeline
Reid turns and starts walking back toward the towels, all silent command and sharp edges. I stay where I am, the surf brushing against my ankles, rubbing my arms up and down to bring some warmth back into them. The sun’s bright, but the wind cuts right through me.
When I finally sink into the wet sand, it’s half on purpose, half because I’m not sure I could walk all the way back without falling over. My legs feel numb and heavy, my feet like ice.
Jake’s shadow falls over me.
He crouches beside me, forearms resting on his knees. “Why don’t you go to your towel and dry off?”
I look up at him, squinting through the sunlight, and shake my head. “I can’t. My legs and feet feel so frozen now that I’m on land, I don’t think I could make it that far.” I laugh, trying to make it sound like a joke. “I’ll just wait here until they warm up a bit.”
He shakes his head, mouth quirking in a way that’s both amused and exasperated. “No, you’re not.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “I’ll bring you back, okay?”
I open my mouth to protest, but he’s already moving.
One arm slips beneath my thighs, the other behind my back. He pauses—half a beat, the way he always does, giving me space to say no. I don’t.
And then he lifts me like it’s nothing, and suddenly I’m against his chest, the world tilting for a second before it steadies in the solid, steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
He’s warm.
So warm.
My arms find their own place—one looped around his neck, the other braced against his chest. His skin is hot, sun-warmed, smooth and hard under my palm. Compared to Liam’s soaking embrace, this is entirely different. Controlled. Dominant. It feels… safe. And dangerous.
If I was cold before, I’m burning now.
I’ve been close to Jake before—on the boat, at the diner, even that night in my room—but never like this. Never with his bare skin against mine, nothing between us but air and heartbeat. I can feel the power in every stride he takes, the flex of his arms around me, the way he smells faintly of pine and something darker.
Desperate to distract myself, I glance up at him. Mistake. He’s looking down at me, eyes half-shadowed by the sun, and God.
It’s not fair for someone to look like that. Just pure male energy.
“Why am I the only one who got blue lips?” I ask, mostly just to fill the silence before I melt into a puddle in his arms.
He chuckles—low, deep—and I feel it reverberate through his chest, straight into me.
“They’re all tall,” he says, his voice vibrating against my ear. “Even Charlie’s, what, five-nine? Their bodies hold heat better. And like she said, they got time to adjust.”
I nod, though I barely hear him. My thoughts are a fog of warmth and muscle and heartbeat, of the way his arms tighten just slightly here and there.
All I can think about is how easy it feels to be there, in his arms—how my body fits perfectly against his. And how impossible it’s going to be to forget the feel of his skin on mine once he finally puts me down.
He sets me down way too soon.
Just like that, the warmth is gone, and I’m back on my towel—wet, half-shivering, and very aware that I’m sitting right between them again. Reid on my right, Jake on my left. The exact same position as before.
The sand sticks to my legs. My skin feels hypersensitive—like every cold droplet still clinging to me has turned into fire. Jake sits down beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. The droplets of water he picked up carrying me trail down his chest in thin, shining lines.
I try not to look.
I fail instantly.
My breath hitches. So I do what I always do when my brain’s short-circuiting—I find something to do. I pull off my head scarf, wring it out, and start untangling my hair with my fingers, pretending I’m not vibrating from the tension between the three of us.
Then, suddenly, something lands softly on my shoulders.
Reid’s zip up hoodie.
Before I can say anything, his hand finds my arm, large and sure, guiding it through one sleeve, and then Jake’s doing the same with the other side, pulling the fabric over my shoulder until I’m half-wrapped in it.
It’s warm. Heavy. Smells like cedar, salt, and them.
My voice comes out smaller than I mean it to when I look at Reid. “It’ll get all wet.”
Reid raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “It doesn't matter.”
I swallow hard and turn toward the water, suddenly very aware that we're not alone, and start, “But Charlie—”
He cuts me off before I can finish. His fingers trail down the side of my neck, slow and deliberate, brushing along the curve of my collarbone. “But Charlie nothing,” he murmurs. His voice is low, quiet enough that it feels private even with everyone else laughing by the water. “Charlie doesn’t care.”
The air leaves my lungs. My pulse kicks. Every cell in my body feels like it’s been set on high alert.
I force myself to look at Jake, needing—something. Confirmation, distraction, sanity.
He smirks, nodding once. “Charlie doesn’t care,” he echoes, and there’s something darkly teasing in his voice that makes it worse.
I make a mental note right there and then: I will ask Charlie later. I need to hear it from her, because this—this doesn’t feel innocent. If I were his girlfriend, I would mind. It feels like standing too close to a fire, knowing it’s going to burn and still leaning in.
The hoodie smells like them—manly, like the kind of confidence that turns logic to ash.
Both of them lean back on one arm each, their bodies relaxed but close enough that I can feel the air move when either of them breathes. I can’t think straight.
So I do the only thing that makes sense.
I groan, drop backward onto my towel, and throw my arms over my face. “Oh my God.”
Both of them chuckle softly—low, warm, knowing sounds that roll through me like waves.
It doesn’t help.
At all.