The scuba wetsuit was too small. The crotch barely reached mid-thigh.
Amy pinched the thick black rubber around her knees and gave it an upward yank. No go.
“Amy?” Dan’s voice made her heart leap to her throat before it sank into her stomach. “How are you getting on in there? It’s ten past already.”
Is that what love felt like? That anxious sensation in your gut?
“You go ahead,” she called out. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“You’ll be late.”
“We’re on Pacific Island time, Dan. There is no such thing as late in Tahiti.”
Ok, so the cheerfulness was faked. But tonight - if she played her cards right and there was a tonight to speak of - tonight there would be no faking. Amy was sure of that. Well, fairly sure. Dan was a hunk, and she was in love with him. Almost certainly. Probably. Make that, almost in love, almost probably.
Anyway, she’d never find out now. She was stick in the change room forever, her thighs bound by the wetsuit from hell.
“Amy?” Zorro, the scuba instructor, a stunning young man the color of burnt toffee, poked his head into her cubicle.
The heat of humiliation burned in Amy’s cheeks. The last thing she wanted was for anybody, let alone a total hunk, to see her half-naked pink body bulging out of the black rubber.
“Oh, fuck,” the expletive escaped her mouth unwanted.
Zorro gave her a grin that managed to be both naughty and reassuring. “Your wish is my command, madam.” The accent was striking, French with a touch of palm trees and vanilla. “I’ll be at your beck and call as soon as the course is over.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Amy swept her long yellow hair forward, in a vain attempt to hide under its coat. She tugged at the wetsuit again.
“That’s a lovely bikini you’re wearing, Goldilocks,” he said, “but it won’t do as protection against the jellyfish.” His voice was like rich suede. “The sizes are difficult to get right with rubber. Here, try this one.”
I bet you have trouble getting the size right when it comes to, mmmm, rubber, Amy thought as she eyed the well-filled front of Zorro’s swimming trunks.
“Uhm, thanks.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Zorro was every woman’s secret fantasy, the kind you blush about in the darkness of your bedroom and never ever discuss with your girlfriends.
Stop it. Dan’s the one, remember?