Page 35 of Courting Danger

“I can’t picture you hyper,” Roan said, gaze roving Ocean’s face before trailing lower. “Nope. Can’t see it.”

“Me either,” Pope said. “Makes me wonder just how much you smoke.”

“Enough to keep me from being hyper,” Ocean replied, taking another toke before Roan plucked the joint from between his fingers.

“It’s puff-puff pass, not three puffs, a pause, and three more,” Roan replied.

“In his defense, you were too busy singing to smoke, though I’ve got to echo what everyone’s already said,” Danger added. “You’ve got this whole Zen vibe going on that makes it impossible to imagine you hyped up and bouncing off the walls.”

“Good. It isn’t a pretty sight. Whose got the next song?”

“Danger, if he thinks he can come up with something he hasn’t asked me to play before,” Pope said.

“A life of Illusion,” Danger said after several moments of silent reflection.

“Smart going with Joe Walsh since you’ve stumped me with him before,” Pope replied. “Bad song choice though.”

“Damnit!” Danger grumbled as Pope began to play it.

It went on like that for what felt like a blissfully long while as the moon grew higher but no less brilliant on the water’s surface. For a moment, he was tempted to do cartwheels in the surf just to see if he could lure any of the others down to the water’s edge to be silly with him, but it was way too comfy, sprawled with his head against Roan’s thigh, occasionally feeling his fingers carding through his hair.

“Anyone up for dessert?” Pope asked when he’d finished playingSpaceball Ricochet, which Ocean had never even heard of. “It’s strawberry shortcake.”

“Hell yeah,” Ocean said, finding enough energy to sit up. “If I wind up getting harpooned tomorrow, it’ll be a good death.”

“Harpooned?” Roan asked. “Is that slang for getting slammed by a wave or something?”

“More like what might happen if I’m mistaken for a whale,” Ocean admitted. “But I’m gonna pig out anyway.”

A giggle slipped out of Roan, who slapped a hand over his mouth and sat laughing behind it.

“Bring on the strawberry decadence,” Danger said. “But don’t be surprised if I sleep on your deck tonight.”

“You’ll do no such thing when there are beds inside,” Pope warned.

“If I’m capable of waddling to one after you finish stuffing me again,” Danger muttered.

While there was nothing overtly sexual about what he’d said, Ocean’s weed-mellowed mind, and the fact that he could practically feel the tension crackling between them with the same intensity as a violet wand, instantly went there. Nostrils flaring, Pope appraised Danger, a slow smirk creeping across his face.

“Are you forgetting that I’ve seen how well you can manage?” Pope remarked before ducking back inside again.

For the second time that night, Roan’s snickers morphed into out-of-control giggles he tried to muffle behind his hands.

“Fucker,” Danger muttered beneath his breath, but only after the sliding glass door had closed behind Pope.

Curious, Ocean peered past Roan to stare at him. “What would he have done if he’d heard you?”

“Probably put me over his knee,” Danger admitted.

“And you’d just let him?” Roan asked, nearly cracking heads with Ocean as he leaned forward to stare at Danger, too.

Danger shrugged and pulled another joint from his pocket. “No reason not to.”

He left it at that, like he didn’t care one way or the other, but his eyes lingered on the door, and he knocked his lighter off the arm of the chair when he reached for it.

Pope returned with a tray, four plates, and four round glasses with stumpy stems. There was a bottle in the middle of the tray, but Ocean couldn’t read what it said once they’d all relocated from the deck chairs to the ones situated around the wide wooden patio table. He passed out the plates, then poured an inch in the bottom of their glasses before sitting and swirling the liquid around in his.

“Why do people do that?” Ocean asked, studying him. “Swirl their alcohol around that way instead of just drinking it?”