I roll my eyes. “I’ll do my best to resist you.”

Though, admittedly, resisting him is much harder now that I’ve kissed him. Twice.

Even though they weren’t real kisses.

He glances at the pile of towels on the bench. “Any chance you can grab one for me?”

My brow knits. He’s suddenly strangely shy. More proof the kiss was a one-way street.

With tongue.

And moans.

He definitely moaned the other morning.

I can still hear the sound of it rumbling in my ears.

Whatever. I’m not letting myself go there, and I’m not thinking of his hands all over me at the wine tasting. How they felt when he slid his palms down my bare arms.

I turn around, head to the bench, grab a towel, and return to him. He’s at the ladder now, and he climbs out, quickly wrapping the towel around his waist like he’s preventing me from seeing his Speedo.

“Weirdo,” I mutter.

“Takes one to know one,” he says with a wink.

Ah, that’s the Oliver I know. Fine, I get it. He’s firmly planting his flagpole in Friendship Land.

Well, duh. Where else would he plant it?

“I’ll be ready in five minutes,” he says.

“That’s all it takes to blow dry your Harry Styles hair?”

He drags a hand through his wet locks. “Harry’s got nothing on me, baby.”

There’s the sound of shoes clicking on the tile, then a voice calls out—older, feminine. “Summer, dear. Have you seen my silver tennis bracelet? I think it fell in the water this morning.”

Hello, déjà vu.

It’s Mrs. Wilson, one of my regulars in water aerobics, and evidently a regular when it comes to losing her shiny objects.

I turn around, and Oliver does too, scanning the pool area. A hint of silver gleams on the deck by the ladder. “I think that’s it,” I say, and Oliver and I cross over, bending and reaching for it at the same time.

We’re close to each other, our noses inches apart, and I’m keenly aware of his body, his scent, and how even with the chlorine he still smells kissable.

Damn him. He is good for my nasal health.

“Found it,” he says.

“Oh, thank God. Good thing it wasn’t my cubic zirconia ring that everyone thinks is a diamond. I’d hate to lose that. I’d have to go to John Steven in Midtown to get another one,” Mrs. Wilson says with a laugh.

Oliver meets my gaze, his green eyes saying what I’m thinking. Holy shit, we need a ring before dinner with your client this weekend and probably before the hockey game tonight.

Geneva must not have noticed the absence of one the other night, but I suspect she’ll be more hawkish at a dinner party.

We rise, and Oliver hands the bracelet to Mrs. Wilson. She blows him a kiss, but then her brow knits. “Wait. Aren’t you America’s Best Boyfriend? My granddaughter showed me the picture of you two kissing the other day. Apparently, it wound up on BuzzFeed’s Ten Best Kisses Ever list,” she says, then waggles her fingers and says goodbye.

As she walks away, I grab my phone, tap “BuzzFeed” into the search bar, then stare at the two of us at the top of the list.

I’ve seen the image a million times now.

But still, seeing it codified this way, seeing it labeled, is like seeing it anew.

Or maybe the difference is that I’m seeing it with him next to me, mere inches away.

My pulse spikes, and I shudder.

Oliver clears his throat, like there’s something smoky, husky stuck in it. “Yeah, that’s . . .”

My lips part to say hot, but Mrs. Wilson wheels around before I do. “Dear, can you remind me again how to do that move? It was like a trick. The leg-lift bicep-curl combo.”

“Of course,” I say, and the moment crumbles away as Oliver heads for the locker room and I show Mrs. Wilson how to do the move.

Over eggs and potatoes at a nearby diner, we arrange to snag a cubic zirconia ring in Midtown tonight at John Steven Jeweler’s before the hockey game, then we review my plans for the money.

We don’t discuss that moment at the pool. No need to after all. We’re past it.

“So, the extra money helps, but I’ll still have to push back the opening. Not the worst thing,” I say, taking a drink of my coffee and giving an easy shrug.

He munches on his potatoes then sets down his fork. “You always manage to see the positive. And I have no doubt you’ll be swinging open the doors in no time. I’d offer to loan you the rest, but⁠—”

I narrow my eyes. “But you know I’d claw your eyes out with my daggers for nails.” I brandish my short, unpolished nails as claws.

He shudders, shirking away. “Yes, exactly. I learned from a very early age never to cross you when it comes to you doing things your way. Like when you were insistent that we all go as the Breakfast Club for Halloween in tenth grade. Even if it meant taking the train to the city and scouring all the secondhand shops to find your frayed denim John Bender jacket.”

I wiggle my brows. “Worth it. We won best group costume. And this’ll be worth it too.”

He nods, then reaches for his coffee. “But it’s not just your iron will and damn-the-torpedoes approach, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

He takes a drink, then sets down his mug. “You’re so determined to raze the city solo.”

“I am not.”

He laughs at me. “Funny, how you believe that.”