MAYBE THE TRAVEL exhaustion was getting to me, but I could have sworn that the gray-haired man behind the hotel counter said I didn't have a room reservation.

I had to have a reservation. This was the only hotel on Evergreen Isle, and the ferry back to mainland South Carolina already left for the evening. The only ferry.

This was the perfect example of why I never left New York City. The big apple may have a lingering unpleasant odor and constant traffic noise, but it was predictable. I knew every apartment I toured would be overpriced and undersized. I knew I'd need to watch for dog shit on street corners during my morning commute. But all of its flaws only made me smile. I knew what to expect, and it was home.

When I did travel, I liked going places I could heavily research. Places that had books on tourism and blogs with trusted opinions.

But one place no one had ever written a blog post about?

Evergreen Isle, of course.

I wouldn't have dared to get on that ferry earlier if my job didn't depend on it.

"Sorry, but we're full up," the man repeated. Mark, according to his name tag.

Mark didn't sound sorry at all. In fact, he reminded me a bit of a tropical Santa Claus who'd decided to go on a diet and was miserable about his cookie restriction, so he decided to bring everyone's mood down with him.

"You're not from around these parts, are you?" he asked when I struggled to find the right response to the whole no room at the inn thing.

I bit down on my tongue to keep a cutting remark in. If I were from around these parts, I probably wouldn't be asking for a room, would I?

"Just in town visiting," I replied before pulling out my trusty folder of travel documents and finding the printout of the confirmation email for my stay. "This is a copy of my reservation details. My room was booked over a month ago. Quinn Castle. With the New York Warriors."

Mark lazily took the paper, scanned it for all of a few seconds, and then tossed it back onto the counter. "This is for our sister hotel on Emerald Isle. It's the next island over."

I snatched the paper up, my eyes darting through the words in the email until...yep, there it was. Emerald Isle.

This would not have happened if August Fletcher lived in the sort of place that people wrote blog posts about.

"Are you visiting someone?" Mark pressed, oblivious to my internal panic.

I nodded absently while tucking my good-for-nothing confirmation email back into my folder.

"Yeah?" he questioned. "Who?"

"Pardon?"

I wasn't sure if he'd meant for it to sound like a challenge, as though I'd lie about my reasons for being on the island, but that was definitely what I heard.

"Who are you visiting?"

He over-pronounced the words as if my hearing had been the problem the first time, not his attitude.

"August Fletcher." I looked down at my phone to see if I had any notifications. I didn't. "That is, if he'll respond to my message so I can figure out where to find him."

"The island's not that big," the man chuckled, looking amused for the first time since I'd walked into his beachy hole-in-the-wall resort. "You'll eventually find everything you need to. Besides, Auggie's always in the same spot this time of day." He clucked his tongue. "Shoulda known you were here to see him."

I raised a brow. "Is that so?" I asked, ignoring the last part.

If Mark could help me find August Fletcher, I'd toss out all my previous judgments about him. Suddenly, Mark was my very best friend who'd earned a five-star review of his somewhat dilapidated hotel even though he refused to rent me a room.

"Sunny's." Mark nodded confidently. "I'd bet my last dollar he'll be at the bar."

"And how might I get to Sunny's?" I asked, trying not to let my eagerness shine through too much.

Mark planted his elbows on the counter and leaned forward while using his pen as a pointer stick, gesturing out the window. "If you follow this road back to the main drag, you'll see Sunny's on the left next to the post office."

I nodded, thinking that his directions sounded vague but easy enough. Hopefully Mark wasn't leading me astray. But seeing as I didn't have anyone else to trust and no blog post to reference, I smiled at the tropical Santa.

"Thank you so much!" I grabbed my suitcase by the handle and wheeled it around. "I'll head there now."

"Welcome." Mark seemed pleased with himself, but then he raised a brow. "Good luck with that one."

"Thanks," I laughed before heading out the door.

I'd need all the luck I could get.

Before he'd unexpectedly retired a few months ago, August Fletcher was the Warriors player that all the reporters avoided. Because, well, he avoided them. He made it no secret that he hated dealing with the media, but he was going to have to deal with me whether he liked it or not.

After all, his early retirement was the entire reason I was trudging my suitcase down a shoddy island road to find him while trying not to get sand in my worn leather sandals.

I tipped my head to the sky, welcoming its rays. A fresh breeze skirted over my skin. Yes, the sand in my shoes was uncomfortable. And sure, maybe I'd be sleeping on the beach tonight–miles away from New York City.

But I couldn't deny how good that sun felt.

Maybe spending some of my summer on Evergreen Isle wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to me.

***

AS IT TURNED out, it wasn't hard to find Sunny's once I dragged my luggage into the center of the sleepy beach town.

It wasn't hard to find August, either, being that he was the only ruggedly handsome, chiseled-jaw patron sitting at the bar. His large, muscled form was hard to miss, and I took a deep breath as I dodged half-broken chairs and wobbly tables on my way over to him.

While August had never denied me the chance to interview him, that didn't mean he was necessarily pleasant about it. And I expected him to be even less pleasant today, considering I'd chased him to his hometown.

"You found me."

He said the words without looking at me when I sidled next to him at the bar, and the gruffness of his voice sent a shiver up my spine that had nothing to do with the temperature, which could only be described as sweltering.

Tucking my suitcase under my legs, I centered my tired ass on the barstool and flagged down the bartender. I needed a drink.

"Hello, August." I smiled despite myself, peeking over at him after ordering a beer–the only one I saw on tap behind the bar. For some reason, I always found August's grumpiness to be somewhat...endearing. It was predictable, and I liked things that were predictable. "You can thank Mark for pointing me your way."

August grunted before taking a sip of his beer.

"So you're staying at the Evergreen Inn?" he asked, surprising me with the conversational turn of that question. I'd expected him to ignore me after his initial greeting. If it could even be considered a greeting.

"No," I said, followed by a self-deprecating laugh. "I'm staying at the Emerald Inn."

That got August's attention. His head turned just slightly, his eyes swiveling in my direction. And there it was–that molten hot gaze that turned my insides to mush. His eyes flashed with awareness as they connected with mine, almost like he felt the same jolt of heat inside him as I did. But that couldn't be.

My biggest predicament in this situation was honestly not that I'd had to take two planes, a bus, and a ferry to get to Evergreen Isle. It wasn't even that I was currently stranded without a place to stay. It was the fact that every time my boss insisted I interview August, I internally panicked.

To say I suffered from undeniable physical attraction to August Fletcher was a gross underestimation. And every time I talked to him, I felt like I was two seconds away from saying–or, God forbid, doing–something that would seriously risk my job. The job I very much needed if I wanted to continue living in my overpriced, undersized NYC apartment.

And now I was supposed to spend my summer trailing August around a beachy island to write a flashy retirement piece on him. I wasn't concerned about getting the story done, but I was worried about the secret agenda the team gave me: convince him to come back to New York and out of retirement.

August didn't exactly seem like the kind of guy who took advice from team beat writers.

In other words, from the heat in his gaze to the unwillingness of his attitude, I'd been set up with an impossible assignment.

"The Emerald Inn is on Emerald Isle," he said dryly as he traced his thumb around the rim of his glass like a soft caress. It distracted me, my eyes following the circular motion until his thumb picked up a droplet of beer, and he lifted his hand to suck it into his mouth, cleaning it off.

I gulped and forced my thoughts back to what he'd said, which in turn made me want to roll my eyes.

I couldn't even make a thank you, captain obvious comment because I was the one who'd missed that in the first place.

"It would seem I...made a booking error."

August's light brown eyes flicked over me, causing the familiar prickle of goosebumps to spread from head to toe. I was reasonably certain that he didn't realize what he was doing when he looked at me like that. August always struck me as one of those guys who didn't know the effect they had on people.

And then, something miraculous happened.

August's lip twitched in the faintest, tiniest version of a smile. But it was more than I'd ever noticed before.

"So what's your plan, Miss Castle?" he asked.

Was he amused? That I was stranded?

"Don't have a plan yet," I said tightly. And don't call me miss. It comes across mockingly."

He raised a brow–as if to say that was the point. I knew he'd be somewhat of an ass about me being here.

"You always have a plan," he said after a pause, running the pad of his thumb over the glass's rim again.

"You say that like you know me."

He pursed his lips before looking back at his nearly empty beer. He drained the rest in one gulp, pushing the glass to the side. "It doesn't seem fair, does it?"

"What?"

"That you always get to ask me question after question, and I never get to ask one back."

"That's kind of how interviews work, August."

His lips twitched again. It must be the island air, getting him to loosen up. But before I had too much time to contemplate it, August slid off his barstool and jerked his head toward the back of the bar.

"C'mon, Castle."

He didn't wait for me to respond before sauntering away, and I tried not to admire how good he could make a simple, white tee look. Thick muscles rippled over his back, tensing and flexing as he walked. That was probably what did the trick, although maybe it was the hot confidence. I hated how certain he seemed that I'd follow him across the bar without a second thought.

But then again, I'd traveled across states just to talk to him, and my job depended on it. It wasn't like I had a ton of other options–and he knew it.

"What are you doing?" I called after him, trailing my suitcase as I tried to catch up.

"I'm playing pool," he said, grabbing a cue and thrusting it in my face. "And you're playing with me. Every game you win, you get to ask me a question. Every game I win, I get to ask you a question."

With that explanation taken care of, August started racking the balls with lazy precision.

I cleared my throat. "That will take forever, and I have to figure out where I'm staying tonight. Unless you have a boat to get me to Emerald Isle."

"No boat," August replied without looking up. "But I have something even better."

"Oh, yeah?" I leaned forward onto the edge of the pool table. "And what's that?"

Finally giving me his full attention, August mimicked my pose, sliding his elbows over the table's surface as he bent over the racked balls. He leaned forward until we were at eye level, and his husky voice dropped a degree when he spoke.

"I have a bed."

I choked down a surprised cough, ignoring the burning in my chest–and other areas–from his words.

"I'm not going to sleep in your bed, August," I said flatly, meeting his smokey gaze. But even as I said the words, my pulse tripled as if protesting my protest. God, my traitorous heart rate needed to get the picture that ideas like that had no business being here. I had a job to do, and it did not include sleeping with August Fletcher.

A slow smirk slid onto August's face. "You make it sound like such an awful option."

Sleeping in a bed with August with his muscled, hard form pressed up against me did not sound like an awful option. But it did sound like a great way to get fired.

I felt August's low chuckle reverberate, getting under my skin. "I didn't mean my bed, Castle. Believe it or not, I have more than one bed at my house."

Oh, right. Of course. That made a lot more sense. After living in a studio apartment for the last few years, I forgot that some people actually had more than one bedroom in their homes.

"I'm not going to stay with you," I insisted. But even as I attempted to protest, my body leaned further over the pool table, unable to resist the pull of August. Staying with him would be a terrible idea. I should at least try to find another option.

August shrugged, but I didn't miss the way his jaw clenched. He pushed off the table without saying anything else, so I took it to mean...suit yourself.

"Do you want to break?" he asked, nodding toward the table.

"I don't really know how."

"I'll teach you." He stepped back and gestured for me to line up in front of the rack of balls.

Indulging August in this game of pool was the last thing I should be doing. But I couldn't pass it up if it allowed me to ask some of my burning questions.

"Football, pool...what other things are you a pro at?" I teased as I took my place beside the table. Maybe he'd retired because he had other sports prospects that I didn't know about.

I felt August's body press closer from behind, his gravelly voice washing over me. "You haven't earned your question yet, Castle."

Damn him.

"Can you just show me how to do this already?" I laughed before my breath hitched embarrassingly when he touched me.

August's rough hands slid past my wrists, maneuvering my fingers to hold the cue properly. And then–to my slight horror–his large body covered mine as he bent me over the pool table. The feeling of his hips pressing closer to my ass caused me to quickly realize what an awful mistake this was.

Ten minutes. I only made it ten minutes before falling into a toe-curling trap.

Not that I thought August meant for it to be a trap. He was just doing anything he could so he wouldn't have to answer questions.

But if he kept this up all summer?

"Loosen up, Castle," August directed, wrapping his body around mine like he could get my limbs to melt. Which, well, he could. "What, have you never been bent over a pool table before?"

Fuck, I didn't know if I would make it.

Especially not without losing my job.

"As a matter of fact, I haven't," I said hotly. "Maybe someday someone will do me the honors of doing it properly."

With a low grunt, August's grip tightened around me.

And I immediately knew that had been the wrong thing to say.

☀️

a/n:

Hmm I get the feeling august would really like to do the honors of showing Quinn how it's done, what do you think?

Thanks so much for reading! let me know your thoughts on chapter one! 🫶🏻

xoxo amelie