“If I pretend it’s not called Punk Rockin’ Pretty, I can definitely get behind it.” She seems afraid to smile. “Will they even let me compete in something like this?”
I shrug. “If they tell us no, we’ll send your brother after them.”
“Happy to help,” he says in that rusted morning voice. “The dress gets my vote, too. Looks like more your style, Birdie.”
“Yeah.” She releases a long exhale. “Thanks, Naomi.”
“Just doing my job.” I click the laptop shut and fold my hands on top of it. Trying not to show how relieved I am. It’s more than that, though. I’m pleased with myself. There was a problem and I found a unique solution. Maybe Birdie doesn’t have to be the first and last girl I coach. Would I be crazy to think I could do this as a full-time job with some success?
Setting aside that thought for later, I return to the here and now. “Would you like to choose something different for the talent portion?”
“No, let’s stick with the dance. We’re having a hard enough time getting it down without changing this late in the game.” A line forms between her brows. “I like the new dresses and making it a little about me. But I still want it mostly about Natalie, okay?”
“Of course. We’ll balance it however we want.” I pat her arm. “I left open all the websites I found, so why don’t you hold on to my laptop for today. Let me know which ones you decide on and we’ll order them.”
“Awesome.” Birdie gathers her hair and shoves it to the opposite side of her head. “Can we please change the subject now?”
Jason taps a fist on the table. “I’m taking the boat out today. Who’s coming?”
Birdie brightens. “Yeah? You going to let me dive?”
“Once we get through a full lesson and you understand the safety precau—”
“Yes or no, bro.”
“Yeah.” He looks over at me, that brow raised almost in challenge. “You coming?”
I want to say yes. There are so many reasons to say yes. I’ve seen Jason cleaning his boat and walking around most indecently in his half-zipped wet suit, but this could be my only chance to watch a Special Forces diver move expertly in the water. He’s staying true to his word and making an effort with his sister and without him saying a word, I know he’s hoping I’ll come along to help. I want to help. I want to watch them grow closer. To top it all off, scuba diving in Florida would be an adventure. Something completely outside my comfort zone—and I wouldn’t even have to get naked for it.
“Smoke is going to come out of her ears pretty soon,” Jason drawls, winking at me.
It’s the wink, followed by the burn that climbs my inner thighs, that reminds me why I can’t say yes. I need time away from the gravity of this man. To regain my objectivity and common sense, so I can attempt to keep the limits on our relationship. I definitely won’t reclaim those limits watching ocean water roll down his big hairy chest.
“I’m so sorry, I would have loved to come diving,” I say in my most cheerful Miss Manners voice. “But I stopped by early for a reason. I’m heading to Daytona Beach for an…art festival this afternoon. Art.” Wincing on the inside over my awkwardness, I stand, using my hip to nudge in the chair. “Birdie, we’ll meet Monday night after school, as usual. In the meantime, I’ll order the dress.”
“Yes, coach.”
“Well, now. Have a great time,” I say, sailing toward the back door. “Bye!”
A scrape of the chair says Jason is following me out of the house and I walk faster, hopping off the porch instead of taking the stairs.
“Naomi.”
I pretend not to hear the warning in his voice, turning with a neutral expression. “Yes?”
“You driving alone?”
“Yes. And before you warn me of the dangers of a woman driving alone, please remember that’s how I arrived here.”
“Noted.” A muscle pops in his jaw. “Where are you staying?”
“Mr. Bristow.”
“Oh, no. You’re not going back to that shit.” He saunters closer and I catch a waft of no-nonsense body wash and the faint hint of cigar. “Say Jason and we’ll continue.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to remember which one of us is the coach.”
He waits.
I grind the back of my teeth. “It was a slip-up.”
He crosses his arms.
“Oh, fine. Jason.”
One corner of his mouth goes up. “With your accent, it sounds like Jyson.”
His comment, delivered in a low, satisfied pitch, throws me. “That’s how it sounds in my head.”
“You say my name a lot in your head, baby?”
If the insides of my thighs heat up any more, they’re going to catch on fire. “This conversation is getting away from me.” I back up and immediately feel the bite of cool morning air, such a contrast to his body heat. “I’ll text Birdie the name of the hotel in case of an emergency.”