There’s a hint of teasing in his voice but I also sense he’s fishing for information. He can’t seriously think he’s a bad kisser. Can’t seriously be hoping I liked it. Which, of course, I did.
“Uh huh.”
“Yeah, well I appreciate you helping me out.” He glances at Breton, then briefly looks down, a frown on his face, and I can’t help but think he’s remembering something painful. “I can’t…”
Breton hurt him. I hate that. I hate seeing anyone hurting. Yeah, I know he was mean to me, but still…
I smile at his friends as he struggles with some internal war. “Nice to meet you both. Rider, I’m a fan.”
His smile is big and genuine, and there is a real warmth about him as he extends his hand to shake my hand. “Thanks. This is my wife, Jules.”
“They’re visiting from Seattle,” Wes tells me like he’s back on his game.
“Nice, I hope you enjoy your stay. How long are you here?”
“For a week.”
“I suppose I’ll see you around then.” It’s Wes I’m avoiding, not these two.
“Yeah, you will be,” Jules says a big smile on her face. “We just went online and booked a tour on your boat. We can’t wait. We’re so excited to go whale watching and camping. Aren’t we, Rider?”
“You bet.”
“Great,” I say through clenched teeth as I force a smile and remind myself to bring along a short plank. You know, so I can take a nice long walk off it.
FML.
3
Wes
“Hey Mack,” I joke, and cringe as my voice comes out a little deeper than I intended. But come on, how am I not supposed to sound aroused as I watch Charlie on her boat, down on her hands and knees, scrubbing at something that looks like gum from the deck. There isn’t any other girl in the world who could make that sexy.
Her head lifts and she blows a long strand of blonde hair from her eyes as they glare at me. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” I say. “I knew it was you down there.”
“You sure about that?”
“Charlie Baxter, you’re one of a kind and hard to miss.” Staring at me like she’s not sure if that’s a compliment or not, I add, “That’s a good thing, trust me, and I come in peace.” She continues to glare, clearly suspicious, but then her eyes narrow when her gaze drops to take in the two ice cream cones in my hand.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, and wipes her brow with her arm, but honestly, she couldn’t look any more adorable if she tried.
I hold one cone out to her. “I brought ice cream.”
She stands and drops a rag into a bucket. “Why did you do that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s a hot afternoon, and I saw you here after we walked the beach and thought you might like an ice cream. You do like ice cream, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do.” She takes off her yellow gloves, drapes them over the side of the bucket, and I wonder how many pairs she has of those things. “That was nice of you.”
“Imagine that. Me, nice.”
“Did it hurt much?” Before I can answer, she effortlessly jumps from the boat to the dock, and I hand her the chocolate cone. Hair sticks to her forehead as she angles her head. “How did you know I liked chocolate?”
“Who doesn’t like chocolate, Charlie?”
“If you’re trying to make up for that dreadful kiss, the pie was enough.”
“I wasn’t. The ice cream had nothing to do with the kiss.” I stand there and whistle innocently, like I’m not up to something else. But I am.