That’s the kind of thing my favorite yoga teacher always says.
Falling means your challenging yourself.
And that’s important. I can do that. Totally.
I move to my dresser. Grab my favorite swimsuit—a bikini with a cute halter top and skirted bottoms, all in classic blue and white stripes.
Wes’s eyes light up.
He looks at me the way a puppy looks at a bone.
I shake my head. Motion to the living room. “No show.”
“Cruel.”
“Good things come to those who wait.”
Chapter Seventeen
Quinn
“Just hop on.” The paddle board shop guy offers me his hand.
He has one foot on the board and the other on the dock.
He’s holding the massive piece of plastic in place.
And he wants me to hop on.
“One leg at a time,” he says.
Which is a completely different instruction.
“Come on, it’s easy.” Paddle board guy offers his hand again.
Maybe it is easy.
Maybe it’s me.
Okay.
I take his hand.
Slowly, I set my foot on the board.
It wobbles back and forth. I have to squeeze paddle board shop guy’s hand for balance.
“You need more help?” Wes asks.
Yes. So much help. But only from him. Or maybe from a professional, at this point.
I mean, I’ve only got four weeks left to enjoy California and I’m angsting about my head instead of enjoying the sunshine.
“Let me.” He takes my other hand. “You’re almost there, angel.”
Right. I’m almost on the wobbly board.
I need to focus or I’m going to faceplant on the water. Or the plastic. Or the deck.
I squeeze Wes’s hand. Let go of paddle board guy.
Somehow, I get my other foot onto the board.
Oh God.
It’s swaying back and forth.
I drop his hand immediately. Drop to my knees. Press my palms into the board.
This is impossible.
Seriously, impossible.
“There, you got it.” Paddle Board Guy smiles as he hands me the paddle. “You remember the stroke?”
I nod, even though I completely fail to recall his five-minute lesson.
“This is the back.” He points to the flat side of Wes’s paddle. “As long as you have that, you’re golden.”
“Thanks.” Wes shakes his hand.
I lean back on my heels. Grip the paddle like he showed us. One hand at the top. Other about a foot and a half below that.
The thing slips into the deep blue water.
I pull.
The board glides forward.
Woah.
That’s intense.
Good intense.
“You got it, angel.” Wes hops—actually hops onto a board. He kneels, grabs the paddle from the shop guy, starts stroking.
I mean he’s not stroking.
He’s paddling.
It’s just, God, how many times per minute can I think paddle?
Stroke is a much more exciting word.
Watching him stroke—
My cheeks flush.
My blush spreads to my chest.
In my bikini, there’s nowhere to hide.
It’s nice, feeling the sun on my skin. Feeling his gaze on my body.
I’m not sure how I can tell he’s staring, but I can.
Slowly, I navigate past the rows of docked boats.
We’re in Marina Del Rey. In the marina belonging to Marina Del Rey. It’s a nice spot. Quiet. Calm. Picturesque.
Condos behind us, shopping center to the right, marina in front, open ocean to the left.
“What do you think?” Wes glides next to me. “Stay in the harbor or head to the ocean?”
The waves from the ocean are a million times bigger than the ones from the boats. (Okay, that doesn’t sound like accurate math, but they’re noticeably rockier). “Harbor.”
“You have a thing for boats?”
“God no.” I cross my legs. Settle into my seat. Sure, I could try to stand. But then I might fall. Better to stay here. To stay comfortable and capable.
“Your parents don’t sail around Lake Michigan?”
“You remembered the geography.”
He chuckles. “Had to look it up.”
“No, thankfully, they aren’t boat people.”
“You don’t want to hop on one of those?” He points to a giant yacht at the end of the dock. It’s the size of my apartment and it’s named Alec’s Talent.
“Think that’s more Alec’s Ego.”
Wes’s laugh fills the air.
It makes me warm.
I mean, I’m already warm.
But his laugh certainly helps.
It is a beautiful day. The air is bright, sunny, salty.
I’m competently gliding around the harbor.
Sure, I’m sit down paddle boarding. It’s not what I want to learn. But it’s something.
“Alec is probably compensating for something,” I say.
“I never got that.”
“No?” I arch a brow. “Guys… they seem to like to talk about it.”
“About their dicks?”
I nod.
Wes laughs. “Yeah. They do. But why compensate with a huge car or boat? Why not get fucking fantastic at eating pussy?”
My blush deepens.
His smile gets wicked.
He gives me this long, slow once-over. Like he’s savoring every inch.
“Um… maybe they do.” I swallow hard. “You?”
“You’ve sized up the equipment.”
“Sort of.”
“Not enough for you?”
“No.” It was… a lot. “Just… It’s different when it’s…” God, how do I phrase this? Wes makes dirty talk seem so easy. Um. Something sexy. I can do sexy. “It’s different when you’re naked.”
“You almost convinced me to stay in.”
“I did not.”
He nods did too. “You have no fucking idea what you do to me, Quinn.”