Total pages in book: 14
Estimated words: 13369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 53(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 53(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
We’re in the same freaking business. I work behind the scenes managing vendor contracts for the Los Angeles Bandits, the city’s baseball team, and Drew Adams is on the field, leading the Devil Sharks to the end zone.
He’s a rising star in the league, but in this city, especially in sports, you learn quickly to wait for someone famous to tell you who they are. So, I wave away the topic without letting on that I’ve finally recognized him. “Life is full of risks. Like the ocean. I’m sure that’s a bumper sticker somewhere. I’m just glad you’re doing better.”
Another smile, this one grateful. “I appreciate you making sure I was okay.” He gestures to the vast expanse of water, the scene of the fall, then offers his hand. “I’m…” He stops, seeming to swallow whatever he’d been going to say, and his eyes dart away and then back to mine. “I’m Andrew. Nice to meet you.”
The media only ever refers to him as Drew. One quick glance around gives me the answer to the unexpected Andrew. The family with the towheads is two towels away from us. The volleyball guys are maybe twenty yards north. So far, he’s been lucky that no one has seen him, and that no one caught his fall on camera.
Sure, it’s also possible he doesn’t want me to know who he is.
Two can play at this pretend game, and probably two should. It’s just wiser, safer too, here in public.
“I’m Brooke,” I say taking his hand. “But you can call me Beach Nurse. Wait, No. Surf Nurse is way cooler.”
He laughs. “I was going to go with Surf Angel. But Surf Nurse works. Is that a new TV show you’re on?”
“Yes. It’s a reality show. I roam the beaches and save dudes in distress,” I say as he lets go of my hand.
He growls. “Hey now. I wasn’t in distress.”
I tsk, but I’m teasing. “You were upside down underwater, Andrew.”
“Fine, Brooke. I was totally a dude in distress and you’re the surf damsel who saved me.” He checks me out in my royal-blue seashell-patterned bikini, and he’s not shy about it either. His eyes linger on my chest, then my belly, and then my legs. That little flutter turns into a full-blown swoop. If this is all today is—some eye-fucking—I don’t mind at all.
Since I will take that and be thinking of him when I’m alone in bed tonight.
He clears his throat, his expression turning earnest, intense. “Thanks again for helping me out today.”
That has a hint of “wrapping this up for a polite goodbye” to it. I’m a little disappointed because I’ve been enjoying his banter so much. The important thing, though, is he’s not hurt and he had someone to look out for him.
“I hardly did anything,” I tell him honestly. “I’m just glad you’re fine.”
Drew shakes his head adamantly. “You did a lot. You shouted heads-up. Escorted me to shore. Conducted a full-on test. And endured my innuendo,” he says with a little twinkle in his eye.
“I wouldn’t say your innuendo was a hardship,” I say.
“I could so make a joke…”
“Oh please. Don’t stop now. I need to hear this hardship joke.”
“My innuendo is a…yacht,” he says, then tosses his head back, clutching his belly. “Shoot. I’m sorry. That was bad. I’m going to need to dock myself some points.”
I give him a stern look. “For being a joke show…boat.”
“Exactly. You get it.” He sits up straighter. “But what I want to say is”—he gestures to me—“this was worth getting hit for.”
Oh.
Wow.
I’m not sure what to say. Chatting with him is such a welcome respite from punctured tires, OnlyFans requests, and promotions that passed me by. With Drew, I’m not the woman her ex wanted to interview.
I’m a lifeguard, a surf nurse, a damsel who saves dudes.
I’m the woman who was worth getting clocked by a paddleboard oar for.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “I wish you didn’t get hit. But I’m glad I was here to help.”
“Me too,” he says, then rubs his hand against the back of his head again. He winces. Uh-oh.
“Does your head still hurt?”
“Nah,” he says, but it’s the tough-guy answer.
“If you say so,” I say, my tone saying you’re full of it.
He dips his face. “Hurts a little,” he admits, as if it costs him something.
“Let me take another look, okay?”
“Sure,” he says, easily agreeing.
I kneel and move closer to him so I can run my fingers gently over his skull. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, but your head has got a funny shape,” I whisper.
“Gee, thanks,” he says, laughing as the sun ducks behind a stray cloud. “Really appreciate the compliment.”
“I’m sorry,” I deadpan as I run my palm up and down the back of his head. “You’re probably used to women complimenting the shape of your skull. Oh, it’s so round, Andrew,” I coo.