Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Amused, he shakes his head. “Known you for ten minutes and I’ve already figured out you like giving me a hard time.”
“Took you that long?”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Two minutes. The drone comment did it.”
“Hmm. I’m pretty sure that was one minute into our fantastic new friendship,” I say as the sun re-emerges from a cloud, warming my shoulders again. That feels fitting for this day—let the damn sun shine now. “But considering your hardship comment, I think you like it.”
“I do like it,” he admits, no sarcasm from him either this time.
When I drop my hand, I drop the games. “You do have a goose egg. You need to get some ice on it.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, it’s a big one,” I say before it’s too late.
He snickers. “That innuendo is on you. And you know what?”
“What?”
“You need to join me as I ice my head over there.” He points to a bar on the corner of the boardwalk. It’s tucked off to the side, and umbrellas offer privacy from passers-by and even from people in apartments nearby with views of the beach. He raises an eyebrow, and the invitation in his hazel eyes makes my stomach flip.
I try my best to fight off a grin. Really, I do.
But I fail, and I love failing, because it means this unexpectedly delightful moment isn’t ending.
I rise, quickly tuck my Bandits towel in my mesh bag, and then tug on a purple tank top dress.
He whimpers. “I was enjoying the view,” he says, as he stands.
The zip returns, speeding through me, settling between my legs. “Don’t stop, then,” I say.
“I won’t,” he says.
When I left my home this morning, I just wanted to forget the week from hell. Now, I’m on an impromptu date with a guy on the beach, and bad luck is the furthest thing from my mind.
Maybe things are starting to turn around.
Who needs sunshine and a book? Looks like my fantasies are about to become reality.
2
DON’T PUT THE PARROT BEFORE THE UNICYCLE
Drew
If I’d known getting whacked upside the head would lead to a blonde beauty saving me, I’d have spent less time avoiding hits.
Currently, though, I’m avoiding the reality of my contract, my agent, and what’s next in my career—all the questions that have chased me lately.
And I’m dodging reality my favorite way—in the company of a lovely lady.
“Let me drop my board off,” I say when we reach the boardwalk.
“I’ll grab a table,” she says.
I’m parked nearby, so I’m soon loading the board into the back of a truck I borrowed from a friend, then I grab my phone and shades from the console and a hat from the front seat.
Shit. This hat has a Renegades logo on it. Understandable, since Carter plays for the San Francisco football team. But I can’t wear a cap with our rivals on it in public. Or anywhere, for that matter. That shit would jinx my team, and we do not need more bad mojo.
Mostly, though, I kind of want to lie low with Brooke and just enjoy her company. I don’t get recognized every day, but it happens often enough. Having a date is easier if I don’t draw attention. I managed to paddle board without being spotted, and I’d like to keep my streak, so I need a lid.
Aha.
I spot another hat on the floor—light blue, with Plays Well with Others written on it. It’s innocuous enough, so I grab it, adjust the back, then return to Brooke at the bar.
She arches a brow in curiosity, her eyes on my headwear. “Well, that’s good to know,” she remarks.
I adjust the brim. “I like to be direct.”
“Clearly,” she says. “And I appreciate the insider tip.”
“More like an advertisement.” I join her at the table, scooting my chair a little closer. Since…I do play well with others.
Brooke holds out a cloth napkin wrapped around something bulky. “All right, Mister Paddle Board. I’ve got your ice pack right here.”
Wow. She’s…awesome. “Let the record reflect that you are the only person I want saving me from any future vindictive oars.” I pick up the ice pack and press it against the back of my head, genuinely touched that she’s so damn on top of things.
“I’m the picture of efficiency.”
“And I’m the picture of being concussion-free. Check this out…77, 119, 2056, 2, 34. Also, boat. Cat. Shoe. Car. Book.”
She scoffs. “I was expecting them backward.”
My jaw drops in exaggerated outrage. “Woman, I remembered them fifteen minutes later. I want all the points.”
She heaves a sigh of surrender. “Fine, you get sixty-nine points.”
“Excellent.” We settle in, and when the server swings by, my date orders a margarita and I opt for an iced tea, due to the recent head injury and all.
“All right. I have to know. Are you a big sister? You have some serious caretaker skills,” I say.