Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “Or maybe over strip ping-pong?” she murmurs.

  Dammit.

  There I go, popping a boner in public with my kid with me again.

  She doesn’t look down, but she smiles triumphantly like she knows she won this round.

  And honestly?

  I’ll give it to her.

  Because I like that smile.

  She works hard. She’s dressed in a monkey costume in eighty-degree weather to make her best friend happy. And when I went snooping on her social media pages last night, I discovered post after post of shared help find this pet a home messages.

  The last time she posted a personal picture was before Christmas.

  Nothing about her accident.

  Nothing about recovery.

  The only pictures of her were posted by her parents or her friends.

  So seeing her smile?

  It’s like watching her come back to life.

  Beck might’ve been pulling her leg about me having a problem, but he wasn’t lying about Ellie’s accident affecting her.

  Monica’s grinning widely as she hands me a shovel. “Get to work, Wyatt. This gold won’t dig itself up. Show me those muscles.”

  The Blond Caveman yanks a shovel out of the pile and stalks off. “C’mon, Sloane, I’ll show you how a real man digs for treasure,” he says.

  Monica and Ellie share a look. Tucker looks up at both of them, and says, “C’mon, Miss Captain Ellie. I’m gonna be a real man too,” and even the Blond Caveman’s girlfriend cracks up.

  “Dad, I’m going to beat you,” Tucker adds.

  “Oh, you think so?”

  “He’s totally going to beat you,” Ellie says.

  He grins at me behind his glasses. How will I survive having to give him back to Lydia at the end of the summer?

  I shove away the panic, because that’s a problem for another day.

  For now, I have pirate treasure to dig.

  With my fake girlfriend.

  Who just might be turning out to be more than I ever thought she could be.

  Yep. Saving that problem for another day too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ellie

  My brain is broken.

  It’s like the How we feel about Wyatt switch got flipped overnight, and now, instead of annoying as a gnat, he’s at hot as hell.

  Or possibly I’m overheating in this monkey costume.

  But watching him shovel dirt in the town square is making me horny in ways I can’t ever remember being horny.

  He hasn’t even taken his shirt off, and he’s still smokin’ hot.

  “No, Miss Ellie, let me do that for you,” Tucker says.

  He’s skin and bones, but he’s putting his all into thrusting the short shovel into the soft earth, shrieking with glee every time he finds a plastic pirate coin.

  I should really talk to Pop about getting some biodegradable pirate coins.

  Yes.

  That.

  I should concentrate on how I can help make the Pirate Festival more earth-friendly.

  Not on the way Wyatt just wiped his face with his T-shirt, exposing half of his six-pack and making ten women around us drop their shovels, including a pirate wench who just murmured, “I’d tap that.”

  “He’s taken,” Monica tells her.

  “Lucky woman.”

  My cheeks burn, but I don’t disagree. “I can dig a few shovels,” I tell Tucker. “I’m not helpless.”

  “I’m being shrivelpuss,” he informs me.

  “Chivalrous,” Wyatt corrects with a grin.

  “That means helping people because I’m a gentleman,” Tucker explains.

  “And you’re doing a fantastic job,” Wyatt agrees. “But if Miss Ellie wants to dig some, you can let her have fun too.”

  “But she’ll get her monkey fur all dirty.”

  Such a sweet kid. “You’re the most chivalrous pirate I’ve ever met,” I tell him.

  “Oh! Look! I found a pearl necklace!” Sloane exclaims.

  All of the Dixons whip their heads around to look as she pulls a string of Mardi Gras beads from the ground.

  “Those are fake,” Mrs. Dixon sniffs.

  Sloane drapes them over her neck. She’s not sweating at all in her dog costume, nor does she seem at all the least bit offended that she had to play the dog. “They’re a fabulous addition to my collar, aren’t they, Patrick?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

  “Are we nearly done?” Mrs. Dixon asks Jason.

  “No way,” he replies. “We could dig for days and not find all the treasure they hid here.”

  His mother goes pale. She takes a step and her heels twist in the dirt. “This is a safety hazard.”

  “That’s why there are signs everywhere to wear boots,” Jason tells her.

  “Big eyesore the rest of the year, isn’t it?” Mr. Dixon says.

  “They’ll plant flowers in half of it and sod the rest when the week’s over,” Wyatt tells him.

  I shoot him a look.

  “I read the festival website,” he says. “You hot? Want a break?”

  “Oh my god, Ellie, you’re so red you’re purple. Go sit down,” Monica orders.

  “I’m fine,” I tell her.

  It is really hot in this costume.

  “Wyatt, do you know the most important thing about a wedding?” Monica asks.

  “The bride’s always right?”

  “Correct. Now go make sure Ellie sits down and has something to drink.”

  Tucker looks wide-eyed between all the adults.

  “You can stay with me, because you’re a good pirate treasure digger,” Monica tells him.

  I squint my eyes at her, because is she trying to get me to strip for Wyatt?

  She doesn’t bat a lash of acknowledgment.

  “Can I, Dad? Please?”

  “We’ll be right here,” Monica tells him. “And Jason knows CPR, and he always carries a first aid kit.”

  That’s such baloney, and judging by the way Wyatt’s lips twist and his eyes narrow, he knows it.

  “If she dies of heat stroke, it’s on you,” Monica tells him. “Are you a good boyfriend or not?”

  “All right, all right. C’mon, Ellie. Let’s go get you out of this costume and into some air conditioning.”

  “She loves the banana pudding at Crusty Nut,” Monica offers.

  “I know,” he tells her.

  Of course he does.

  He fought me over which one of us got to put the bedspread covered in last night’s banana pudding into the washing machine this morning.

  I let him win, but only because I had a call come in from an employee who needed to take an emergency sick day because her daughter was diagnosed with appendicitis.

  And also because I know he didn’t forget the deal he offered, whereby he’d get to see my doodle pad.

  “I’m not that hot,” I tell him when he stops beside me.

  “Just dead sexy hot,” he replies.

  Heat funnels to my core, and I try to stutter out a response, but before I can, he bends and tosses me over his shoulder.

  I gasp in surprise.

  “That hurt?” he asks quietly.

  “No,” I answer honestly, half-surprised.

  “Good. Tell me if it does. And don’t be a stubborn ass.” He turns, and adds, “Tucker, I’ll be right over there if you need me, okay?”

  “Okay, Dad.”

  He marches across the field, me hanging on with my monkey butt in the air, and while I get the occasional twinge in my leg, it doesn’t hurt.

  I can’t see Tillie Jean’s face when Wyatt marches us into the Crusty Nut, but I can hear her. “Table for two?”

  “By the window if you can,” he tells her.

  “How about the balcony, sugar?”

  “Is it out of the sun?”

  “You bet.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Sorry about my butt, Tillie Jean,” I offer.

  “Cutest
pirate monkey butt we’ve had come in so far this morning,” she replies. “C’mon. I got a table with an umbrella and a great view of the treasure hunt.”

  “You got clothes on under that?” Wyatt asks while he carries me up the stairs.

  I’d argue about this, but I’m tired of arguing with him. “Enough that I can unzip,” I confirm.

  “Hot dog, it’s my lucky day.”

  I shouldn’t be amused, but once again, Wyatt made a joke, and now I’m laughing.

  He finally puts me down next to a wrought iron patio table and lets me take my own seat under the umbrella Tillie Jean cranks up for us. After standing at the railing a minute, he waves at Tucker across the street, and then takes his own seat.

  “Did Monica just set us up on a date?” I ask him. “I mean, not that she doesn’t believe we’re dating, but…like on a real date. Alone. Is that what this is supposed to be?”

  “That depends. Who’s paying?”

  I toss a sugar packet at him. “Very funny.”

  He smiles at me, and hello, gooey insides. Wyatt Morgan is not supposed to turn me all mushy and sappy.

  But he’s doing an excellent job of it.

  I wave a hand at my hot face, then belatedly realize I can unzip my monkey costume. I pull my arms out, and breathe a sigh of relief when the light summer breeze touches my bare skin.

  Wyatt swallows a smile and glances at the menu Tillie Jean left.

  “Has Beck called you today?” I ask him, because Beck’s a safe topic.

  Kind of.

  He shakes his head.

  “Does that make you nervous?” I ask.

  He frowns slightly, like he’s puzzled, then shakes his head again. “I think he’s trying to set us up.”

  “Look, we can be friends, and it’s nice of you to humor me with claiming to be my boyfriend this week, but we seriously cannot be anything more.”

  He leans back in his chair and watches me while our server delivers water glasses and asks if we need another minute.

  “Yes,” he says at the same time I ask for a basket of gold nuggets—aka fried pickles—and a banana pudding.

  “Hush,” I say to his raised eyebrows. “Patrick’s parents make me nervous, okay?”

  “Make it two, please,” he tells the server, and she scuttles away with a smile.

  Like she, too, thinks we’re on a date, and she, too, thinks we’re cute.

  Not good.

  Because even if Wyatt was relationship material, I’m not.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wyatt

  When our server leaves, Ellie leans into the table. “Why would Beck be trying to set us up?” she half-whispers. She doesn’t look annoyed.

  More like anxious.

  “He’s worried about you,” I tell her.

  “Did you…tell him?” she asks.

  She doesn’t say what, but she doesn’t have to. I shake my head. “You?”

  “It was none of his fucking business.” She huffs. “That didn’t come out right.”

  I start to smile, but she chews on her bottom lip, which simultaneously sends blood flowing straight to my cock and puts my pulse on high alert, because the Ellie I’ve always known would’ve rolled her eyes and said she was fine.

  “Can I tell you something?” she asks.

  “Why me?”

  “Because if you tell anyone else, I can deny it because of our history.”

  That’s the Ellie I know, and for the first time in my life, I’m finding her huffiness utterly adorable. “Then absolutely.”

  “I don’t know what I want to do with my life.”

  “I recommend not marrying your ex-boyfriend.”

  She kicks me under the table, and I feel marginally better about myself for that smart-ass comment just popping off my tongue.

  “When I graduated high school, I told myself I’d have a master’s degree in five years, a husband in eight, and kids in ten,” she tells me, which isn’t a surprise in the least. “And that I’d work my ass off to earn every promotion I got with my parents, because I know they’ll leave me the company one day, but I don’t want it just because I’m their daughter. I want to earn it. I’ve been saving up to buy them out five years before they think they want to retire because Beck’s right, they’re workaholics and they don’t realize how old they’re getting.”

  “You should probably not use the word old when you approach them.” Dammit, I’m terrible at this. “I mean—”

  She cuts me off with a flutter of her hand. “I have two years to practice. I’ll get this.”

  “Of course you will.”

  “See? That’s the thing. I can tell you what I want professionally. But I don’t have a clue what I want in my personal life anymore.”

  “You don’t want a family anymore?”

  “I don’t know if I…if I can.” The words come out like they’re physically painful, and the sudden understanding hits me like a sock to the gut that pushes it into my chest to suffocate my heart.

  I never wanted to have kids, and then Tucker happened, and I can’t imagine my life without him. We talk every night during the school year—I got him a phone over Lydia’s objections, and because he’s seven, he doesn’t know yet he can push limits—and it’s the best part of every day.

  Ellie’s always wanted kids. Always.

  Life’s not fair.

  I swallow hard. “The accident?”

  “I haven’t been…regular…since. And my doctor…doesn’t know yet. She says I need more time to heal, but the best way to find out is to…try. And I don’t have anyone to try with, and I’m not in any position to do it all by myself, or even ready at this point, and I never wanted to do it by myself anyway. But I just—” She looks away and cuts herself off with a shake of her head.

  “Does your family know?”

  “Of course not. They’ve barely gotten over the trauma of the phone call. I’m not putting this on them.”

  “Ellie. They’re your family.”

  “And they can’t fix it.”

  I rub a hand over my face, wincing when I accidentally hit my sore eye, and stifle a sigh. “I don’t know what all’s going on inside your head right now, but I know your mother, and I know she’s always been the best listener, with the best advice, and she might not be able to solve anything, but she can sure as hell make anyone feel better.”

  “I didn’t say I feel bad about anything.”

  “But you don’t know what you want out of your personal life,” I point out. Helpfully.

  “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

  “You know your worth as a person is more than just whether you can have kids and walk without a limp.”

  The edges of her pursed lips go white as she glares over the railing at the park.

  “If anyone can beat this,” I say, “you can.”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “Fuck, Ellie, Beck said the doctors weren’t sure you’d ever walk again, and look at you, being a dumbass and pushing your limits and giving them the double bird while you dance on tables.”

  I get a reluctant grin.

  “And scientists have made huge advancements in anatomically correct, realistic looking robots, so there’s even a chance you’ll be able to at least look like you’re married before you’re fifty,” I add.

  She spins in her chair and lunges for the ketchup, and before I know what’s happening, I’m staring down a squeeze bottle. “That wasn’t very nice,” she says primly.

  Her eyes are dancing behind the bruises, and dammit, she’s pretty when she smiles.

  And when she threatens me with a ketchup bottle.

  “You can try it,” I tell her, “but I’m a quick draw with the mustard.”

  Her gaze darts to the yellow squirt bottle on the table, then back to me. “You think so?”

  “I could definitely sword fight you with it.”

  “If you want to get stabbed in the heart with a ketchup spout.”

  “You’d
go for my heart?”

  “I’m ruthless, Morgan. Ruthless.”

  “But have you studied the art of war?”

  “I’ve studied the art of not getting trampled by my dear brother, which is the same thing.”

  “Is not.”

  “Oh, please. It is—hey!”

  I snag the mustard bottle and point it at her while she’s distracted with arguing.

  “I should squirt you,” she says, but she’s smiling so big she can’t get it out without a laugh.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Oh, like yesterday was my fault?”

  I want to kiss her.

  I want to lean across this table and kiss her until neither one of us can breathe, and then I want to kiss her more.

  Because she’s strong. So fucking strong. She’s what I want to be. What I try to be.

  Unstoppable. Undaunted by a challenge. Fearless.

  “All your fault,” I say. “You set me up.”

  She’s leaning in like she feels it too. Like she would kiss me too.

  She’s still pointing the ketchup bottle at me, but it’s Ellie, so naturally.

  “You are so full of baloney.”

  She’s a Siren, beckoning me with her wide smile and daring insults. She’s bold and driven and fun.

  I miss fun.

  “You like baloney,” I remind her.

  She wrinkles her nose.

  “You did. When we were kids.”

  The ketchup bottle wavers. “How do you even remember that?”

  “It was horrifying.”

  “You used to eat canned meat. You can’t talk.”

  We’re so close, the nozzles on our condiment bottles are touching. “And how do you remember that?”

  “My mother tells the story every time your name comes up. That poor Wyatt Morgan, we had to introduce him to real lunch meat. Think what would’ve happened to the boy’s diet if he’d never moved in down the street.”

  “Lies. All lies.” So very close. I could kiss her. I shouldn’t, but I could.

  Her gaze dips to my lips, a smile growing, and I’m nearly there when she suddenly jerks back and squirts ketchup across my shirt.

  She gapes for a minute at me, suspended in shock. “Oh, shit,” she gasps. “I didn’t mean—”

  I squeeze my bottle and get her with mustard across her chin and neck.