Us at the Beach

by Stephanie Street

  “It’s not a bad defense, honestly. Stopped me in my tracks,” he teased, making me smile a little. “I’m Aaron,” he said, holding out his hand.

  I stared at it for a second, a whole new uneasiness growing in my breast. I did not want to touch this man. He was big and beautiful and exactly the kind of guy I avoided at all costs. It didn’t matter that his eyes were kind and his name reminded me of baseball games, clean and wholesome. I knew better. Men that look like him are arrogant and don’t give girls like me a second glance.

  I couldn’t be rude, however, since it looked like he was offering to help with my flat tire. I reached out my hand, part of me dying to feel his skin against mine even if it was just a handshake, while the rest of me recoiled, bent on protecting my bruised and battered heart from any potential risk. Even in the form of a handshake.

  His hand clasped warm around mine, his skin dry and callused, the casual contact feeling anything but casual. I felt the zing down to my toes.

  Wow.

  My gaze swiftly rose to meet his and I wondered what he felt as his hand squeezed mine just a little before he released me.

  Probably nothing.

  Turning away from him, I bent to retrieve the jack.

  “Here, let me help you,” Aaron offered, taking the jack from my hand.

  “It’s okay. I can-” I gestured to the flat, for some reason feeling like I should give him an out. I’m sure when he dreamed of rescuing a damsel in distress, she didn’t look like me.

  He paused. “Do you really think I’m going to leave you here in the dark to change your tire?” His eyes were wide, his expression a little offended.

  I shrugged, thinking I knew some guys who were real jerks and wouldn’t think twice about leaving me to fend for myself. But one more glance at Mr. Hottie Aaron, with his raised brows, I realized he was not going to leave me stranded to change my tire.

  “No,” I admit and his broad shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.” Even I could hear the sincere gratitude in the words as I uttered them and Aaron flashed me a grin, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness.

  “No worries. We’ll get the spare on and get you on your way.” He set the jack on the ground beside my car and lowered himself beside it. “Think you can hold that light for me?” he asked, glancing at me.

  “Oh! Sorry!” Oh, my goodness! I am such an idiot. Shaking my head, thoroughly embarrassed, I shined the light from my phone over his prone body.

  Wow.

  Um, sheesh.

  I have to get pretty dang close for the light to be effective at all. In fact, I have to crouch so low, I’m close enough to smell the faint scent of laundry detergent and men’s body wash coming from him.

  It’s intoxicating.

  Lowering one hand to the asphalt beside me, I balance to keep from swaying any closer and completely embarrassing myself. The last thing I want is for him to think I’m flirting with him. I do not flirt. And even if I did, I would never flirt with a guy as gorgeous as this one.

  Aaron makes quick work of positioning the jack and twirling the crank to lift my car enough to remove the flat as I try to stop myself from staring at his abs which are peeking out from beneath his shirt. Holy crap! This guy is ripped.

  I scrambled to my feet when he pushed himself off the ground and picked up the tool to remove the lug nuts, all while I took a second to look him over unnoticed.

  He’s tall, like really tall, although at five foot four everyone seems tall to me. His dark hair curled around his head. Not tight curls, but big loose curls that were just long enough to make his hair look messy in a sexy way. I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes in the darkness but they were light, probably blue and they crinkled at the edges when he smiled at me. He had a dimple, too. Just one that flashed quickly before hiding again in his left cheek.

  I tried not to look at his body, that seemed kind of cliché, but really there was no help for it. A body like that was just begging to be ogled. Broad, muscular shoulders and a wide chest that tapered down into a narrow waist. I was suddenly tempted to send thank-you notes to fashion designers everywhere for fitted white tees and basketball shorts. When my gaze searched for his again a second later, he was grinning at me. My cheeks flushed.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting in a lopsided smile.

  “Oh, sorry. I’m such a dork sometimes.” Seriously? Closing my eyes briefly, I tried to gather my scattered thoughts.

  Name.

  I have one.

  “Paris.”

  Aaron held out a lug nut. I offered my hand and he dropped the hunk of metal into it before starting on the next one.

  “Like the city?” he asked, grunting just a little from the effort of removing the nut, the muscles in his arms and back tightened, distracting me.

  He asked a question.

  Oh, right.

  “Yes. Paris, like the city. Not Paris, like the Hilton.” I answered.

  I like my name. I do. I just wish it wasn’t the same as some rich reality TV girl. It was good for a gimmick though. I’d even incorporated it into the name of my bakery, Paris Cupcakes. The logo was a black and white drawing of the Eiffel Tower, the lower portion made to look like a cupcake. It was really cute, if I do say so myself. Of course, underneath the logo, are the words And other fine desserts because I don’t just sell cupcakes, but I loved the concept when Brad, my brother and business partner, came up with it and couldn’t imagine it being anything else.

  “The Hilton? You mean that blonde chick from TV?” he asked, dropping another lug nut into my hand.

  “Yeah, I mean who wants to be associated with that girl? It’s like the Kardashian’s. Now, anyone named Khloe, or Kendall, or Kim will be forever asked, you mean like the Kardashian’s when they tell someone their name. It’s kind of sad, really. I’ve always liked the name Khloe for a little girl. But now, it’s ruined for me.” I sighed, with real regret, because I know I’m rambling and Khloe is such a cute name.

  I look over at Aaron where he’s crouched in front of my flat tire to find him watching me with real amusement shining in his eyes, which are blue, by the way. Me and my mouth. I swear, sometimes I wonder if I was born without a cool bone in my body. I can’t tell you how many times my rambling has been the cause of supreme mortification and this time is no exception. Why had I told him any of that?

  “I don’t know about Khloe, but I’ve had my heart set on Kanye since I can remember,” Aaron says, his tone serious as a heart attack. “I can’t name my firstborn son after that tool, though, so I’m screwed.”

  I giggled. A short burst of hilarity that quickly threatened to turn into gales. So freaking funny. I laughed and laughed even as I watched Aaron, Mr. Hottie tire changer, gaze at me in wonder for a moment before his eyes twinkled and his dimple made a reappearance. I worked on calming my laugh down to a grin.

  “See? You get it.” I sighed, as he dropped another lug nut into my hand. “Now, I’ll have to name my kids something like Sarah or Jane. Not quite as cute but less likely to make you think of plastic surgery.”

  “Kids, huh? Not that you look it, but are congratulations in order?” Aaron asked, his gaze skimming my stomach quickly before returning to my tire. Oh, dear.

  “Oh, my goodness. I’m not married. Not that you have to be married to have kids. I mean-” Oh. My. Gosh. “No. I just name hypothetical kids.” And now that I am completely mortified, let me go put my head in an oven. See, this is what happens when I am forced to speak to gorgeous men, I ramble and carry on like a blithering idiot. And now he just looked at my flabby stomach hanging over my yoga pants, wondering if I’m expecting a baby in the near future.

  Aaron dropped the last lug nut into my palm. “Sorry. I guess that could be a sore subject.”

  “No, don’t be silly. I brought it up in the first place.” Of course, now that he’s asked me if I’m pregnant, I’m wondering about him. Does he have a gorgeous wife and a few genetically privil
eged children at home? A quick glance at his left hand reveals a ring less finger. Whew. Not that I care! Mr. Hottie, Aaron would never be interested in me.

  Aaron lifted the flat tire free and swung it into the trunk of my car like it weighed no more than a piece of paper. Then he lined up the spare and pushed it into place. I held out the handful of lug nuts, still shining my phone on the tire so he could work. An overwhelming feeling of gratitude filled me.

  “Thanks again, Aaron. I really appreciate your help.”

  He paused with the tire and turned to look at me. “It’s no problem. I’m just glad I was here to help.” His eyes scanned the empty parking lot, a frown forming on his handsome face. “Seriously, though, what are you doing here so late? After dark? It’s a little dangerous, don’t you think?”

  I suppose I should be offended. I mean, I did live in New York City for five years. Talk about dangerous! But even I can admit there is something really nice about Aaron’s concern. It’s good to know chivalry isn’t dead.

  “Well, it was still light when I finished. But then I realized my tire was flat. And when I went to get the spare I remembered I had all my supplies in the trunk and had to move them to the backseat,” I sighed and shook my head. “By the time I finished with that, it had gotten dark.”

  Aaron nodded. I could tell he didn’t like my answer, but refrained from scolding me. He reached out to take a lug nut from my hand, his warm fingers brushing against my palm sending tingles up my arm. I hope he didn’t notice my trembling. There was something about him- not just his good looks- but something else.

  He worked in silence after that and I tried not to enjoy the feel of his skin on my hands each time he picked up a lug nut. It was only a matter of minutes before he cranked the jack in reverse this time, lowering my car to the ground, the spare securely attached. As he stowed everything in the trunk, I wished there was some tangible way to offer my thanks. I knew there was no way this guy was gonna let me pay him for changing my flat.

  I know!

  “So, I know you came here to exercise and this kind of defeats the purpose, but I have to thank you somehow,” I mumbled almost more to myself than him as I rummaged through the backseat of my car. Aaron frowned at me as he shut the trunk door.

  “No, you-”

  “It’s nothing much,” I interrupted him, smiling just a little as I thrust a couple of plastic wrapped sugar cookies into his hands. “And you might have to run a couple extra laps to work them off,” I teased.

  Aaron grinned as he looked at the cookies in his hand. “So, that’s the thanks I get? Extra laps?”

  I laughed. “Hey, they’re worth it. It’s probably my best recipe.”

  Aaron looked at the cookies again. “You made these?” he asked, a little skeptically. “Did you decorate them, too?”

  “Well, yeah. That’s the fun part.” And it was. One of my favorite things to bake is sugar cookies, the cut-out kind. I decorate them with royal icing and sometimes an airbrush and markers. The ones I gave to Aaron were left over from an order for a baby shower (maybe that’s why I was talking about baby names earlier) and they were shaped like baby bottles and iced and piped in baby blue and I’d written ‘baby’ down the center. They had turned out so cute.

  Aaron looked impressed. “What are you a professional baker or something?”

  “Uh-huh. I just opened a bakery in old downtown a few months ago.”

  Aaron’s brows pulled down as he thought. “Yeah, Paris something. I’ve seen it. That’s you?”

  I nodded, a little surprised Aaron noticed my bakery. He did not seem the type to pay attention to cutesy shops like mine. “That’s right, Paris Cupcakes.”

  “Yeah, it’s not far from the fire station.” He glanced down at the cookies again, before cocking a brow at me. “Cupcakes?”

  I rolled my eyes a little. “You have to read the fine print. Paris Cupcakes and other fine desserts.”

  “Like cool baby bottle cookies,” he winked.

  “Yes. But not just baby bottles,” I informed him. “I can make Christmas ornaments that look so real your mom would hang them on her tree. And animals, any kind of animal. Flowers. Cars. Trucks. Planes.” I’m getting carried away. But I really do love decorating sugar cookies. It’s therapeutic.

  “Huh. Who knew?” Aaron said.

  Now I feel awkward. Why did I go off rambling again? I need to get out of here. “I should get home, I have an early day tomorrow.”

  “It was nice to meet you, Paris.” I like his voice. It’s low and smooth and sexy. My cheeks flush at my wayward thoughts.

  “You, too.” I reached for the handle of the driver’s side door and pulled it open. “Thank you again. So much.” I hoped he could hear the sincerity in my voice.

  He just nodded. “Drive safe.”

  Chapter Three

  Aaron

  I am such an idiot! Why didn’t I ask for her number? Or if she wanted to go out to dinner? Or if she’d bear my children? Damn. That’s all I can think as I make my way into my house after finishing my run and solidifying my newly discovered stalker tendencies by driving by Paris Cupcakes.

  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since she’d driven out of the high school parking lot an hour ago. I couldn’t even believe her when I finally was close enough to get a good look. Paris is gorgeous. Not only did she have a rocking hot body, she was beautiful. It was a good thing she’d shined her flashlight app in my face or I’d have probably terrified her with my drooling.

  And then she’d opened her mouth, her cute accent washing over me like an aphrodisiac. I got hot and bothered just thinking about it. Once she’d put her light down and my eyes adjusted, it was all I could do not to just stare at her. Thank goodness for learning good manners from my mother, because good manners were the reason I’d reached out my hand to shake hers. It wasn’t because I was dying to see if her skin was a soft as it looked (it was), or if her hand felt as good in mine as I was already imagining it would (it did).

  Then I remembered she needed help with her flat. That was the reason I’d walked up to her in the first place, not to stare at her, and dragged my eyes away long enough to position the jack under her car, only to almost lose my cool from the scent of her skin as she leaned over to shine the light so I could see. She smelled like fresh bread and laundry soap. I wondered if I could buy an air freshener for my truck that smelled like Paris.

  “Dude, what the hell? You’ve been gone for hours.” Jace razzed me from the recliner in my living room. He looked completely relaxed, limbs limp, head lolling, my remote barely hanging from his fingertips.

  “It was an hour and a half, man.” I snatched the remote from his hand and plopped into the recliner next to him, turning the channel to football.

  “Hey,” Jace exclaimed, half coming out of his seat to glare at me. “I was watching that.”

  I snorted. “Through your eyelids? Doesn’t count. Besides, my house, my TV, my choice.” I set the remote on the side table farthest from Jace. The guy was hooked on stupid reality shows, the trashier the better. Housewives and bachelors and shit. I’d rather watch golf. Or bowling. Or a chick flick. Let’s just say, it’s better for everyone involved if I keep control of the remote.

  “This game aired last season. How can you watch an old ass game that everyone knows the outcome of, huh?”

  “The Falcons had a great season last year, man. This was a good game.” And anything is better than two strung out blonde chicks pulling each other’s hair.

  Jace flung himself back in his seat with a huff. I reached between us to open the door of the dorm room style refrigerator and took out a sports drink. I chugged half of it before taking a breath.

  “Seriously, though, what took so long? I was about to come looking for you.”

  I do roll my eyes at that since he was two seconds from cashing out when I walked in. “Right. Was that before or after your nap?” Jace just waved a hand in the air.

  I debate telling him ab
out Paris. Jace is my best friend. We went through basic together and then, by some stroke of luck, both ended up getting stationed at the same post and then deployed together. Even if he is a huge douche sometimes, you just can’t blow off the kind of brotherhood that develops during the shitfest that is military service. But Jace is a huge player, still stuck in the game of women and I’m not sure I won’t kill him if he starts in on me.

  I look up to see him staring at me. He knows me too well. I must be more keyed up than I realized. I chug the rest of my drink, stalling.

  “I helped this girl change a flat at the high school.”

  Jace’s eyes widen. “Jailbait!”

  “What? No. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You said ‘girl’ and ‘high school’. How am I not supposed to think jailbait?”

  For shit’s sake. “I’m a little worried that your immediate reaction to any mention of a female is possible consequences. And maybe girl was the wrong word choice. Woman. I helped a woman change a flat at the high school.”

  “Was she hot?” His eyes got this gleam that made me want to punch him. And end this conversation. I shrugged.

  “You don’t want to tell me. She must be smokin’. Did you get her number?”

  Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back against the recliner. “No, shithead, I changed her tire and let her be on her way.”

  “Smooth, man. Real smooth.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Change her tire, then ask if she wants to have my children?”

  Jace gaped at me. “You want her to have your babies? And you didn’t get her number?”

  “You know what, you’re right. I already know who wins this game. I’m going to bed.” I pulled my legs back, tucking the foot rest of the recliner down. I tossed Jace the remote and started for the stairs, knowing he would follow and that he’d sleep in my spare room.

  “No way, man.” Jace pushed his footrest down and jumped up to follow me. See? “You’re thinking about this girl. Who is she?”