Riptide of Romance: A Fake Marriage Sports Romance (Pleasure Point Series)

by Jennifer Jones

  He locked eyes with me for so long I thought we were in a staring contest. “What’s going on with you two?”

  “I told you.” I gave him an Academy Award-worthy smile. “Say hello to the new Mrs. Hamilton.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really? I guess not all of us can marry up.”

  I blushed, suddenly embarrassed about my plastic wedding ring. I shoved my hand underneath my butt so he wouldn’t see it. “Do you mind? Is there something you needed? Because I’m busy here.”

  He stared at my computer. “Yeah, I could tell. Surfing the web, eh? Anything interesting happening? Like maybe a fire sale on fiancés? Think Amazon Prime delivers those? Oh, that’s right, you already got one. Prime delivered right to your door.”

  My nostrils flared, and I wanted to teach him a lesson. My papai had taught me to defend myself when I was a kid, and I was itching to haul off and slug Devin. I counted to ten before I lost my temper, strapped him to a gurney and disemboweled him with a wooden cooking spoon.

  He changed tactics by touching me gently on the arm. “Sorry, Lola. I can be sarcastic sometimes. Long week is all.” He studied me intently. “You and I could’ve had a good thing, you know. I’ve got money. I’ve got connections. I could get your designs seen by the right people.”

  He leaned forward until I nearly suffocated from the smell of his overpowering cologne. “You know, if you want to meet me for an extended business lunch sometime, I’ll have the Ferrari revved up and ready.” He winked. “The Ritz-Carlton has one hell of a champagne brunch. Room service even.”

  My teeth clenched so hard that my jaw hurt. I forced myself to take a deep breath before I spoke. My voice was low and measured. “I’m going to ask you to leave my desk one time. If you’re not out of here by the count of ten, I’m calling HR.”

  He put his girly hands in front of his face. “Slow down there. Just messing with you.” He let out a huff. “When did everyone become so serious around here?”

  He stood up to his full Napoleonic height. His green eyes were ice chips. “I don’t care what’s going on between you and Justice. All I care about is building those lofts. Now go do your job.”

  Fifteen

  Justice

  I strode into Uncle Seth’s—correction—my office and pulled my rash guard over my head, then ran my fingers through my wet hair.

  I rubbed the salt water out of my eyes, and when I opened them, I saw Lola leaning over the file cabinet rifling through the files.

  Lola had the sexiest ass, and I wanted to walk over to her, lift that feminine skirt up, yank her panties down, shove my huge cock inside her, and ride her like a cowboy.

  She noticed me and swung her long hair over her shoulder. “Oh, hi there.”

  “Hi, yourself.”

  She stood up and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Lola had the most delicious style with her large hoop earrings, her wavy blond hair, her tight-fitting business suit with the lace trim.

  “We need to talk,” she said.

  I motioned to the desk. “Have a seat.”

  I sat behind the desk, and she sat across from me, a sheaf of documents in her lap. She tapped her ballpoint pen on the desk. “Your uncle never collected on any of his past due accounts. He had thousands of dollars in custom surfboards that he pretty much just gave away.”

  “Well, can we collect?”

  She let out a small laugh. “You know the surfing community. You’d be lucky to get an IOU and lunch at the local taqueria. That and a surf session.”

  “I could try.”

  She looked at me with a teacher’s patient look. “You’ve got less than thirty days. The competition’s your best chance.”

  I dragged a hand through my hair and let out a heavy sigh. “You’re right.” My throat nearly closed up because I needed to be real with Lola. I gazed at her through hooded eyes and swallowed. “Can I tell you something? I thought I’d have time. I never told you this, but every summer I thought I’d come home.”

  Her voice was tight. “Then why didn’t you?”

  I shrugged. How could I tell her what had really happened? Parties. Girls. Motorcycle races, the thrill of having my own business and answering to no one. I was embarrassed about the way I’d left Lola. The more time I spent away, the more what we had faded into the background until I’d grown to view it as an extreme case of puppy love.

  So why couldn’t I stop thinking about her? Why did I feel tingly every time she walked into a room? Why was I insanely happy that we’d recited wedding vows to one another?

  “You know, the shit with Devin and …” My voice trailed off, and I gazed at my lap. “Uncle Seth wanted me to go into the business with him. Maybe I could’ve saved it.” I let out a small laugh. “Maybe Bobbie could’ve helped us keep the books.”

  She tapped her fingernails on the desk and looked at me through narrowed eyes. “Seems to me you did just fine on your own. Without anyone’s help.”

  “Aww, Lola. Quit it. Let’s get along. Okay?” I stood up, rounded the desk, and sat in the chair next to hers. “We get a vacation together. Maybe not exactly a honeymoon, but … we can have some fun. Looks like you could use a holiday.”

  Lola sat there and stared at me. Her pretty eyes and pouty lips made it damn near impossible for me to resist pulling her into my arms and kissing her. She was my wife! My heart sped up, and my hard-on sprang to life, bulging against my shorts and I shifted so she wouldn’t see. Or maybe, I thought with a smile; she needed to see my big cock staring her in the face before it slid into her warm mouth.

  Hot damn.

  Maybe it was stupid of me, and I had no right, but I thought of us as a married couple.

  I gave her a slow smile. Lola was one sexy woman, and I’d have her all to myself for the next three weeks. I decided to test the waters.

  My gaze strayed to her short skirt. I picked up a pencil and trailed it up her leg, sliding her dress up. “Come on, baby, let me see your panties.”

  She batted my hand away. “Justice!”

  I returned the pencil to her skirt, lifting it higher this time. “Oh, come on. What’s under that pretty little skirt? Pink? Black?”

  She stifled the smile that cracked her lips. She batted my hand away again. “I said stop.”

  “We’re married. Just a teeny peek for your husband?”

  Her eyes grew wide, and she gripped my hand. “You’re not my husband! And I’m not going to tell you again.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “This is just a business deal. Now take that pencil of yours and shove it.”

  I put my hands up in mock horror. “Okay, okay.”

  She stood up and gathered her briefcase. “I’ll be packed and ready to go tomorrow.” When she bent over, the swell of her gorgeous tits came into view. I couldn’t resist. I took the pencil and trailed it along her luscious cleavage. “Let’s see your bra.”

  “Damn it! Stop.” She grabbed the pencil in one violent movement and broke it in half.

  “Jeez! Where’s your sense of humor?”

  “It left when you did.”

  She swung her hair over her shoulder. “Make sure you bring the right tandem boards. And don’t bring that dorky short board of yours, you never could get the aerials right anyway. And make sure you’ve got extra surf wax and enough—”

  I clicked my heels together and saluted. “Yes, master.”

  We looked at each other and I fell into the depths of her brown eyes. I slowly raised my hands in a defensive position. “I’m sorry Lola.”

  “For what?”

  “For teasing you. What can I say? I seem to mess up every time. Are you mad at me?”

  “I’ll get over it. Just make sure you pull out your best surfing moves.”

  We were going to win the contest. We had to.

  I walked Lola out of the office, through the surf shop, and held the door for her. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her feminine hips as they swayed like a runway model. “Bye, wife
y.”

  She shot me a playful look over her shoulder and twirled her finger around her ear. “Que loucura.” I watched until she had rounded the block and was out of sight.

  Papaw emerged from the back of the shop. Best times in the history of the world could always be had in the man cave, and today he’d been tuning up his sweet Harley. He wiped grease off his hands onto a towel that had zero chance of ever being white again.

  “Son,” he began. Here we go. Anything that started with the word ‘son’ was sure to be a lecture.

  “What’s up?”

  He leaned against the sales counter and folded his arms. “I want you to be nice to Lola. She’s a hard worker, and I think it’s generous of her to help you out.”

  “She gets half the winnings.”

  “Listen to me and stop thinking about yourself.” He pointed to the door. “That is one classy lady. She deserves respect. And a little love and understanding wouldn’t hurt either.”

  “Why are you all the sudden Team Lola?”

  “Why are you always such a jerk?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not being a jerk. I love … I mean I like … I mean Lola and I go way back.” I didn’t want to get all serious with my grandfather. Thing of it was, I had a hell of a lot to make right. To Papaw. To Uncle Seth. To Lola.

  My ears turned hot as I looked at the floor. Papaw was right. I shouldn’t treat Lola like a sex toy. She deserved better than me and my player ways.

  Shame overtook me as I remembered a few years back when I’d dated a sweet girl who’d fallen for me. We had fun together, camped out, hot sex, a few laughs. I was content with our fling, but she wanted more. I’d screwed her when it suited me and didn’t return her phone calls. My chin dipped down, and I swallowed hard. I peeked up at my grandfather. “You’re right. I’ll try to behave.”

  His blue eyes pierced me with intensity. “You do that.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I think you should give Lola and you a chance. A real chance.”

  I tilted my head to the side and tapped my chin trying to lighten the mood. “Hmm. Think so?”

  “Yes, you idiot. I do.” He shook his head sadly. “I couldn’t help overhear how you were talking to her. Son, do you really think that’s the way to treat a lady?”

  I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just having a little fun.”

  He threw his hands up in the air. “Fun? Is that how you have fun these days? By taking advantage of a sweet lady who’s going out of her way to help you? You know, Lola didn’t have to marry you.”

  My chin trembled, and I tried to defend myself. “We made a deal. She gets half the money.”

  “Can you even hear yourself? So what if you two decided to team up for the contest and stand before a judge? You think that gives you the right to say you’re married?”

  “I know we’re not—”

  He raised a palm. “Stop it. Just shut up and listen to me. Lola’s a lady.” His nostrils flared, and I knew my Papaw. He may as well be putting me in time out, and I felt just like a kid again. “I heard the way you talked to her in there. Telling her she better put out because you’re married.” His lips formed a firm line. “Jesus! That’s no way to treat her even—no, especially—if you were really married. And you’re not.”

  I put my hands up in surrender. “I know it’s not real.”

  “But she’s real, Justice. Do you not get that?” We stared at each other a few beats as a thickness filled my throat. “A real person with feelings. Quit treating her like some chick off the pages of a porn rag.”

  My chin dropped to my chest, and I swallowed over a lump the size of a golf ball. My grandfather was right. I’d been treating Lola like one big joke. My voice cracked when I spoke. “You’re right.” I forced myself to stand tall and meet Papaw’s eyes. I lifted my hand into the three-finger Boy Scout salute. “On my honor, I promise to treat Lola with love and respect.”

  “Quit being such a jerk-off jokester and prove you mean it.” Papaw’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “Don’t forget the love part of your oath, son.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “That’s the most important.” He let out a sigh. “I’ve been thinking a lot about life these days.” His eyes twinkled, and he stood up straight. He smiled and wiped his hands on his work jeans. “I’ve got a date with Ginger. I like her, and I don’t care who knows it.” When he touched my shoulder, he seemed to soften. “Come on kid. Let’s unwind with a brewski. Big day tomorrow and I want you ready.”

  The tension in the room broke, and I gave my grandfather an awkward hug. Papaw was right. If we wanted to win this contest, I’d better start acting like a real man. A man who knew how to work together with the love of his life. I nearly clapped a hand over my mouth. Did I just think of Lola as my soul mate? Yes, Justice, you did.

  Sixteen

  Lola

  My heart beat a little harder when I saw Justice waiting for me in the early morning light. He leaned against Papaw’s classic VW van, arms crossed, his T-shirt fitting snugly over his muscled chest, hair messy, a grin on his handsome face.

  “Can I help you with that?” He grabbed my suitcase and placed it into the back of the van. “You pack light. I like it.”

  Papaw emerged from the shop gripping a steaming mug of coffee. He held my hand. “Come here a sec.” He led me to the back of the van. “Like it? The girls helped.”

  White ribbons and bows had been affixed to the back of the immaculately kept turquoise and white van. A festive “Just Married” sign hung amid the frippery, announcing our connubial bliss to the world.

  I narrowed my eyes but inside my heart performed a happy dance. “Did Bobbie and Ginger talk you into this?”

  He raised his cup in a toast. “They did. Only the best for my favorite granddaughter-in-law.” His eyes softened. “Thanks for doing this. It means a lot.”

  “Whatever I can do to help. Besides, I need a vacation.”

  Papaw clapped Justice on the back. “Take good care of this classy woman.” He wagged a finger. “And take good care of the van. I’ll see you guys at the contest.”

  We bid our goodbyes and were off.

  The plan was to make the drive to the town of Knight’s Ferry, nearly five-hundred miles away, and practice at epic surf spots along the way. The contest began in less than three weeks, so we needed to pack in as much training as possible.

  Justice cranked the music.

  “You still listen to that ‘60s stuff?” I said.

  He gave me a crooked grin. “There’ll never be another Jim Morrison.” His long fingers beat out the tune on the steering wheel as he sang along.

  “Makes me feel like I’m riding my bike,” he said. His hand brushed my thigh, and an electric charge jolted through me, making my toes tingle. “Just you, me, and the open road.”

  As we drove, I couldn’t take my eyes off of Justice. Jeez. The man had grown into a sex god. His strong jaw had the most alluring two-day beard and every now and then he’d do this sexy thing where he’d drag his hand through his hair, shake his head, and belt out the tune. Justice had a fantastically decent singing voice—low and gravelly for the deep parts and high pitched for the high notes.

  I watched, mesmerized, as he belted out the lyrics loud and unselfconsciously. He gave me a devilish wink. “Sing with me!”

  Justice’s enthusiasm was infectious, and I joined in tentatively at first and before I knew it, I was singing for all I was worth.

  We stopped for drive-through breakfast, bathroom breaks at various rest stops, and I finally started to relax. This would be okay. We were old friends. That’s all. We would make it through the next few weeks together, and it would all be over. I could do this. But, my body was in high gear, nervous about spending the night with him.

  My fingernails tapped out a nervous rhythm on the console. “So … have you made reservations anywhere?”

  He stared straight ahead. “Nope.” He used the steering wheel as a drum set. “Figured we’d just play it b
y ear.”

  “Is that how you live your life? Just play it by ear?”

  “Makes things interesting.”

  We’d hit so much traffic that it took longer than usual to crawl up the coast. Finally, he swung the van into the parking lot of a beach near San Luis Obispo. “Ready to paddle out?”

  I leaned forward and shook out my tight muscles. “I cannot wait.”

  We clambered out of the van and readied ourselves, pulling on wetsuits and working in harmony as we waxed our boards.

  “Tandem training starts bright and early tomorrow,” Justice said. “Meanwhile let’s flex those surfing muscles.”

  “Aye, captain.”

  We paddled out to the lineup under a warm California sun, and the chilly water hit my skin making me shiver with delight. Justice paddled next to me, his strokes powerful and sure.

  We caught a few and Justice and I were in sync just like always. I fantasized about what it would be like to win. We’d stand close and hold the trophy high over our heads. The whole world would see that we were the number-one tandem surfers. After the one session we’d had on the tandem board my confidence in our abilities skyrocketed.

  I mentally went through the scoring process. The judges would total our two highest scoring waves. We’d have to beat the competition with a higher score, and the judges take into consideration surfing style to tally the final result.

  But the scoring was the least of my worries. I couldn’t stop thinking about tonight. Justice and I would be alone together for the first time. In a motel room.

  We surfed for about an hour and were taking a break in the lineup between sets.

  “Are you nervous about the contest?” I asked.

  “Nah. I’ve got you as my partner.” Justice looked at me with such intensity that I was reminded of all the times he’d gazed at me and told me he loved me.