Matt eventually looked out at the ocean with a calculating eye, glad for once that the gnarly swells Surfline had predicted hadn’t come in. Still, it was getting late, and the tide would be rolling in soon.
“One last ride? The waves will be too big for junior riders soon,” he said with a smile.
“It’s been a long time since I was a junior anything, thank you very much,” Abby retorted, leaping to her feet and extending her hand. Matt grasped it and pulled himself up, holding on longer than necessary as he examined the incoming surf.
“Wanna try a bigger wave?” he asked.
Abby grinned. “Hell, yes.” She moved to grab her board.
Matt tugged her upright. “We’re gonna do this one together.” He let go of her hand to hoist his longboard onto his shoulder.
“You can do that?”
“It’s how my dad taught me.” He took her hand. “Trust me?”
Abby nodded, searching Matt’s eyes before she started for the water, towing him in her wake. After wading out as far as they could, he helped her onto the board and pushed it out to a distance that would be challenging yet safe before shimmying up behind her and waiting for the wave. He caressed her shape with his eyes, lingering on her vulnerable nape and the soft swells of her hips, looking up only when she gasped. Flicking his eyes to the water, Matt watched a silvery-gray pair of dolphins arc out of the water well in front of them.
“Beautiful, aren’t they? You should see the gray whales out further, over at Steamer Lane. They’ll swim around your legs and it’s just…” He trailed off, at a loss for words.
“Can we?” Abby whispered, and Matt laughed.
“Not this time. That’s advanced.” The swell started to grow, and he turned into it. “Get ready to stand up. Count of three, okay? I’m going to hold on to you, just like when we were practicing, so don’t be startled. Move with me, or we’re going under.”
Abby got ready to stand. Matt watched the oncoming water, deciding the right moment for a slow countdown. At one, they rose in tandem, riding the crest of the wave. Gripping her hips, Matt both steadied Abby and used subtle pressure to indicate which way she should shift her weight. They moved like one body as the board rushed toward the shore. Her delighted laughter floated back, and Matt smiled, dodging errant strands of hair that whipped toward his face from the loose braid she’d twisted. A few dozen feet from the shore, Abby looked back at him, eyes sparkling, and that was all it took for them to overbalance. Luckily, the wave had diminished enough that rather than being sucked under, Matt merely plunged below the surface. His heart stuttered in his chest when he didn’t spot Pretty as soon as he rose. He ducked under the water, looking around frantically before spotting a pair of white legs scissoring near him. He rose to the surface with a splash.
Abby grinned and hung on to his board. “Worried, Matt?” she teased.
He smiled back, leaning his arms across from her. “I love this board, and I’d hate to lose it.”
She laughed, sleeking hair back from her forehead with one hand. Without thinking, Matt reached across the board and smoothed the hair above her ear, letting his palm drift down until he cupped her cheek. The laughter in Abby’s eyes became tempered by something warmer. Matt brushed his thumb over her lips before leaning forward and kissing her forehead. “I was worried about you,” he said against her skin before drawing back. “I shouldn’t have been, though. You’re a natural.”
She studied his face before she nodded and let go of the board. She swam toward the shore. He watched her for a minute before paddling after her.
By the time he got back to their spot, Abby lay on the blanket, one knee up and one arm flung over her eyes while the other rested beside her. Tendrils of hair had escaped from her braid and were curling around her face as they dried, creating a frame. Her lips curled into a smile, and it took a mighty effort to sit next to her, hands linked loosely as his arms wrapped around his upraised knees.
“That was damned incredible,” Abby said.
“Glad you liked it.” Easing onto his back, he mirrored her position, though he turned his head toward Abby so he could still see her through one squinted eye. Despite the summer day and the radiant heat from the sand beneath them, Matt could identify the unique body heat of Abby’s hand as it rested a hairsbreadth from his on the blanket. “So…how did you come to be a museum curator?”
Abby laughed. “Started as a painter, but I found out that I wasn’t as good as I’d hoped. Switched to art history.” She glanced over at Matt. “Don’t get the ‘I’m sorry’ face. I’m fine with it. We have a joke in the community, in fact: ‘Those who can’t do, teach. Those who can’t teach, curate.’ I like my job.” Her hand twitched and came into full contact with Matt’s. Abby looped her wrist over his, lacing their fingers together.
Matt was going to have to reconsider his statement to Jason. He’d meant it at the time, but…damn.
“What did you have to talk about with Jason that kept you up so late?” he asked, closing his eyes and absorbing the warmth of the sun and the heat of her hand in his.
“Us. Jason and me.”
“Did you come to any resolution?”
“I suppose so. For me, anyway.” Her hand tightened around Matt’s, and she shifted closer to him. “Jason’s a good guy, Matt, he really is…but…” She sighed. “It’s just not there for me.”
“But it is for him?” He peeked at her through one eye.
She shrugged. “He thinks so. He asked me to wait to make any decisions until he gets back from New York. I agreed.” Abby’s lips twisted into a smile. “Didn’t want him to deal with a race and a breakup.”
Tough for him, Matt thought. He shifted onto his side and leaned on his elbow. “So. What brought it up?”
“Sex.” Abby laughed as Matt’s eyebrows shot up. “You asked.”
Matt’s hand tightened on hers. “Does he force the issue?”
“God, no,” Abby scoffed. “Jason’s a sweetie. And he’s not hard on the eyes and pretty damned good at—”
Matt covered her mouth. “I don’t want to hear this, do I?”
Abby pressed a kiss on his palm and then shifted his hand to rest on her collarbone. “Maybe not. Anyway…despite that, I just…” She thought for a minute. “It doesn’t feel right, for two reasons. First, I was all about the summer fling with the younger guy because I’ve never done that. I’m boring, and whitebread, and…boring.” A frown line appeared between her eyebrows. “But I guess there was a reason I haven’t done it before. It’s not me. When I’m with Jason, I have a great time, but sometimes I feel like I’m putting on an act.” She sighed. “I will never get the appeal of chainsawing video game zombies and bobbing my head to hip-hop. Ever. And I have a confession: I don’t think Tupac was the poet of our age.”
“Of course not. That would be Kurt Cobain,” Matt deadpanned, and they both laughed. “Okay, so you don’t transmit on the same frequency. Sounds like a good enough reason to shut him down. What was your second reason?”
Abby’s hand tightened. “I wouldn’t be thinking about him,” she whispered, “and that’s not fair. He deserves better.”
Matt leaned forward until his face hovered over Abby’s. “You’re right.” He searched her eyes. “Who would you be thinking about, Pretty?”
Her breath came out in a rush, and she let go of his hand, sliding her fingers over his bicep and shoulder and onto his neck. Matt rested his hand on the blanket next to her head, bracing himself above her. “Your eyes are the exact color of the water,” Abby murmured distractedly, looking from them to Matt’s mouth. “This isn’t fair either, because I said that I’d wait. But I can’t. Kiss me.”
He needed no further invitation. Closing the space between them, he dropped his mouth onto hers and tasted her lips with kiss after kiss, each one building in intensity until her tongue swept over his lips. Abby’s hand plunged into his hair, fisting there. Matt felt a steady build of internal heat as her other hand tentatively res
ted on his lower back before she began tracing the long muscles with her fingertips. She flattened her hand over his shoulder blade, urging him closer. A tiny moan came from Abby’s throat as Matt did just that, leaning his weight on his elbow so that he could caress the side of her face with his hand.
Lost in her touch and kiss and a deep desire to shift her on top of him so that his hands would be free, Matt was startled by a snicker coming from above them.
“Old people mackin’ at the beach. Gross,” said a low and decidedly youthful male voice.
There was a sound of hand against flesh, and the speaker yelped. “Would you shut up?” a girl’s voice hissed. “I think it’s cute.”
Abby started to giggle as Matt rose back up to his hand and dropped his forehead onto her chest just below her shoulder. “Thanks, kid,” he muttered.
Abby burst into full-fledged laughter. She came up on her elbows and kissed the side of Matt’s neck. “C’mon, old guy.”
“Don’t think I can get up yet.”
“Why?” Abby blushed when Matt looked at her sideways. “Oh.” She darted a glance at his shorts and chuckled. “I thank God just about every day that I’m a girl.”
“Not funny. And I’m pretty thankful you’re a girl too.”
They laughed together, and Abby extended a hand.
“Come into the water with me. It’s pretty cold.” Her eyes sparkled with mirth.
Matt grabbed her hand, standing gradually. “Yeaaahhh…not so much. Wet T-shirt won’t help.”
Abby looked down at herself in surprise. “Never thought of that.” She smiled at Matt as he took her hand.
“So…is this happening?” he asked.
Abby looked out at the ocean. “I’d like to talk to Jason again. No more wait and see.” Matt hesitated, sensing that there was more to her answer. “I’ve never done this before, Matt. Started a relationship with a deadline, I mean.” She turned to look at him. “We live on opposite coasts. I’m going home in two months. I like you, and I want you…so much,” she added in a whisper. His breathing roughened as he saw the heat in her eyes, and he embraced her. He could feel her breath on his neck.
“I just…I don’t know,” Abby admitted in a low voice.
“We’ll play it by ear, okay?” Matt murmured into her hair, smelling salt and sunshine and a lingering note of her shampoo. Leaning back, he tilted her face up with one finger. “No pressure. I promise that.” He smiled down at her. “Benefit of dating an older man. We can be patient. For a while.”
Chapter Eight
OPENING HIS FRONT DOOR, Matt was surprised to find a sheepish Chris sprawled on the couch, eating popcorn and watching Kill Bill. He sat up, brushing errant crumbs off his shirt and into his bowl. “Sorry about this, cuz. I couldn’t find a flop tonight. I swear I’ll sleep in the Jeep.” His eyes darted behind Matt. “Where’s the pretty lady?”
Matt tossed his keys toward the basket on the table and missed completely. “Crap,” he mumbled, scooping them off the floor and dropping them safely inside the basket. “She’s at home. I told you I don’t bring women here. Best instruction I ever got from my dad.” Matt didn’t mention that he’d considered bringing someone home for the first time ever that night.
Chris looked down at the hands that were loosely clasped between his knees as his forearms rested on his thighs. “Dude. That’s saying a lot—your dad is pretty badass—but you know he had his own reasons for keeping things simple.”
Matt just shook his head, not feeling up to a discussion of his parents’ relationship. Whether Ted Clarke had decided that his ex-wife was his one and only love or whether he just liked his peace had been fodder for speculation for years; either way, Matt thought keeping things simple made sense.
He dropped his bag on the floor and headed for the kitchen. “Well, it’s worked for me for years, Chris. What did you have for dinner?”
Chris followed, bowl in hand. “That attitude, man…You’re going to risk missing out on something that could be incredible because something bad might happen?” He shook his head. “Man, there’s nothing like waking up with the woman you’re digging on all warm and soft against you. If there’s nakedness involved, it’s even better.”
Matt gave up on real food and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Like that’s news to me. Married once, remember?” He shoved a few kernels of corn into his mouth and crunched, wondering vaguely what Kate was up to these days. “Besides, what makes you think I’m digging on Abby? Why can’t we just be friends?”
Chris yawned and returned to the couch. “Call it a hunch from the fortune-teller.” He snickered. “Besides, you were a freakin’ nervous mess this morning. Friends don’t do that to you.”
Matt shook his head, smiling, and Chris continued. “And Kate doesn’t count. Too long ago. You were barely a zygote when that was on and over. I think I was in high school, maybe, when ya’ll split up.” He yawned again. “Try living with a crapload of men for way too long in the desert. Teaches you to appreciate a soft bed and a warm woman.”
Matt had never pried, no matter how much Chris’s mother asked him to, but for Chris to leave an opening to talk about his last couple of years in the military was rare. “There were women there, right?”
“Not where I was.” Chris’s eyes never left the screen, though his jaw tightened. He stopped on a channel and tossed the remote toward the coffee table. “How about a little Matrix?” The subject was clearly closed.
Matt settled back against the cushions and grabbed another handful of popcorn. “Only if you promise not to geek out on me again. Explanations of how this is possible just make my head ache.”
“It was the tequila that made your head ache. My explanations were perfect. I know things.” Chris tapped his temple and grinned.
As he got ready for bed after the movie, Matt pondered the day to come. Surprisingly, his meeting with Bambi and The Corpse occupied very little of his thoughts. Maybe it was because Claire would be there and Matt knew he could count on her to take care of all the real negotiations. What was occupying him were thoughts of Sarah and Pretty driving down an unfamiliar coast to a new town. She’d told him on the drive home that they planned on going to Monterey for the day, and that had him worried. He wished that he’d warned Abby about the panhandlers and the pickpockets that infested tourist towns, and he could have kicked himself for not recommending a few good places where they could get food at locals’ prices.
The logical part of his mind reminded him that the panhandlers in Santa Cruz were usually far more persistent than those in more affluent Monterey. Besides, Pretty and her friend came from one of the most tourist-clogged cities in the US—they must have a dose of good sense about what areas and people to avoid—but Mr. Logic was being out-shouted by Mr. Worry. Matt even went so far as to consider whether Claire could handle the meeting herself; if it hadn’t already been past midnight, he probably would have called her to ask.
Shaking his head at his own idiocy, he rinsed his mouth and wiped his face on the towel next to the sink. He made his way to bed and stripped down before climbing between the sheets. Plumping the pillow, he tried to relax on his back, throwing one arm over his head and listening to the sound of his heart. No good. He couldn’t get comfortable, and the bed felt cold. He moved his hand restlessly against the sheet, remembering the relief of Abby’s skin against his when their hands linked. His mind’s eye traveled up Abby’s arm and over the curve of her shoulder, lingering on the delicate structure of rib and clavicle at the top of her chest, the sweet dip between that bone and the muscle of her shoulder as it curved into her neck, and he could almost feel how silky and warm it would be under his tongue…
Damn it. Not where he wanted to go mentally, not when he had to be up in—Matt glanced at the clock and groaned—four hours if he wanted a run before the meeting. He flopped onto his side, hauled the other pillow over to him, and wrapped his arm around it. Unfortunately, that just reminded him of the way he’d wrapped his arm around Pretty
, half-pulling her under his body and half-levering himself over her so he could kiss her the way he’d wanted to. And the way she’d asked him to. Matt could still feel her hands against his back, feel her shoulder move against his chest as her hand moved higher, her fingers curling around the muscles next to his spine and stroking the valley between them.
“Piss.” Matt sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was clear that he wasn’t going to sleep until he was exhausted. Sliding back into his shorts, he headed for the studio, knowing from long experience that work could calm his mind when nothing else stood a chance. As he passed his phone on the kitchen counter, he snagged it on impulse and carried it into the studio.
He was snapping on the overhead lights when its sudden chime made him jump. Looking at the display, he saw that it was after two in the morning. Who the hell would text at that hour?
Good luck w/ your meeting. I had a great time yesterday.
A smile crooked one side of his mouth upward. No need for any name.
I did too. Be careful today. Later. Whatever.
What are you doing up?
Matt approached the table with his Pretty statue, not even looking toward the finished Jason and almost completed Zoe mock-ups.
He replied, lifting the cloth off the clay so he could see his Pretty.
Can’t sleep.
Me either.
Why not?
Gathering tools from their set places, Matt waited to see what she’d answer. When no response came for several moments, he gave up and tossed the phone onto an adjoining table. Just then, it chimed again.
You. Good night, Matt.
Matt grinned and tapped in a reply.
Good. ’Night, Pretty.
Putting the phone down again, he turned to his statue and envisioned the smooth movement of Abby’s arms, the flexible strength of her body. Within minutes, he was absorbed in transferring everything he’d seen and experienced about her body into the clay before him. He shaped the roughed-in collarbones and shoulders into duplicates of the soft flesh and hard bone he’d had under his hands that afternoon. He’d intended to just work on the shoulders, but he found himself adjusting breasts and stomach muscles as well, shaping the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips. He became so absorbed in transcribing what he’d experienced, smoothing knife and wire marks with his fingers until all he could see was sleek clay, that he didn’t even hear Chris enter the studio. Matt finally noticed him patiently sitting on a low table, watching his older cousin with interest.
The Art of Appreciation Page 11