He’s playing at being a regular Joe.
I drop my surfboard at the Hang Ten shop since I know the owner, Daisy, a forty-something gal with a fishtail braid and a sunshine personality that suits her name. I tell her I’ll snag it later.
She pats my board affectionately, anthropomorphizing it as she often does. “We’ll keep your girl safe and sound.”
Then I head to a bar on the beach to play pretend. Only there’s no faking the attraction that already feels real.
Chapter Two
Drew
The hot-as-sin blond beauty points across the table to the big red parachute in the sky. A woman hangs below it in a harness, pulled along by a boat in front of her.
“I can’t believe you’ve never gone parasailing,” Dani says, as she returns her focus to me, her big brown eyes wide and sparkling. “Venice Beach has awesome parasailing. You have to try it. Besides, there are no surfboards in the air.”
“That is a great selling point for parasailing. And I had no idea there was parasailing here. I always thought of Venice Beach as more of a surf town, or just a hangout town,” I say, picking up my beer bottle and tipping some back. She’s seated next to me at the table and we’re watching the beach. A guy rides a unicycle, a parrot perched on his shoulder. Behind him, a pack of skateboarders in low-slung shorts tear up the concrete. Someone else plays the drums farther down the path, beating out a hippy tune.
“It’s an everything town. I’ve lived here for a couple years,” she says, and I can see her fitting into this sunshine life. Blond hair, brown eyes, tanned skin. Ridiculously hot body, even though she’s covered it up now with a tank dress she had in her mesh bag. At first I pegged her for an actress or model, and if that makes me shallow, so be it. She’s just fucking hot. But lawyer seems to suit her, since she’s sarcastic and likes to give me a hard time. Both work for me. I’m especially enjoying the fact that she has no clue who I am. Fine, I’m not Tom Brady and I don’t expect people to recognize me all the time, but it happens enough, so it’s nice to just move in and out of crowds without anyone realizing they might see me on TV on any given Sunday.
Which is why I grabbed my ball cap and shades when I dropped my board in the back of my buddy’s truck that I borrowed today, before grabbing this table with Dani.
“I’m a California girl,” she adds.
“You’re Dani California.”
She smiles. “Like the song.”
“Except, Dani died in the song,” I say, referring to the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ tune. I shake my head. “Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”
She laughs. “Yeah, bit of a bummer. I’ll erase that from my memory banks, even though I love the Red Hot Chili Peppers.”
“As much as you like surfing?”
She leans into my shoulder and whispers. “Almost as much as I love margaritas,” she says, lifting her glass. As she takes a sip I can’t seem to look away, because this woman has spectacular lips.
I mean, c’mon. It’s not like I didn’t notice when we first started talking. Even if my head hurt. Even if my vision was a little fuzzy. Now, I’ve got my hand on the back of my head, icing the bump with an ice pack the waiter brought over, and I’m dying to know how her lips taste.
“Do you surf a lot?” she asks me.
“Just started recently. Loving it so far.” Surfing is one of the few athletic activities that’s not forbidden by my contract, which is why I’ve been trying to get on the waves as often as I can these days. “What about you?”
“I’ve been doing it for a while. I try to go whenever I have a day off and it’s beautiful out like this. Let me know if you ever want a lesson,” she says, her tone flirty.
“I will take you up on that, no doubt,” I say, adjusting the ice pack. “You ever been hit by a board?”
“A few times. But not on the back of my head. Did you hear about the guy who runs Wild Sand Surf Shop down the road?”
“No. But wait. Let me guess.” I hold up a hand and scrunch my forehead, like I’m thinking hard. Then, as if I’m on a game show, I call out the answer. “I’ve got it. He was hit by a board?”
“Yes,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Mr. Sarcasm. But wait till you hear where he was hit.”
“Oh man, this is gonna be good.”
“It is. Because his nickname is . . . wait for it . . . One-Eyed Jack.”
Reflexively, I cup a hand over my eye. “No. Say it isn’t so.”
She nods. “It is so. Tip of the board hit him here,” she says, tapping the corner of her eye. “He has a glass eye.”
I cringe. It takes a lot to make me cringe. But I really enjoy the use of my eyes. A lot. So, the prospect of not seeing is pure wince-worthy. “That’s really making me want to surf again.” I take a beat, then loudly add, “Not.”
“And every year on Halloween he goes all out. He slathers makeup all over his eye to look freaky. Like, fake blood and everything coming out of it.”
“That actually sounds mildly horrifying.”
She smiles wickedly. “It is absolutely mildly horrifying. But it’s a great costume for scaring people.”
I raise my chin. “What about you? What’s your scariest costume?”
She shrugs, saucily. “I just go as myself.”
“How’s that scary?” I say, moving closer to her. This woman is a firecracker, and I’m digging talking to her, and looking at her, and let’s just call a spade a spade. The only thing better would be talking, looking, and touching. Fucking would probably be quite nice too. Just saying. “You’re not scary. You’re sweet.”
She narrows her eyes. “No one ever calls attorneys sweet.”
“Ah, so you’re a shark.”
She hums the theme song for one of film’s most famous villains. “Call me Jaws.”
I love that she’s sarcastic and funny. Even better is the fact that she’s not a groupie. Sometime it’s nice to parlay the gig into a little bit of attention, or maybe a fun night out, since there are plenty of women who want a night with the quarterback. This chick? She doesn’t seem to have a clue I play ball, and it’s fun. I’m not complaining or saying no one likes me for me. Hardly. I’m simply enjoying that we’re a guy and a girl on the beach. I haven’t told her what I do though, and it seems strange to leave that out, so I decide to offer a sliver of it. “Just teasing about the shark part. I’m in the sports business, so some might call me that too.”
She raises her glass. “Let’s all be good sharks then.”
I clink my beer bottle to her glass and we both take drinks. That’s all either one of us says about work. She asks no more about sports, and I don’t offer, and that’s fine by me.
She sets down her glass, raises her hand, and reaches for the back of my head. Gently, she pushes the ice pack aside, brushing her palm over my head again. She’s got a reassuring touch. A caring one too. “Maybe you should go as a sexy nurse on Halloween,” I say softly. “Both seem to fit.”
A sweet smile spreads on her pretty face. After a few seconds, she adds, “But that’s not a scary costume.”
I shake my head. “It’s not at all. But you’d rock it.”
Her well of sarcasm seems to slip away from her as she as she whispers thank you. After a few seconds, she adds, “I think your goose egg is history, Andrew.”
I set the pack on the table, but she keeps her hand on me, rubbing the back of my head absently. Fuck, this is nice. More than nice. It’s arousing. Her touch stirs up other parts. One other part to be precise, and I silently curse the fact that I’m wearing board shorts. They don’t hide tents at all. But then again, who cares? If she wants to check out the package, I’ll salute her. I like her hands on me. I like her touching me. Hell, I like what I know of her so far.
She drops her hand and folds both in her lap.
Then it hits me, what she just said—the goose egg is gone. The bump on my head has vanished. She might only have come along for a drink to make sure I wasn’t wounded. But I don’t want
this time with her to end. I sit up straighter. “Does that mean you need to cash out, or can you have another?”
She smiles and tips her forehead in the direction of the street. “Since I live just a few blocks away I can absolutely have another drink. But what about you? Do you need to drive somewhere? I can’t let you get into a car if you’re tipsy,” she says in a tone that tells me she’s looking out for me. I’d be willing to bet Dani is a big sister. She’s got “worried older sibling” written all over her.
But I can handle a drink just fine, thanks to my size. I laugh as I point at my chest. “I’m two hundred and fifty pounds. I can have two beers and drive safely.” I take a beat, then inch closer. “But I do like your concern,” I say, as I lift my hand and a tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Just don’t want anything to happen to you,” she says, her eyes never straying from mine, as I run my fingers down the strand.
“I’m not going anywhere right now, Dani.”
She licks her lips, and a bolt of lust crashes down my spine. Just from the flirting. Damn, if touching her hair feels this good, I can only imagine what it would be like to do a whole lot more. Kiss her. Push her up against the wall. Mold her body against mine.
“Let’s get those drinks,” I say before my mind and body stray too far in the dirty direction.
We chat through another round, shooting the breeze about surfing and sunsets, the merits of cereal versus eggs for breakfast, and the pros and cons of driving with or without a traffic app in Los Angeles. Wonderfully, nothing about football or my career has come up. The conversation is casual and comfortable. Considering the last year has been bumpy and tense, I’ll take this kind of night, especially with the way the preseason has been a big old mess of uncertainty.
When it’s time to go, I offer to walk her home.
She gazes at me, like she’s sizing up my offer. “Yes, but just home. To the porch.” She holds up her hands, almost in apology.
“I’m simply being a gentleman, Dani,” I say, with a smile, and then we walk along the boardwalk and cut into the neighborhood. “Will you come back tomorrow to get your board?”
“Daisy at the surf shop will take good care of Betty.”
I laugh. “You really named your surfboard?”
She nods. “Daisy insisted on it. She said all boards should be humanized. So mine’s Betty, and she’s a girl.”
“Obviously,” I say. “And mine’s a dude. His name is Randy. He’s one of the wild humping surfboards.”
She winks as she laughs.
I pat the back of my head. “See? The brain’s working just fine after the whacking.”
“Indeed it is.”
When we reach her home, a cute little white bungalow, she gestures to the porch. It’s teeming with potted plants and flowers, as well as pizza coupons and takeout menus stuffed behind the mailbox next to the doorway. “Thank you, Andrew. For the drinks and the escort service.”
I wiggle my eyebrows because she says escort in kind of a naughty way. “And thank you for the surf angel-slash-nurse work.”
“My pleasure. I was happy to save a guy in distress.”
I narrow my eyes and protest her description. “Hey now. I’m not a dude in distress.”
She whispers “just kidding” as she leans against her porch railing. I don’t think it’s intentional, but that pose shows off all her assets. The swell of her breasts in her tank dress, her curvy hips, her strong legs. This woman just fucking does something to me. Turns me on, that’s what she does. Makes me hard as hell. Though she’s made it clear that the night ends right here, I intend to make the most of this good-bye.
I move closer to her and run my hand down her arm. I watch as goose bumps rise in its wake. My voice goes low. “Do you know what I’ve been thinking about?”
She tilts her head to the side. “What would that be, Andrew?”
It still sounds funny to hear her call me that. But next time I see her I’ll tell her that everyone calls me Drew. With my other hand, I brush her hair off her shoulder, cataloging her reaction to my touch. The way she shivers. How she sways closer. The rush of breath on her lips. I bring my mouth to her ear, and whisper. “What it would be like to kiss you.”
I pull back, wanting to look at her. Her lips are parted, then she licks them and swallows. It’s like she’s taking a step closer, saying go for it. “You should absolutely find out then,” she says, soft and inviting.
My fingers travel from her shoulder, up to her hair, and I rope my hand through those blond locks. I pull her close, savoring the warm feel of her sun-kissed skin and the smell of sand, surf, and sunshine in her hair.
I dip my mouth to hers, clasping her face in my hands. When I nip her bottom lip, she gasps. It’s such an alluring sound, and it turns me the fuck on even more. My dick would very much like to go inside her house tonight, but kissing is all that’s on the menu, so I kiss her in a way that’ll leave her wanting more. Because I want so much more of her, and I also want her to know that.
I’m not sure how I went from leaving the field when practice ended this morning, to spending the afternoon surfing to get my mind off all the changes I’m sure are coming, to kissing this beautiful stranger outside her Venice Beach home. But hell if I want to analyze this moment.
I spend my working hours making decisions, analyzing, choosing. Then executing.
Right now, I want to get lost in something that no one else controls but this woman and me.
Dani presses her sexy body to mine as I claim her lips in a deeper, more consuming kiss. A jolt of pleasure surges down my spine. The kiss picks up speed and intensifies, and soon I’m devouring her lips, and she likes it. She moans and murmurs, and loops her hands around my neck, tugging me closer. Switching up my location, I leave a path of kisses along her jaw, her cheek, over her neck. Her skin tastes so good, I could spend hours here, nibbling, nipping, biting. And so I do, nipping her earlobe.
She murmurs, a long, sexy, lingering noise. “Mmm. That feels so good.”
“You feel pretty fucking fantastic, Dani,” I whisper in her ear. “And I love the sounds you make.”
Flicking my tongue over the shell of her ear, I hear her pitch rise, that gorgeous gasp a woman makes as she gets turned on. It’s a sound that can drive a man insane with desire. I return to her lips, kissing harder this time, drawing in her bottom lip between my teeth. Grabbing her hips, I tug her closer. “Those little sexy noises make me crazy,” I tell her.
“I approve of this reaction,” she says playfully when she feels my hard-on.
“Feel free to show approval manually,” I say, joking. But, you know, not joking. If she wanted to get her hands in my pants, I would not protest one bit.
She brings her mouth to my ear. “Or orally.”
I groan. I would love to feel her lips wrapped nice and tight around me. “Now you’re really driving me nuts. Saying those dirty things when I know you’re going to walk inside and leave me out here. But I’ll be a good shark.”
She presses a palm against my hard-on, feeling me through my shorts. “You are a very good shark, Andrew.”
“So good you’ll let me take you out another night?” I ask, because I’ve got to see this woman again.
“I wouldn’t complain about that,” she says, as she slinks her hands up my chest, tiptoeing over my abs. I grab her hips and slam her against me.
“I wouldn’t either. I want to see you again, and you’ve got to know how much I want to touch you again too.”
She nibbles on the corner of her lip. “I want that too. Both.”
It’s a promise. Of another time. Another night.
I grab my phone from my back pocket and say, “Give me your number.”
I open my contacts and hand her the phone. She taps in her digits, and as she finishes, my ring tone sounds.
“Shit. Let me grab that.” I swipe the call and say, “Hey man, give me twenty seconds.”
Then, I lean in and brush one mor
e kiss to her lips. “I’ll text you my number later. K?”
“You better.” Gripping my shirt, she tugs me close. She rocks her hips against me, and I nearly throw the phone to the ground, but I’ve got to take this call. It’s my agent, and shit’s been going down.
“I will, Dani Surfer Angel,” I say, then I turn around, head down her steps, and give her a tip of the hat one more time as she unlocks her door and heads inside.
As I walk down her street, I bring the phone to my ear. “What’s the story, man?”
He tells me, and my jaw fucking drops.
Chapter Three
Dani
I yank open the kitchen cupboard in Ally’s apartment one more time. Maybe it’s my fourth time. Fine, it’s my tenth. But it just yanks so satisfyingly.
“How do you not have tea or coffee?” I shout, irritated, as I stare at the nearly-bare shelves in her tiny kitchen.
“There’s this thing called Starbucks.” Her breezy voice calls out. But don’t let it fool you. She learned sarcasm from the best. “They have them everywhere. You go in, order your drink, and voila. The barista serves it,” she says, and yup, I was right. She’s a chip off the old block.
Her shoes clack against the tiles as she marches into the kitchen, her blond hair swishing in a high ponytail. I give my baby sister a cold stare. “Starbucks is expensive. You shouldn’t go there every day.”
“I have a million friends who are baristas.” She turns her voice to a stage whisper as she spreads out her hands. “News flash. They give me free drinks.”
I toss up my hands, exasperated. “Everyone gives you free everything. Because you’re so pretty,” I say in a hiss, pointing to her gorgeous figure, her lush blond hair, her sky-blue eyes. I slam her cupboard door. I already had a coffee at my own place this morning. But I want another. I want something. Anything. I’m still annoyed that that asshole hasn’t called or texted. It’s been four days, and while I’m immensely glad I didn’t invite him into my bed, I’m also ridiculously disappointed.
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