Ahead in the Heat

by Lorelie Brown

  She shook her head, her smile going wider. “No way.”

  “Why not?” He grinned at her, then slipped his hand onto her thigh beneath the line of the table. His fingers flirted with the hem of her shorts. The skin of her inner thighs was thin and delicate. “I’ve trusted you with my most favorite body part. You’ve put me through two-hour workouts to strengthen my shoulder. You can trust me too.”

  “You have a point.” She didn’t pull away from his touch, but she didn’t exactly purr under his attention either. Her smile was more dark and mysterious than coquettish. She wasn’t exactly the flirting type.

  Which was exactly why he’d been so damn shocked when she’d tossed it all over in order to play with his cock. He had a decent ego, but that was simply ridiculous. “We’ll play tit for tat.”

  “I think that’s what we just did.”

  He mimed a drum rim shot, but that only made her stick her tongue out at him. He liked her. The snarky, subtle flavor of her personality was one he hadn’t tasted in a long time. Before he had a chance to push further, the waitress stood at the end of the table. She had a little pad of paper, a pen, and a smile that was about as fake as the racks on Sean’s usual girls.

  “What can I get you?”

  Annie leaned around Sean. “A menu might be nice.”

  “You mean a drink menu?” The waitress tossed a thick sheaf of hair back over her shoulder. The tangled, tousled look and damp roots said she was probably a surfer when she wasn’t waiting tables.

  “I was promised food,” Annie said to Sean. “Your batting average is dropping.”

  “There’s no menu here.” He hooked his arms across the back of the booth. “It’s either wings, and then there’s only hot or hotter, or fish tacos done Manny’s way.”

  He was kind of curious how well Annie would deal with this. She didn’t always seem to be the loose and roll-with-it kind of girl. She liked things the way she liked them. There wasn’t always much middle ground.

  Lots of women wouldn’t like Manny’s. In fact, Sean had only ever brought a woman here once and that had been a complete accident. He’d picked up a chick at a martini bar, only to realize she lived two houses down from Manny’s and had never been. Sean had been so astonished that he’d insisted on going—only to spend the next hour swamped by subtle whining and mock surprise that a San Sebastian bar would be so down-market.

  Annie speared him with a single, searing look. “Do you swear I won’t get food poisoning?”

  He traced two fingers over his chest, then held them up. “I swear it on my history as a Boy Scout.”

  “I’ll take the fish tacos, then.” He liked the way her mouth tweaked up into one of her little smiles as she leaned her elbows on the table. She was a go-to sort of girl after all.

  “Good choice. I’ll have them too.”

  It didn’t take long before the waitress was back again, this time carrying two plates that looked more like trenchers than china. They were dark wood, lined with time-tempered metal and each piled with half a dozen tiny tacos. She set them down, along with the sodas they’d also ordered and a stack of napkins two inches thick. “Enjoy.”

  “Dude, I plan to.” Annie’s eyes were wide. “These look great.”

  Each taco was only the size of Sean’s palm. The fish was seared and grilled, with cabbage and Manny’s secret dressing—which Sean was pretty sure had something to do with yogurt and coriander and a half dozen other herbs and spices. “Manny grows the tomatoes in a rooftop garden.”

  Annie glanced up toward the ceiling, her expression doubtful. “Here? On a commercial property?”

  “Yeah, his apartment is upstairs. The garden’s on the roof. He throws wicked parties up there sometimes.” Sean took a sip of his soda, leaning back in the booth. “Try it.”

  Annie wasted no time in obeying. The tacos were a little gooey, causing white sauce to dribble out the back. But the first bite made her eyes drift shut and her cheeks soften in bliss. “Oh. Oh, that’s really good.”

  “Good. Now I can tell you that I was never a Boy Scout.”

  “I know.” She licked a bit of sauce off her pinkie.

  “You did not.” He scooped up his own taco, inhaling half in one bite. Spice exploded across his tongue, clearing out his sinuses.

  Her smile was supremely confident. “Did too.”

  “I could have been an Eagle Scout and you’d have no idea.”

  “You weren’t.” She kept tucking into her food as they teased. He liked a girl who could eat, and in Annie’s case, that was especially respectable, considering her size. She couldn’t afford to lose any calories. “In fact,” she continued, “I’d bet you were the type of kid who avoided any organized sports or groups.”

  “You’re right.” He wiped his hands with a napkin, slowly getting each of his palms. “I grew up rough, actually. Mom discouraged joining . . . eh, she discouraged joining anything, pretty much.”

  “How about your dad?”

  “Gone.” He gave his best rakish grin, the one that had dropped panties worldwide. He knew he was good-looking. Hard to be in magazines and ads without recognizing that on some level. Sean’s mom had always said his looks came from his dad, though. “You’re looking at the bona fide product of a one-night stand. Old-school bar-style pickup, to boot. Mom never knew his last name.”

  “Ouch.” Annie put her hand on his knee, and the simple gesture oddly eased the sting. “Did you have a good mom, at least?”

  “Nope,” he said with an artificial injection of cheeriness. “She was batshit crazy. I loved her lots, but she was completely around the bend.”

  Annie’s eyes went wide. She breathed his name and her fingers tightened on his leg. Fuck, he hadn’t meant to say that much. There was something about simply being with Annie that made everything easier. And made keeping secrets harder.

  But he couldn’t stand the pain on her face. It was totally time for distraction mode. “Whatever, though. How did you know I wasn’t a Boy Scout? Don’t I have an honest face?”

  She studied him for another long, quiet moment, but apparently decided to give him a minute and let the subject drop. “The Boy Scout salute is done with three fingers raised.” She demonstrated, holding up her three middle fingers and folding down her thumb and pinkie in the direct opposite of a surfer’s hang loose gesture. “Not two.”

  “Damn. Guess that Eagle Scout dream is shot.”

  Just like his chance of holding his past private would be shot if he didn’t get something done about those rumors.

  Chapter 16

  The problem with firing Sean as a client was that it left Annie with no ready excuses for seeing or talking to him. She had to admit to herself that she simply wanted to see him. To hear his voice. They spent hours on the phone—until late—simply because they had been goofing around. The phone pressed to her cheek had become warm at the edges. “The Beatles or the Stones. It’s not like choosing a thesis statement.”

  “I didn’t go to college. Don’t you use them fancy thesis thingies on me.”

  She was lying in her bed, her head piled on three pillows and her feet propped up on two more. Twirling the fringe on a pale blue afghan, she stared up at the ceiling and pictured Sean’s face. So handsome. He verged on beautiful, but it was the sharpness to his features that drew her. When they’d said good-bye three days ago, he’d kissed her on both cheeks with the aplomb of a world traveler. She’d rolled her eyes at his put-on sophistication, especially since minutes earlier he’d been licking taco drippings from the side of his hand.

  He was . . . complicated.

  “Yeah right.” She made a scoff noise in the back of her throat. “You’re not dumb.”

  There was a moment that drew out like taffy, and all of a sudden she regretted that she couldn’t see his face. There were a lot of hints she read in those sharp blue eyes and in t
he hold of his mouth. The scruffy beard didn’t hide the way the muscle in front of his ear jumped when he was displeased. “No, really, Annie. I didn’t go to college at all.”

  “Oh.” On one level, she had to have realized that. The trajectory of his career meant that he wouldn’t have had time to go in the traditional way. But he’d been surfing on the circuit for around eight years. “You didn’t go online or anything?”

  “Didn’t need to. I’ve got an excellent manager, and I’ve built what I need to.”

  She scrunched her eyes shut. He’d certainly made plenty of money, hadn’t he? And she wouldn’t have gone to college either if Terry had organized her career the way he’d wanted. “I didn’t mean to sound like I was judging or something. It’s just how smart you are. I assumed.”

  “I figure I’ll go when I have more time. After I’ve won a championship and I’ve retired from the circuit.” His chuckle came through as clearly as if he’d been sitting right next to her. Her breasts tightened and tingles lanced her nipples at the sound of it. “It’s a little hard to manage a pro career and an academic career at the same time.”

  “I bet.” She sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. “But still, I think your inability to decide between the Stones and the Beatles speaks to a significant drawback in your personality.”

  “Is that right?” He paused for a beat, and then she heard his voice drop into a purr that did wicked, melty things to her insides. “What are you wearing?” He’d said he was sitting on his back patio while they talked, watching the dark waves roll in.

  “A tank top and panties.” Heat flashed across her cheeks. Thank God she was alone in her room, because her blush was incendiary.

  “What’s on the tank top?”

  “On?” She shook her head, suddenly confused. “There’s nothing on it. It’s just white.”

  “Damn,” he muttered with another little laugh. “I had a bet with myself whether it’d be a comic book reference or a television show.”

  She jumped, clapping her hand over the front of her panties, as if he could see through her cell phone. But she must have made an involuntary squeak, because he pounced. “What? What is it? Is the tank top modeled on a show or something?”

  Well technically, she did have tanks that were designed in the layered look of Battlestar Galactica, but she actually wasn’t wearing those. “No. It’s nothing. There’s nothing on my shirt.” She was talking too fast, the words coming out in a clatter.

  “Nothing on your shirt,” Sean repeated. She could practically see his eyes narrowing, see him edging forward. He’d put his elbows on his knees and lean into her. “That leaves your panties. What’s on your panties, Annie?”

  She shook her head frantically, only to realize he couldn’t actually see her. She clapped her arm over her eyes. Hidden in the dark, she was tempted to tell him. “Nothing.”

  “Annie. Please.”

  She squeezed her arm tighter over her eyes, but then she was laughing. “I can’t fucking believe I’m going to tell you this.”

  He laughed too, almost in solidarity. “Come on. Tell me. You know you want to.”

  “I’m the biggest sucker in the world.”

  “You should tell me, and you should come to the beach tomorrow with me. The new therapist said I was cleared. Gotta keep to relatively small waves, but I can give the shoulder a try.”

  She stopped laughing as suddenly as if the air had been sucked out of the room and out of her lungs with it. She sat upright. “Define what you’ll expect from me at the beach.”

  “You’ll come to my house, and then we’ll go all the way into the water.” There was a pause, and then something that sounded like Sean clearing his throat, except that would mean he was sort of nervous. “And I’ll have a board waiting for you.”

  “Sean . . .” She drew his name into something more than only a name. Asking him not to do this to her, maybe. Except that wasn’t all of it. She was tempted; she had to admit it. It had been almost six years since she’d been surfing.

  She’d always thought she was happy with skateboarding. It gave her the rush, and it involved her whole body. The tricks she’d learned were epic, considering that she’d taken up skateboarding only after she’d given up surfing.

  Seeing the ocean every time she went to Sean’s house was wearing on her, though. To be so close without actually being in it . . . She was starting to crave the salt water.

  “Okay, let’s start small.” Sean’s voice slayed her. He was so intense. “Tell me about the panties.”

  “They’re thin white boy-cut, with a little Xbox 360 emblem, and they say ‘achievement locked.’” Telling him about the panties did really seem minor compared to the taunting, tempting idea of surfing again. “Gaming reference, not comics or TV. So both sides of you lose.”

  “Fuck no. I get to picture you in your panties. Neither side of me loses.”

  “Are you going to think about me later? With your hand on yourself?” She was desperate to think of anything but the idea of going back to the ocean. Once it got ahold of her, she probably wouldn’t be able to walk away again. Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing. She didn’t have to be involved in the pro world just to be able to go surfing again. There were tens of thousands of people all over the world who surfed regularly and didn’t even read surfing magazines.

  He saw right through her. “Come to the beach. I’m not going to pick you up and put you on a board or anything. Just waves and water. It’s supposed to be above eighty. Pretty warm.”

  The first really warm day of spring, heralding the coming summer. Spending it at the beach would be just the thing. Not an expectation in and of itself. And he was right. It wasn’t like anyone could actually force her to surf. “Yeah. I’ll go.”

  “Wonderful,” he purred. “It’s a date.”

  * * *

  So he’d talked her into another date. She suddenly didn’t like calling them that. Why did they have to put names on what was going on? They were grown adults, almost thirty. It wasn’t like their dates were to the school dance or anywhere dumb.

  Instead, she was waiting for him at the edge of the beach, where the scrub plants gave way to sand, and she was wearing a swimsuit.

  She put her hands flat over her bare stomach. The bikini had come from the back of her drawer, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d put it on. Maybe two years ago for a picnic with her drop-in kids? She had managed to avoid going in the water that day. It hadn’t been that hard, since she’d volunteered for the volleyball tournament. No mess, no fuss, and she got to keep the ocean in her peripheral vision.

  She was an idiot. A full-blown idiot. She was throwing so much of herself up in the air for this man, and it was only going to be a temporary thing. There would be no happily ever after for them. It was one thing to agree to a single afternoon at the beach, but she’d stayed away from the ocean for reasons—important reasons.

  Drawing a deep, burning breath into her lungs, she intentionally turned to look at the water. In Southern California, the water always kept a green tint. That was due to the depth and the temperature of the water, and the accumulated masses of beings that lived and existed in the ocean. Being out there in the water was like touching an alien world. Surfing was like conquering that world.

  Which, in the end, was why she was here after all. Sean might have issued the invitation, but he hadn’t thrown her over his shoulder. He hadn’t forced her into anything, because she was a grown woman in complete control of her mouth. She had to admit she wanted that rush back. She wanted to know if she could have it pure and free of all the rest of the bullshit of the pro world.

  “If you wanted to body surf, I’d really, really try not to think too badly of you.”

  Annie jumped, her hand flying to the base of her throat as she spun. “Jesus, Sean. I didn’t hear you come up.”

  He shrug
ged, but the gesture was contained by the two boards he had hooked under one arm. With careful movements he stretched out his bad arm, then moved it farther as no pain registered on his face. “It’s the sand. Hid my steps.”

  “Duh.” She winced. She hadn’t meant for that to come out so harshly. “I mean, yeah. I’m sure that’s right.”

  “Come on, sugar,” he said, striding out past her onto the white expanse of sand and toward the water. “Let’s stake out some land before it gets too crowded.”

  “It’s a Thursday afternoon. Shouldn’t be too bad.”

  “Perks of being self-employed.” He had a gorgeous grin usually, but now it was ridiculous. He was so energized, in a way she hadn’t seen in him before.

  The board he presented was perfect for her. Plain white with the classic “. . . lost” logo in the center, it was under six feet and had the usual deep V-tail of a fish. Her hand lifted on its own. The bottom was slick and glassy, in perfect shape. The top had been waxed to perfection. Its bumpy pattern was familiar under her fingertips. Sean stood there patiently, not saying anything while she petted a surfboard.

  Something stung the back of her eyes. “I used to have one just like this.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he said. His words were businesslike, but his eyes were shining with compassion. “The RNF 5 is a really traditional model. It’s been around more than twenty years.”

  “Is that new wax?” She traced the pattern.

  “Did it last night. Didn’t want you to have any excuse to pass. Warmed up my shoulder for the evening too.”

  “Diagonal crosshatch—isn’t that fancy.” Her smile felt wistful. “I used to do straight ups and downs.”

  “Everyone’s got their own style.”

  She bit her bottom lip, looking up at him. He wasn’t pushing. He wasn’t insisting she should do it. He’d only presented her with the perfect board. Years ago, she’d slowly sold her boards one by one, as she left her past behind her. For a little while, she’d thought maybe she’d surf again, so she’d kept her RNF 5. Then it gathered dust in her garage and made her sad every time she’d seen it, and she’d assumed she was done with that part of her life. So she’d sold it on eBay.