Because Beards
Page 46
Game? Our clock was running down, and the buzzer was about to go off. I had to score soon because there would be no chance at extra periods.
“So, this new job you’re moving to Tennessee for. What will you be doing?”
She leveled a perfectly sensible gaze on me. “No, Blake. We will not start the small talk now. I’m very glad I had a chance to meet you. We had a mostly enjoyable flight.” The corners of her lips kicked up. “I think we will both go home and finish what we started, no?” Fuck! This woman with the fabulous tits, the body of a goddess, the lips I’d jack off to the moment I got home . . .
The plane dove in a wide arc as it made its final approach and I waited for her to cry out. To clutch at the armrests—or me. When she didn’t, I leaned forward to catch her eye. “You’re only afraid to go up, not afraid of going down?”
She shrugged. That bare shoulder under my lips was smooth and scented. Entirely feminine. “Perhaps I only have the fear when it is dark.”
My heartbeat increased. She was slipping away. “What if I need you to hold my hand so I’m not afraid?” I added a teasing grin—hoped it was playful and not desperate. Would she give me a smile in return? I’d seen her smile. Knew her lighthearted side. Dammit, Sophie. What if it wasn’t the storm I was afraid of?
The plane’s wheels hit the tarmac and in fraught silence we rolled to the jetway and jerked to a stop.
Sophie
As soon as the seat belt light dinged off, it was chaos in the plane as everyone stood to reach for their stored belongings. They were eager to leave the confined space, but then, so was I. Without much effort I could be coerced into continuing this relationship with Blake. But, no! I was only now beginning my own life. Without a father deciding where I worked. Where I lived. Without a brother deciding who I dated.
Blake rose with the backpack he had stored at his feet. At a break in the stream of traffic, he stepped into the aisle, then waited while I stepped before him. His hand on my arm made me look back and glance at my abandoned seat. “Did I leave something—”
He paused before answering, his touch heavy on my sleeve. “No. I want your number.”
I rolled my eyes. “You are a stubborn man. Wherever you are from, it cannot be near where I am moving. It is a small town. The people all know each other.” I continued to walk until I was off the plane and amid the crowd hurrying down the jetway. Blake came up beside me.
“How do you know I’m not nearby? What’s the name of your town?”
Was the man obtuse? I halted in the midst of the sea of moving bodies to gape at him, then continued to move with the flow. “Blake, what we had was nice. Pleasant.” He raised an eyebrow. I shrugged. “I am not your hookup. I have a life and a serious career. I must protect those things.”
I followed the directional sign to Baggage Claim, Blake’s possessive hand at the small of my back and my heels clacking on the floor tiles. I had two large suitcases to collect, both brand new. Red, which I determined was my new signature color. Bold. I had given everything in my apartment—everything except my clothes—to my sister who was moving into her first apartment. In a sense, we were both starting over.
At the baggage terminals, I lost sight of Blake. Perhaps he had no luggage to collect and left without saying good-bye. My heartbeat tripped over that thought until I reminded it that was probably for the best. New job. New life. No time for a new love also.
I spotted one of my suitcases on the conveyor belt and shouldered my way through the crowd. It was tempting to put my uncomfortable high heels to use, but I was a newcomer to this area where I hoped the people would warm to me; so instead, I used care not to step on toes. By the time I arrived, a tall—very tall, impossibly handsome—man with his dark hair up in a man bun had already wrestled my bag to the floor and was reaching for the second. He hefted it to stand beside the first. Blake accepted a large postcard from a third man, folded it and stashed it in his backpack. They did that handshake, shoulder grab, chest bump guy thing; then my hero approached Blake and they executed an elaborate handshake fist bump performance that only longtime friends cared about remembering.
As they apparently knew each other, I left them to catch up and let my eyes slide over the periphery of the crowd. From time to time one or more of them peered over at me as though he was solving a puzzle.
I was to be picked up by a member of the school board. A man I had spoken to on the telephone, but had never met in person. I had tried to stalk him on Facebook and LinkedIn to find a photograph but had no luck. Who did not have a social media profile?
“Sophie, come on over here. I’d like you to meet a couple of my friends.” Blake waved me over to his little reunion. I moved to stand beside my luggage, stepping from one foot to the other in the uncertainty of my present situation.
He jabbed the tall guy in the arm. “This is Deke McAllister. We work together.”
Deke stuck out his hand. “How was your trip?”
I let the corners of my lips climb and met Blake’s gaze as I answered Deke. “Memorable.” Blake snorted.
Then Blake’s introduction registered and my heart thumped in my chest. McAllister. McAllister? But Deke. That was not the correct name. Blake indicated the third man, maybe in his early thirties. “This is Deke’s brother, Shane. He’s the local vet in our town. Volunteers on the school board. Great guy.”
Por Dios, of all the guys I could meet in all the bars . . . I lifted my eyes to meet Deke’s gaze, and he was laughing. Amused as though he already had this figured out. Had me figured out. I had no words, but I managed to meet Shane McAllister’s outstretched palm in a handshake. “It is very nice to meet you, Mr. McAllister. And I appreciate the opportunity to work in your school.”
He laughed. “Not my school personally, and your resume speaks for itself. You come highly recommended, and I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job for our students and our community. We welcome you to Moreover. Now, let’s get you there, shall we?” He released the handle to one of the suitcases and tipped it on its wheels. I took the pull-out handle of the companion luggage and followed him toward the exit.
Blake and his friend Deke followed close behind. I kept my hearing tuned to their conversation—it seemed everything Blake did was zeroed in on my radar. I was nearly to the automatic glass door—nearly to freedom—when Blake called to me from behind. Shane and I both stopped walking. Blake jogged to meet me and took the suitcase from my hand. “We’re not done, Sophie. Not by a goddamn longshot.”
He cupped my jaw in both hands, much as he had the night before in the quiet and the dark. When we were alone, not surrounded by a building full of strangers.
He lowered his face until his forehead pressed against mine. Our noses bumped. Our lips brushed.
Then fused.
Blake’s tongue traced the seam of my lips and parted them, then swept the inside of my mouth while the warmth of his hands bracketed my face. I found my hands whispering up the front of his T-shirt. The same soft fabric I shoved up over his abs so I could explore his sun-kissed-skin with soft nibbles. My palms reached his shoulders, and I hung on as our kiss grew fevered, desperate, punishing. Did he understand how badly I hated to say good-bye? I wrapped my forearms around his neck and clung as our kiss pushed all our limits. When Blake’s hands stroked the sides of my torso, and his thumbs grazed my breasts, the sensation awoke me to the realization of our surroundings. Shane and Deke stood side by side, both breathless with laughter.
Shane McAllister recovered himself and once again moved toward the exit doors. I pulled my arms away from Blake’s neck, stepped back with a final brush of his whiskers against my palm, reclaimed my suitcase. What a terrible first impression I must be making!
Blake’s friend Deke wheezed and nearly choked on his words. “What the fuck was that?”
His exclamation sent Shane into another round of chuckles.
Blake’s gaze—as blue as the Pacific we left behind us, more full of self-assured promise than the kiss
we just shared—locked on mine. “The start of overtime.”
I lowered my brow. This man. “What does that . . . What do you—”
“Miss Fernandez, you coming?” I glanced at Shane, waiting near the door, then back at Blake, who wore a smug grin on his face. I must leave. Get away from here. My heart would only be safe if our paths never crossed again.
¡Ay, Dios mio! Overtime?
About Ruthie Henrick
Ruthie’s an Arizona girl, married to her high school sweetheart and mama to three grown sons. She writes contemporary romance with heroes who make you swoon, yet might live right next door. She’s a true romance junkie and a lifetime avid reader who spent far too much time shushing the voices in her head—until the day she sat down at her keyboard to see what all those voices had to say.
She’s a big fan of coffee and easy to cook meals, and she loves country music. It’s generally the soundtrack to whatever she has going on. At work, doing housework, in the car—the music is always on. Except when she writes—that she does in silence.
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Hannah watched the blond surf instructor while he taught his little group of students. There weren’t many other people on the beach, so their activity naturally drew her attention. And the instructor’s tall form encased in black neoprene that molded to his athletic body was droolworthy enough to draw attention. He’d led his students right past her and Elena where they played in the water, his blue eyes locking with hers, spray from the water catching in the scruffy stubble on his face. She’d been stunned into immobility by the electricity that ran through her when their gazes met, unable to look away, even though it embarrassed her to have been caught checking him out.
She tried to ignore them the rest of the time, but was largely unsuccessful. Elena kept giving her shit about it. “I think you might have some drool there,” she said at one point, wiping at her own chin.
Hannah narrowed her eyes at her best friend. “Haha. Shut up.” Elena cackled and went back to the book she’d brought with her. Hannah tried to focus on her book—she was rereading Harry Potter for the millionth time. It seemed like appropriate vacation reading. And while Harry, Ron, and Hermione could usually keep her attention, today they were usurped by the surf god carelessly straddling his surfboard, bobbing on the waves, watching his students take turns trying to surf. He made it look effortless when he caught a wave while his students watched. She wished she could be in his class. Maybe she could convince Elena to take a surf lesson with her. If they dragged Elena’s fifteen-year-old brother along, maybe they’d have enough for a group lesson.
“What’s that face?”
Hannah turned to look at Elena, consciously relaxing the wrinkle in her nose. “Nothing.”
“You looked like you smelled something bad. What are you thinking?”
Hannah shrugged. “It’s nothing, really. I was just thinking.” On second thought, having Elena’s little brother along for a surf lesson didn’t sound like such a great idea after all. In fact, she didn’t even really want Elena along. Maybe the surf god gave private lessons. Should she ask him?
“You should talk to him when he’s done.”
Hannah whipped around to stare at Elena again. “What?”
Elena laughed again. “The surf instructor. You keep staring at him. Just talk to him. Give him your number or ask for his. For God’s sake, do something.”
“You really think I should?”
“Yes. Totally. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“He could laugh in my face.”
Elena shrugged, her eyes going back to her book. “So? It’s not like you’ll ever see him again. And if you do, it’ll only be around here. We’ll go home in a few weeks and then you’ll definitely never see him again. But the way he was looking at you when he walked past, I doubt he’ll laugh at you.”
Hannah nodded, thinking about it some more. Yeah, she’d wait until his students left, and then she’d ask about surf lessons. That could work.
Decision made, she tried to go back to her book, but she kept reading the same page over and over. Eventually she just gave up and closed the book, setting it aside and watching the end of the surf lesson. Her heart rate kicked up when she realized they were all heading back toward shore. It must be over. Soon, she’d have to stand up and walk over to him. She hoped she didn’t stutter or sound like a complete idiot.
She kept her eyes on him the whole time, blushing when he walked back up the beach and caught her staring. But she couldn’t help it. Especially after his students left and he pulled down the top of his wetsuit, the sun pouring over his bare torso. He faced mostly away from her, and his muscles rippled along his back as he bent to pull a water bottle out of a backpack, his head tipping back as he guzzled the water, his longish hair slicked back away from his face.
“You better get over there before he leaves or something.”
Elena’s voice startled her out of her examination of the newly revealed parts of his body. “Right. Good point.” She pulled her feet under her, kicking hot sand on the edge of their beach blanket. Her stomach twisted with nerves, and her heart rate sped higher as she approached him.
He faced away from her so she cleared her throat, but he didn’t turn, the sound lost in the surf and wind before it reached him. Gathering up her courage, she pitched her voice to be heard clearly above the ambient noise. “Do you ever teach private surf lessons?”
The water bottle came down and he turned, his eyes wandering over her body before they met hers. “Yeah, I take on private students.”
The words in his deep voice sent a thrill through Hannah. She shifted her feet, trying to seem cool and unaffected. “Oh, um. So, how do I sign up? Do you work for a surf shop or something? Or can I just give you my number?” Oh God. Really? Did she just offer to give him her number? Obvious much?
A slow smile spread across his face. “Sure. I’d love to get your number. You sure you just want surf lessons?”
Heat spread down her chest, and she could see his eyes tracking the flush taking over her body that she couldn’t possibly blame on the sun. “Well, uh, yeah. Surf lessons sound like fun.” She flapped a hand at the water. “You seem like a good teacher.”
He shifted closer, his blue eyes twinkling. “Oh, I am.”
She tried to keep her eyes on his face, which wouldn’t normally be a challenge with his strong cheekbones, bright blue eyes, straight nose, wide mouth with full, slightly chapped lips that curved at the corners, and the dusting of scruff she noticed earlier, like he hadn’t bothered shaving in a few days. Except that his ripped torso was on display in front of her, and good Lord, he didn’t look like he had a spare ounce of fat anywhere. He was tall and lean, his pecs and biceps bulging as he flexed his hands around his water bottle, his abs rippling when he bent to retrieve his phone from his backpack.
When he stood back up, her eyes traveled slowly back to his face, taking in the V at his hips, the golden happy trail that caught the sunlight, and his flat, brown nipples that tipped the bulges of his pecs. He winked at her when her eyes met his again, and she blushed even more. She must look about the same color as a lobster. And in only a bikini, the blush that covered almost her entire torso was on full display. Fan-freaking-tastic.
He raised an eyebrow, his smile growing wider at her body’s response, and held out his phone. “Here, why don’t you put in your number. I’ll check my schedule at the surf shop, and we can coordinate a time for you to get lessons. My name’s Matt, by the way.”
She took the phone, her fingers brushing his, and she had to stop herself from swaying toward him and making an even bigger fool of herself. But she smiled wide, unable to contain her giddiness at getting his name and
programming her phone number into his phone. “I’m Hannah.”
“Nice to meet you, Hannah.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his pecs and biceps bulging once more and distracting her. He chuckled, a low sound that she almost couldn’t hear over the crash of the waves and the wind whipping past them. “Are you going to just hold my phone, or are you going to give me your number?”
She ripped her eyes away from his chest, prickly heat washing over her once more. Good God, she needed to get a handle on her blushing around this guy. What the hell was wrong with her? She typed her full name—Hannah Glover—and handed his phone back to him.
He typed something into it, then smiled at her before tucking it back into his backpack. “I just sent you a text, so now you have my number too. I was going to surf for a while longer today. I’d offer to give you a lesson now, but you don’t have any equipment, so I’ll check in with the surf shop later this afternoon. Then we can touch base tonight. Sound good?”
She nodded, trying not to seem overeager, but probably failing. “That sounds great!” The huge grin on her face still wouldn’t calm down to a normal, polite smile. But Matt just grinned back at her, obviously not put off by her enthusiasm.
“If you want, we could meet up later to discuss the schedule. There’s a group of us getting together at the Jetties at eight. Wanna come?” He lifted his chin over her shoulder, indicating where Elena sat. “You can bring your friend, if you want.”
Hannah stopped breathing for a second. This super hot surf god was inviting her to hang out with his friends? “Yes, please!” she blurted out before she could stop herself, probably louder than necessary, too.