The Summer Deal

by Jill Shalvis

  “No. And I’m in a good place now too. I learned the lesson I was supposed to.”

  “And what was that?”

  “That I’m too trusting. I’m not going to be walked on, not ever again.” She paused, took a deep breath. “And I really am sorry about tonight. That was all on me. I just was embarrassed, but that was no excuse not to let you know I was there. I’m also sorry about your grandma. What you’re doing, trying to make sure she gets the burial she wanted—you’re a good person.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “No. No,” she said again on a small laugh when his brows went up. “I knew you were a good person. I just . . . didn’t know I liked you.”

  “Same.” He thought he’d had her pegged. A bird with a broken wing who needed a little help. He was good with that scenario. He was good at helping. It was what he did. And it made her a good roommate for him, because he could tell himself he wasn’t in any way attracted to her.

  But he hadn’t counted on those sweet brown eyes and how she looked at things, including him. He hadn’t counted on her adorably sexy smile, the one that seemed to reach right inside his chest and warm him when he hadn’t even realized he was cold.

  She gave him another one of those smiles now. The window was open and they could hear the surf pounding the shore. The salty ocean air, one of his favorite things, drifted over them. And though the only things touching were their elbows as they both leaned against the granite countertop, it was one of the most intimate moments he’d had in a long time.

  “You’re a marine biologist, right?” she asked. “Cool job.”

  “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Mostly I spend a whole bunch of time in scuba gear freezing my bits off, or searching for funds so that we can continue to protect and report on the marine life in the bay.”

  “Explains your comfort in a wet suit.” She raised a brow. “You always go commando under it?”

  He laughed. “Not at work. And only if it’s like a week past laundry day.”

  “Is it dangerous work?”

  “Laundry? Yes, deadly dangerous. It’s why I procrastinate.”

  She laughed. “Your job. You ever run into a shark?”

  “It’s the jellyfish that are terrifying. I’ve been stung twice, which hurts like a bitch. How about you?”

  “Nope.” She smiled. “I’ve never been stung by a jellyfish.”

  “Smart-ass.” He liked that. A lot. “I meant about your work.”

  “I start a new job tomorrow, so I’m nervous. It’ll be the first time I’ve ever taught kindergarteners. I’d maybe prefer to get stung by a jellyfish.”

  “Trust me, you wouldn’t. What did you teach before this?”

  “High school English. Before that I tutored middle schoolers and high schoolers at a tutoring academy. Before that I was a nanny and a waitress, along with a few other odd jobs while I was in college.”

  “If you could teach and tutor middle and high schoolers, you can teach kindergarteners. They’re kind of the same thing. Plus, you’re bringing a lot of experience to the table. You’ll do great.”

  She stared at him like maybe no one had ever said anything like that to her before. “Thanks,” she said softly.

  One of their stomachs growled. His this time, and he began to move around the kitchen, pulling out what he needed, oddly reluctant to call it a night in spite of the late hour.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “Didn’t we just eat?”

  “Hours ago. Do you like pancakes?”

  She laughed. “I love pancakes. Especially at midnight.”

  He grinned. “Midnight pancakes taste better.”

  “So you do this a lot?”

  “Yeah. Surfing burns a lot of calories.”

  “Then maybe I should try it.”

  “I could teach you,” he said, stirring the ingredients together.

  “Be careful what you offer me,” she said. “I like to try new things. I’m just not usually any good at them.”

  “You’ll be good at this.”

  “You know I’m a klutz,” she said.

  He turned and looked at her. She looked at him right back. “Trust me,” he said.

  She busied herself with moving around the kitchen. “You also know I’m not very good with trust either. Are you as good at pancakes as you are at surfing?”

  “Better.”

  “Hmm.” She hopped up onto the counter. “Then consider me as hopeful as Mini.”

  The dog had showed up with hopeful eyes, padding over to the stove to sit and watch Eli.

  Brynn didn’t just sit. She always seemed to be in motion, legs moving, talking with her hands. Her hair was a riot of loose waves and she didn’t seem to care, which he found refreshing and—damn—extremely attractive.

  She was intriguing.

  More than.

  He added an ingredient that had Mini sitting up straight.

  Brynn too. “Chocolate chip pancakes?”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  She grinned, and something deep inside him . . . warmed. His cold, dead heart, he realized with surprise, and he flipped the first pancake with a flick of his wrist.

  Brynn clapped in delight sitting there on his countertop, legs now crossed and tucked beneath her.

  “You look like you’re sixteen and in high school,” he said with a smile.

  “I didn’t go to high school. I was homeschooled by then.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged, looking at the pan, not him. “I was moving at a faster pace.”

  He knew by her body language that there was a whole bunch more to that story than she was willing to tell him. Something he understood. “So why kindergarten?” he asked.

  “It was all that was open. I’m hoping for the best. Kindergarten’s a really hard time for kids. They’re away from their moms and scared to be different. Maybe I can help them see that they’re unique and special just the way they are.”

  He thought that statement was more revealing than anything she’d said up to that point. “I don’t think you have anything to be nervous about,” he said quietly.

  Their gazes met and held.

  Max reappeared, breaking the moment. He’d dressed, Eli was happy to see, wearing loose basketball shorts and a T-shirt, looking rumpled, like maybe he’d gone to bed but had just rolled out of it again. “I smell chocolate chip pancakes.” He spied what Eli was doing and pumped a triumphant fist. “Yes!” He went to the fridge and unwrapped what looked like a pancake, stuck it on a plate, and set it down for Mini.

  “Chicken and rice and carrot pancake,” Eli told Brynn. “Max makes a batch for her once a week or so. She likes to eat with us.”

  Max pulled out more plates, handing them to Eli, who loaded them up with not chicken and rice and carrot pancakes just as Kinsey walked in, nose wriggling.

  Eli nodded at her and said what he always said. “You’re alive.”

  She returned it with her usual, “Not for lack of trying.”

  This had been going on since they’d been teenagers and she’d almost died after her surgery. It sounded macabre, but truthfully it was a release and a relief to repeat those words to each other. Sort of like taking the burden off her of trying to stay alive, when sometimes he knew she wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was worth the effort.

  “Gimme,” Kinsey said, grabbing a plate. She nodded at Brynn, then turned to Max and froze. “You’re barefoot in the house again.”

  “I was born with bare feet,” he said.

  “Yes,” Kinsey said, “But we’ve been over this. Bare feet are not allowed.”

  Eli looked at Brynn. “She’s got a phobia of men’s feet.”

  “It’s not a phobia,” Kinsey said. “Men’s feet are gross.”

  “Phobia,” Eli repeated. “Along with people throwing up and getting dirty.”

  Kinsey tossed up her free hand. “Well, why don’t you just throw all my crazy out there at once and scare off the new roomm
ate again?”

  Eli scooped two pancakes onto her plate. She was wearing flip-flops and a huge black T-shirt that fell to her knees and had slipped off one of her shoulders. It read: I LIKE MY WATER FROZEN INTO ICE CUBES AND SURROUNDED BY VODKA.

  “Deck’s shirt?” he asked.

  “No. I love vodka.”

  “Liar,” he said. “You hate vodka—you love bourbon. But I know why you’re lying. It’s because you told me if I ever saw you in anything of Deck’s, I should shoot you on sight because you’d deserve it for being so sappy as to wear your man’s clothing.”

  She pointed at him. “Don’t piss me off and get on my shit list.”

  “I’m always on your shit list. I just move up and down on it.”

  “Yeah, well, you just moved to the number one spot.”

  Eli laughed as he turned to Brynn and dropped two big, fluffy pancakes onto her plate. “Butter? Marshmallow spread? Syrup? Whatever you want.”

  Kinsey’s eyes narrowed, and she stopped in the act of grabbing the syrup from the fridge. “How come you didn’t offer the ‘anything you want’ to me?”

  “Because you’re mean.”

  She flipped him off, then took her first bite and murmured, “Oh my God.” She swallowed and gave him a thumbs-up.

  Mixed signals. The story of his life from all the women in it.

  Chapter 9

  From twelve-year-old Brynn’s summer camp journal:

  Dear Moms,

  Omg, this year’s veggie is WILTED SPINACH! I don’t even think they mean for it to be wilted, but it is. And it’s disgusting!

  I’m not even going to bother telling you how much I hate it here, or that I want to come home, since I know you’re on your dream cruise this week and I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m fine. UGH! But if you come home early, come get me.

  Also, guess what? Someone—I’m sure it was Kinsey, because hello!—stole my glasses again. But when I fell into the creek and got all muddy and scraped both knees, Eli brought me my glasses. He said he found them, but I know he stole them back from Kinsey. He seems really quiet this year. I heard someone say his dad ran away with the babysitter. I’m glad I don’t have a dad.

  Also, I still hate everyone here but him.

  Love,

  Brynn

  BRYNN WAS WORKING her way through her stack of chocolate chip pancakes, trying not to moan with pleasure with every single bite. How in the world had she lived her entire life without midnight chocolate chip pancakes? When she finished, she nearly licked her plate, and would have . . . except a guy came into the room.

  He was massive. Six and a half feet of solid muscle. Clearly just out of bed, dark hair sticking up in an oddly endearing fashion, dark eyes at half-mast, and a whole bunch of dark skin covered only by a pair of basketball shorts, tats, and nipple piercings. He had a T-shirt in one big hand, which he shrugged into as he entered the kitchen, sniffing the pancake-laden air appreciatively. He came up behind Kinsey, where she was eating standing up at the island. Got right into her space, his chest to her back, and rubbed his jaw to hers. Then he swatted her playfully on the ass, ending with a palm squeeze.

  Deck, she presumed.

  “Hey,” Kinsey said. “Hands off the merchandise.”

  “That’s not what you were saying a few minutes ago.” He took her fork and helped himself to a bite. “Were you seriously not going to wake me for Eli’s pancakes?”

  Kinsey snatched her fork back.

  Brynn goggled at this domestic display.

  Max didn’t. “Wouldn’t mind having my ass slapped,” he said a little woefully.

  Deck slapped his ass.

  Max grinned at him. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  “This here is Deck,” Eli told Brynn. “He’s Kinsey’s—” He broke off and looked at Deck.

  “Don’t look at me,” the guy said, accepting a stack of pancakes on his own plate from Eli that was so tall, surely no single human could eat it. “You know she gets hives if you put a label on it.”

  “I do not,” Kinsey said.

  “Yeah?” Deck took a big bite, chewed, swallowed. “Then label me. Boy Toy? Best Lover You’ve Ever Had?”

  “How about Pain in My Ass.”

  “Aw,” Deck said with a grin, not appearing the least bit insulted. “Sweet.”

  Kinsey rolled her eyes and went to the fridge, grabbing a cranberry juice before going still. “Hey, there’s a piece missing from my chocolate lava cake.”

  Eli raised his hand.

  “That cake’s mine,” she said.

  “She’s cranky when she’s not getting her beauty sleep,” Eli said to Deck.

  “No shit,” Deck said.

  Kinsey’s eyes were narrowed. “A mom of one of the kids at the middle school made that cake for me.”

  “It’s massive,” Eli said. “You’re not sharing?”

  “Let me repeat. Chocolate lava cake.”

  “Thought I was your best friend,” Eli said.

  “You are, but touch my chocolate lava cake again and I’ll murder you in your sleep.”

  “I remember like six months ago coming home with that whole big basket of mini muffins,” Eli said. “I went to bed, and when I woke up, you’d mowed through all the good ones.”

  “Hey, that basket came to you by way of some rando chick at a work party. You didn’t even know her name. She could’ve been a stalker for all you know. I was merely taste-testing for you. You’re welcome.”

  “Wow.” Eli flipped some more pancakes. “Just when you think you know someone . . .”

  “Just stay out of my cake,” Kinsey said.

  Brynn was fascinated by the easy comradery between them all. They were close and comfortable with each other in a way she couldn’t say she’d ever been with anyone. Thinking about that, she pushed her glasses up farther on her nose . . . at the exact moment that Kinsey did the same thing.

  Max snorted.

  Kinsey glared at him.

  Max just shook his head.

  Okay, there was either an odd dynamic going on, or Brynn was missing a whole bunch. Like take Deck and Kinsey. If Brynn went off just their words to each other, she’d have said they were a one-night stand. But Kinsey was wearing Deck’s shirt, and Deck clearly liked that. And then there was the way they looked at each other. Or at least the way Deck looked at Kinsey, with warmth and genuine affection.

  But she realized that Kinsey was looking at Deck too, but only when she thought no one was watching.

  Brynn had no idea why she’d hide it. If she had someone as into her as Deck appeared to be, she’d . . . well, she’d probably screw things up like she always did.

  “How’s the arm?” Deck asked Max.

  Max flexed his arm, rolled his shoulder. “Better.”

  “Max wiped out on his surfboard a few weeks back,” Eli explained to Brynn. “Tore some ligaments. Deck’s a nurse at the hospital and was on the night I dragged Max’s whiney ass in.”

  Deck grinned. “That was a fun night.”

  “Hey.” Max pointed a fork at both of the other men. “I did not whine.”

  “Ah, man, you so whined,” Deck said. “And then you passed out when you got a steroid injection. Bounced your head off the floor and gave yourself a concussion. We admitted you for the night, and then you mooned all the nurses when you got up in the morning.”

  Max sighed. “Those hospitals gowns suck, man. You try dragging an IV stand around and holding the back of the stupid gown together at the same time.”

  “I only moon people who want to see my ass.” Deck flashed a grin at Kinsey.

  She pointed at him. “Finish your damn pancakes and get out.”

  Deck just laughed. He’d cleaned his plate. But he grabbed one more pancake, rolled it, and took a bite. He winked at Kinsey, bent for a quick but hot-looking kiss, and then walked out the back door, eating his pancake.

  Kinsey watched him go. Well, she watched his butt go, and Brynn got it. The guy had
an exceptional butt.

  “You kicked him out of bed?” Max asked.

  “He takes up all the space.”

  “And?”

  “And I like to take up all the space.”

  Max just shook his head and ambled off, presumably back to his room.

  Brynn hopped off the counter to do the same, but stopped at the sink to wash dishes.

  “What are you doing?” Eli asked.

  “You cooked—again—so I’m washing.”

  Eli looked at Kinsey. “You see that? That’s a good roommate.”

  “Hey, you explicitly forbade me to do the dishes ever again.”

  “That’s because you throw away the silverware instead of washing them.”

  “That was an accident.” Kinsey yawned and pushed away from the island, wobbling for a minute. Eli quickly set down the pan he was carrying to the sink and grabbed her, sliding an arm around her.

  “I’m fine.” But for a single beat Kinsey set her head on his shoulder and accepted the hug. Then she pushed away and walked out of the room.

  Brynn sent a silent question Eli’s way, but he just shook his head.

  “She gets vertigo.”

  They all had a role here, she realized. And Eli’s role was the glue. He nudged Brynn over and took on the dishwasher role, letting her dry, directing her where to put everything away.

  It was a comfortable silence between them, but there was something underlying the ease, she realized, watching him efficiently wash the dishes. He had a way of moving, his muscles bunching and releasing beneath his T-shirt, that sent a zing through her body, putting it on high alert. The good kind of high alert.

  Which was not good at all, but bad.

  Not making any decisions right now, remember?

  “Deep thoughts?” he asked.

  “No. Ignore me.”

  His gaze held hers. “That’s going to be hard to do.”

  She stared back at him. “I . . . should tell you something.”

  “Besides the fact that you’re not allowing yourself to make any decisions right now?”

  “I think I should also be off men.”

  “Forever?”

  “I don’t know.” She grimaced, because she knew herself. “No. Not forever.”

  He gave a single nod. “Noted.”