by Piper Lawson
That was incidental.
When I picked her up, the first thing I noticed was that she'd changed. Instead of bound in a ponytail like it’d been this morning, her hair was long and blond and rippled down her back, like the little indentations the tide left in the sand when it went out. Her sundress showed off long, lightly tanned legs and shoulders that were seriously distracting for a body part whose primary function is connecting arms with torsos.
In a city of Malibu Barbies, her curves were real, not plastic. Plus she had this fresh face that wasn’t coated in makeup.
I bet she’d be hot in a bikini.
I reeled the thought in.
Even though she didn’t have a boyfriend anymore—an admittedly intriguing piece of news—friends are friends, and Dal is the best kind of friend. The kind that asks for nothing and appreciates everything. The kind that’s not worth screwing up.
I’d always got along with girls. Lex and Ava had been good friends in college. Ava was all drama. Lex was…different. With Lex, it got more complicated.
On my end, not hers.
I was over it. But I’d learned my lesson.
Friendship isn’t the opposite of love. It’s a gateway. Even the best of intentions can end in broken hearts. That’s why I keep things black and white when it comes to girls. Clean expectations. Mutual satisfaction. No room for misunderstanding.
“You okay?” Dal asked after locking the door of the shop.
“Yeah. Great. Did Jason ever show?” I asked as we walked down Montana. In the flip-flops she’d changed into when I picked her up, she came up to my chin.
Dal blew out a breath. “Yes. He told me his dog had to be at the vet because it was having puppies.”
“Which you don’t believe.”
“It’s extraordinarily progressive. Jason’s dog is a male.”
I laughed as she wrinkled her nose.
At Rori’s we ordered cones. When she reached for the purse dangling from her shoulder, I pushed her away and paid with the second-to-last twenty in my wallet. I’d sell my Jeep before I let her pay for me.
“Thank you,” she said as we tucked into opposite sides of a table near the street. “What’d you get?”
“John Martin.”
“That’s a flavor?”
“Coconut and dark chocolate.” I bit into it and was rewarded by brain freeze. “You?”
“Honey almond crunch.” My gaze lingered on her tongue as she licked her dessert. “Can I try your John Martin?”
I chuckled. “My what?”
Dal slanted me a look.
“Kidding. Sure.”
She took the cone from me and gave it an experimental taste. “That’s pretty good.”
“Pretty good? Give me yours.” I took it and took a big bite that had her protesting. “So. There's something I can’t figure out. Why does the girl who just got a giant promotion end up hurling all over the street? Don't tell me you were drunk. I've never seen you down more than a vodka soda.”
She sighed. “I don’t want to ruin this moment.” She reached for her ice cream, and I held it away.
“Dal. Talk to me,” I murmured.
“Fine. The thing at the party the other night is the tip of the iceberg. I have a long history of choking in public. This one time I was playing flute—”
“Is this some American Pie thing?”
“What?” She frowned.
“Look it up. And continue.”
“My mom was always asking me to do these beauty pageants. I said no until the one she’d won in high school came up. I said I would try, for her, since it meant so much.”
I was caught between smirking and picturing a teenage Dal in a crown and a bathing suit and…hell, there it was again.
“For my talent, I played flute—which was what I’d played in music class—but Lisa Taylor sabotaged it.”
“How do you sabotage a flute.”
“She shoved a condom in the end.” I stifled the snort. “Right before I went out. Not only did my flute not work, but I blew harder and harder until the damn thing flew out the end and landed in front of the stage like a soggy water balloon.” She flushed. “I was standing there, all these eyes on me, and I burst into tears. I don’t mean little sniffles, I mean full on Sailor Moon fly-from-my eyes-and-hit-the-walls kind of tears.”
“I see.” I held out the cone and she took it back, biting into it this time. “Hard to imagine that situation replicating itself. The whole ‘condom-in-the-instrument gag’ is hardly a standby. So why’d this come up last night?”
“Every time I have to do something public, the same fear rears its head. That something will go wrong, even without a Lisa Taylor to instigate. And last night was just more proof.” Dal let out a frustrated sound. “Jordan scheduled an interview with Modern Style, the biggest fashion magazine in the country. And I have to do it.”
“You know more about the store than anyone.”
“But I get thinking of all the things that could go wrong, and I can feel it, like a wave, and… public humiliation’s not my jam.” Her expression darkened, and I had a feeling there was something else she wasn’t telling me. “And now I need to ace this interview.”
“Maybe you could talk to someone who'd get it. Not Jordan or Lex or Ava…what about Taylor?”
She raised a brow. “Since I left Reve, Taylor would run me down on the street. We don’t have the same relationship you do.”
“Meaning…”
Dal shifted back in her chair, eyes narrowing. “She told everyone. It was her favorite subject for weeks. Don't worry, she was very complimentary.” I couldn't find a smile as she lifted a hand. “I don't judge. In fact, sometimes I'm envious.”
“Of what.”
“That you can sleep with someone without all the baggage.” The words were so light under her breath I almost missed them.
“Don’t,” I said, sharper than I’d intended. “Don't ever let some guy touch you unless he’s earned it.”
Though the idea of being worthy of her, of being the kind of guy who could kiss her, touch her, make her moan, was crazy appealing.
“You know something?” I asked, my voice half an octave lower. “When I saw you for the first time at Reve, I knew you were a badass. It wasn’t the first time we met. It was actually before that. You were cleaning the bathroom, rubber gloves on your hands.”
Dal’s gasp had my brain tracking to darker places. “You’re joking.”
“Nope. And I was like ‘who’s that girl?’” She stifled a laugh. “I’m serious. It takes a lot for a girl to look mysterious in rubber gloves. You pulled it off.”
“Is that why you told Jordan to hire me last year?”
My smile fell away. “I told Jordan to hire you because she needed someone smart who was willing to get the job done. And you were the only person I could recommend with zero reservations.”
Her eyes went shiny, and I loved that I’d made them that way. “Enough about me, what about your new business?”
“My dad prefers to go with ‘indulgent hobby.’ Sure, technically I haven’t sold a board yet, but I’ve built two dozen. And what I’m producing is better than any other small shop.” I knew it was true because I’d tried every board I could get my hands on, both back when I’d surfed juniors and since then when I’d been determined to learn everything there was to learn about them. “I have money from my grandfather’s estate to get it off the ground. I know he’d be happy with how I’m using it, but my dad’s not so sure. Unless I can figure out how to get eyes on my boards, I might be living in the gutter.”
Her eyes filled with compassion. “You can sleep on my couch. As long as you keep saying nice things to me.”
“All day and all night, Supergirl.” Something flickered through her eyes, gone as quick as it’d appeared. “Hey. Since I’m around all week, maybe we can help each other out,” I heard myself say. “You tell me how to sell boards, and I’ll help you get over your fear of being the center of attention
.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I am. You can cry and puke all over me.”
She finished a big bite of her ice cream, contemplating my offer. “You’d do that for me.”
I’d do a lot of things for you.
“That’s what friends are for.”
5
Dal
“No, Jason. You can’t have the weekend off.” I stared into his earnest eyes over the cash register.
He frowned. “Why not?”
“You skipped out on unloading inventory yesterday.”
I’d been putting off this confrontation all day, but Jason had come up to me.
“Come on, Dahlia. You’re being pissy. You’re the one who got drunk and puked all over the street, and I’m the bad employee?”
I bristled, fingers clenching the edge of the counter. A woman and a girl I guessed was her daughter glanced over the railing from the catwalk upstairs, and three college-aged girls looked over and whispered.
I’d hired Jason because he’d needed work. He’d given me imploring brown eyes and a promise he’d do whatever it took to succeed, and I’d given him the benefit of the doubt.
Maybe Kent was right. I am a sucker.
“This store is important,” I said under my breath. “If you’re not reliable, I can’t make decisions to support this business.”
“What are you going to do, fire me?” he goaded.
I thought about the trust Lex, Ava, and Jordan had placed in me. The other girls who’d had to work extra shifts on the weekend to pull his weight.
I knew you were a badass. Kent's words came back to me.
I squared my shoulders. “Yes,” said a voice that sounded like mine. “If you take this weekend off, don’t come back.”
He burst out laughing. “You know what, Dahlia? I never had a fucking dog.”
My jaw dropped and I stormed out from behind the counter, retrieving his duffel bag from the office and dropping it at his feet. “Get out.”
The slow clap had me turning before he was even out the door.
“That was awesome,” Kyla said, eyes dancing. The shoppers seemed to have gone back to perusing the candy-colored separates now that the drama was over.
“And short-sighted,” I murmured. “You know anyone reliable with sales experience, send them my way.”
I added to my mental to-do list the need to upload a job posting as I went to the back of the store to open the boxes from yesterday’s shipment. Today’s task was styling the store for the photographer’s visit the next day. I had some ideas for ways to make the fall stock pop even more.
I opened the first box and frowned, lifting the summery dress. “This isn’t…”
I pulled out the packing slip. The entire list was summer clothes.
So was the next box.
And the one after that.
My heart in my throat, I opened the others.
And I cursed.
I ran through the mental inventory catalogued in my head. Our computer system was good, but I kept a running list of everything we had front of mind. What was selling, what wasn’t. Every week my notes got jotted down, reviewed, compiled, and shared back with Lex, Ava, and Jordan. I’d started the habit at the last store I’d worked in, but management hadn’t listened the way Travesty had.
It was partly responsible for the double-digits growth we’d had every season since opening.
And my brain told me we needed new stock, both for the floor and the photoshoot.
The distributor on the phone said the error was my fault and he had nothing to send me. There was a chance I could reach Ava, who’d gone back to New York, and that she’d be able to overnight me some clothes. But that would mean getting her staff in SoHo to pack it up, ship it, and…
No.
I needed to do this on my own.
My phone buzzed and I glanced down, expecting Mac. My friend had grilled me yesterday at the store and again at home about finding me with Kent. I’d convinced her I was joking about the ‘sex in the storage room’ thing, and she’d looked supremely disappointed.
Instead, it was my partner in made-up crime.
Kent: How’s the fear conquering
* * *
Dal: Not great. Any new clients?
* * *
Kent: Nada. I need your genius, Supergirl
I looked around the store. Until I figured out what to do with this mess, I was as good as useless.
“Kyla, I’m heading out for a couple hours.”
She saluted. “No worries, boss.”
I shifted into my Jetta and coaxed it into starting. As I got on the freeway, I realized I was seeing Kent for the third time in two days.
Yesterday at Rori’s I’d lost myself in those eyes, that smile. When he’d bought me ice cream, my stomach had taken a little dip. Not in that way that I’d felt walking down the “runway” the other night.
In a way that took my mind off other things, brought the entire universe down to the curve of his mouth, the twinkling in his blue eyes.
When I’d met him at Reve, the boutique Taylor ran, it’d been before Travesty opened their LA store. Kent had been the eyes on the ground for Ava, Lex, and Jordan, making sure the retailers had what they needed after Ava and Lex moved to NYC.
Yes, he’d been gorgeous. But more than that, he’d been warm and friendly, easy to talk to and unassuming, like he didn’t expect women to fall at his feet.
That was why my gut had twisted the day I heard Taylor bragging to one of the other girls about them hooking up. Not because I had any delusional idea that we could be something.
None of it mattered, because I’d ended up dating Chris.
Any warning signs I’d brushed off. I hadn’t dated a lot before. While I’d assumed we’d grow closer over the months, maybe it was normal that once the honeymoon was over you’d grow further apart. Or that he’d get bored and start spending more time at work.
When he talked about his job at a record label recruiting artists, I’d listened with interest. Whenever I’d broached the subject of my own work at Travesty, my hopes of where things would go and my doubts and uncertainties, Chris had been dismissive.
Not like Kent, who listened like it was the only thing he wanted to hear. Who filled me with warmth, a tingly self-assurance like everything was possible.
I hadn’t been to Huntington Beach almost since I’d moved to California. On a Monday, it was still busy, filled with surfers and event people setting up for the competition.
“Hey,” I called when I found his stash of boards at the back of one of the tents.
The expression on his face when he turned made the trip worthwhile.
“You found me.” He brushed his hands on his board shorts, shades darker than the faded blue T-shirt with some Hawaii logo on it that stretched over his chest.
“It was totally easy,” I fibbed.
I stopped next to the first board, a piece of red art that was taller than me. “Wow. I’ve never seen these in person. They’re beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
A line of black script under one of the fins caught my eye. Darcy. “Wait. When I name them, that’s for real? I thought that was a joke.”
Kent lifted a shoulder, my attention torn between his muscled body and the curve at the corner of his mouth. “You name them. I just work here.”
Warmth took me over and I shook off the feeling. “You were right. This place doesn’t have the best visibility. But we can make the most of it. Why don’t we take the brightest ones and angle them like this so you can see from the beach?” I pointed.
He took the surfboard from my hands and moved it against the fence that stood in for a wall. I picked out another, and we did the same with that.
I pulled off my sandals to jog backward through the tent to the sand and inspect our work. “Better already,” I called before running back to meet him.
I selected a third board, lifting this one myself and grunting a
s I moved it.
“I got it,” he murmured.
I protested. “I’m fine!”
Kent released it and it bonked me in the head. I set the board in place then winced, rubbing the spot.
“Let me see.” He lifted my chin in one hand and brushed the hair off my face with the other. My breath stuck in my throat. “You’ll survive.”
“Thanks,” I murmured as he let go of me.
“You’ve lived in LA for what, three years?” I nodded. “And you’ve never tried surfing.”
I shook my head. “I like pools. Lifeguards. Some days, even water wings. Paddling toward China on a raft tied to your ankle only to have thousands of pounds of water hurtle you back toward the shore sounds like tempting fate.”
Kent rubbed a hand over his neck, the movement causing the braided cuff he wore to move up his muscled forearm. “A little temptation’s not a bad thing.”
My throat dried up. Maybe because I was suddenly hyperaware of those arms. I bet they’d feel amazing wrapped around me.
Was he trying to take my distraction and amp it to new levels?
Of course not.
Kent was just being Kent. Gorgeous and oblivious and devastating.
I started to move another board on the floor, but he stopped me with his voice. “That’s mine. I’m going out in the morning.”
“I’ve never seen you ride. I’d love to.”
He pulled out his phone and held it out. “This was my last year on tour as a junior.”
I watched as the clip played. It was professionally shot, his name at the bottom of the screen like a real sports broadcast.
A giant wave seemed to lift him and he leapt up, easily, then bent into a crouch as the wave built up intensity, curling around him in a giant pipe. It was too far away to see his face, but every line of his body was familiar. The confidence, the grace. “Where is that?” I breathed.
“North shore of Hawaii.”
“Wow,” I said when the clip ended. “I can’t decide which is more incredible. That you do that, or this.” I nodded to the boards.
Kent tucked the phone away, rubbing a hand over his chin. “I like that you think that,” he said, sounding more serious than usual.