Page 12 of All Bets are Off
Looking at him over my shoulder, I smile. “I’ve been thinking the same. She’ll fight us tooth and nail, though.” I pat his foot. “Hey, I’m really sorry I woke you. I just wanted to see…” I start to say you, but at the last second change it to, “if you were awake.”
“I would have picked you up if I were,” West says, propping an extra pillow behind his head. “I’ve just been spending a lot of hours online. I couldn’t keep my eyes open past nine o’clock last night.”
“You sure you’re not just getting old?” I tease.
“You’re forgetting we’re the same age. Maybe we need a wrestling match to prove which of us is in better shape.”
I smile. “Bring it on.” The comment reminds me that we haven’t made a bet since the one that had us all over each other on the couch in West’s old apartment, and my smile drops. It’s my turn, but I haven’t been able to make myself continue the tradition, and West hasn’t mentioned it like he normally would. I guess it had to come to an end sometime. Clearing my throat, I ask, “Any leads on your case?”
“Something’s going on. I’ve been trying to interact with a couple of the players, hoping to find an opening to chat with them. Haven’t had much luck, though. Maybe you will.”
I nod. “Did you really set me up as the ice cream man?”
“Yep.”
Laughing, I stand. “Cool. Well, I guess I’ll go to bed. Goodnight.”
“Night.” West moves to turn out the light, losing the sheet in the process.
As my eyes travel over West’s long, muscular body, a pair of blue silk boxers the only thing keeping me from seeing the whole package, I suddenly wonder what it would be like to crawl under the covers with him, snuggle up, and sleep with his heartbeat next to my ear. Hightailing it out of his room, I grab the handle of my suitcase and pull it into my room, shutting the door behind me like the enemy’s on my heels. Head pressed to the cool wood, I think,Hell, if I’m going to ogle West like that, he’s right not to want to change his clothes around me.
****
The following morning, I stand on the beach behind the house, squinting into the sun glistening over the choppy surface of the ocean. Rhythmically, the dark water gathers into curling waves, then splashes onto the shore, spreading fizzy white froth over dun-colored sand before receding to do it all over again.
In the distance, groups of people walk along the shoreline in front of the string of hotels, the wind catching in their hair and jackets as they pick up shells and bits of driftwood as tokens of their trip.
“Hey.”
I startle when West speaks close to my ear, not having heard his approach behind the cacophony of surf and the gulls’ cries as they dart about me, searching the sand for ghost crabs.
“Shit! Where did you come from?” I smack his muscled bicep.
“The house.” He grins at me. He once told me that he saved up for years to pay for braces when he was in his early twenties to fix what he called a “dental disaster.” Judging by his beautiful smile, they were well worth the money. He’s barefoot and wearing a pair of ripped jean shorts, his long, tanned legs covered in blond hair that gleams when the sun hits it. His sea-green shirt, open at the neck, billows in the wind off the ocean while his hair, now almost white from recent hours in the sun, dances crazily around his face. I can’t see his eyes behind his dark Ray-Bans, but I can feel the intensity of his gaze on me. I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.
Wrapping his arm around my shoulder, West turns me so our backs are to the wind and starts us walking along the shore. I relax under the weight of his arm, unaware until that moment how tense I was.
“Been clubbing lately?” I ask.
“Nah. Too busy with this case. To be honest, I’m getting a little tired of it.”
“Clubbing or the case?” I ask.
“Both.”
“You really are getting old,” I say, earning me a shove that sends me staggering slightly to the side before I catch myself. Dipping my head, I plow into him, knocking him a few steps into the surf, laughing at the look on his face when he gets the edges of his shorts wet.
“You are so dead!”
I dart away, and West takes off after me, both of us laughing as we run up the beach in the opposite direction of the strip of hotels. It feels good. I haven’t let go and just had fun in I don’t know how long. With my leaner build, I’m a faster runner than West, but I know if he catches me, I’m going to go down hard. When we’ve sprinted over a mile, we hit a more deserted part of the beach where the sand is rough from broken shells. Blocked by an outcropping of rocks, I swerve and turn back the way we came, but West manages to hook his arm around my waist and jerk me against his chest, the momentum sending us both to our asses where the next wave crashes over us.
Soaked, I gasp in air. “The water’s fucking cold!” Crawling to drier ground, I’m suddenly pinned to the sand by West’s body. The air leaves my lungs in awhoosh. “Dammit, West!” I yell when I catch my breath, feeling his laughter reverberate against me.
When the next wave crashes over our heads, I manage to wiggle forward a few inches before he can immobilize me again. Suddenly, I notice West’s breathing has become loud and uneven in my ear, making me very aware of every inch of his body against mine, most especially the hardness pressed against my ass. I stop struggling, and when his weight abruptly lifts, I suck in a breath just as another wave hits. I choke, dragging myself to my knees and coughing, my wet hair plastered to my face and shell fragments stuck to my knees.
“Jesus, Logan,” West says, dragging me to my feet.
“Are you trying to drown me?” I splutter.