Page 33 of Whispers on the Water

Greg takes a seat beside the newcomer. “Scott,” the man introduces himself, reaching out. I watch the handshake from my spot behind the bar. “What were you guys celebrating? I thought I heard cheering.”

As I pour a mug and slide it across to Scott, I explain, “Scott runs the yoga place next door.” Then, gesturing towards the now humming pinball machine, I add, “I finally got that damn thing to work.”

Scott takes a sip. “Oh, nice.” Leaning against the counter, I steal a glance at Greg, a wave of accomplishment washing over me. For a moment, everything else fades, and it’s just the triumph, the pinball machine, and us.

Chapter twenty-one

Greg

I’m staring at her over the bar, unable to look away. Even with that dorky bandana, Sam’s attractiveness is undeniable. Watching her curse and tinker with the pinball machine, I’m reminded just how unique she truly is. She’s a blend of intelligence, sexiness, confidence, and vulnerability that I’ve never encountered in anyone else.

My gaze lingers on her hands as she pours a beer—those long, dainty fingers. I remember how they feel running through my hair, how they send shivers down my spine when they touch me. Yeah, Sam is in a league of her own, equally at ease charging into an overhead wave as she is fixing intricate machinery.

I love her.

The realization hits me like a freight train. Love her? We’ve only been together a few weeks, but the truth of my feelings is undeniable. I’ve always scoffed at the notion of love at first sight, but here I am a convert. Maybe not at first sight, but damn close.

There’s something about figuring it out that has me panicking. My heart is thumping a mile a minute and I need to calm down before I yell out to her right here at the bar. To center my racing mind, I take a seat at the bar. Whipping out my phone, I send a quick text.

Me: Dude, insult me.

It’s a whole two seconds before I get a text back.Tommy: You have a surfer’s tan.

Me: WTF is that?

Tommy: Your tan until you bend over then have the whitest ass I’ve ever seen.

I nearly laugh aloud. Tommy and I have surfed together a few times. I’m nowhere near his level, but damn it all if my man crush isn’t at an all-time high. The guy really knows how to work his board. He’s a pro for a reason.

Me: So do you! *gif of Oppenheimer watching a nuclear blast*

Tommy: Nice try man. Naked surfing keeps me tan everywhere.

With my brows furrowed, I stare at my phone. Naked surfing? Is he serious? Before I can respond, he sends me a gif of Godzilla emerging from the ocean.

Tommy: Gotta let the monster breathe.

I’m laughing as I text back. Me: Dude, don’t talk about your dick.

“What’s so funny?” Sam asks from across the bar.

“Tommy being ridiculous,” I say, pocketing the phone.

“Oh, so just normal everyday shit,” she says with a laugh. I nod and reach over the bar counter for a beer. Sam must have stocked everything before going out in the water.

Taking a sip, I watch her move around. She sprays off her surfboard before putting it away and then throws on some jean shorts and a tank top right over her wet swimsuit.

God, she’s gorgeous, and perfect. Just like that, I’m right back where I was before texting Tommy. But there’s something else that comes with my admiration. Sam is Elaine. I know it, and I’ve been holding onto it for weeks.

With each day that passes, my guilt for not informing the FBI about their suspect grows, yet so does my attachment to her. My boss keeps asking for updates, and I keep lying.

I’ve told them she’s not in Tamarindo, Limon, or Cartago—all true. But I’ve been dodging any mention of Jaco like it’s the plague.

Now, watching her, the sensation in my chest intensifies, threatening to burst. Ignoring Scott, I make my way around the bar. She’s leaning over, wiping the counter, when I spin her around and pull her into a deep kiss. Her arms drop the rag as she melts into me, her sigh vibrating against my tongue as I explore her mouth.

After minutes that feel like an eternity, she wraps her hands around my neck, and I lift her, setting her down on the bar to get closer. Feeling her heartbeat against mine only deepens the connection I feel.

Scott’s cough breaks the moment, and Sam pulls away. “Sorry, Scott. I think my boyfriend is a bit of an exhibitionist,” she says. I don’t care about the joke. No. I’m stuck on something else. The word “boyfriend,” is a term that sounds so right when she says it. I savor the way it felt coming from her, that beautiful mouth and body.

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