Page 9 of Whispers on the Water

But I’m already shaking my head, still processing the whirlwind of emotions and sensations that defined my night. “No thanks. It was... an eventful evening, to say the least. I think I’m set for a long time.”

Tilly’s eyebrow arches, her curiosity piqued, but before she can probe further, Ron slides a beer my way. “Toasting laziness?” he asks, his words clipped. “Glad to see I’ve still got the magic touch with hiring slackers.” His gaze bores into the three of us, but I’m not about to give in tonight. It’s been too perfect.

Raising my glass, I stand, ready to call it a night on my own terms. “I’m off tonight, Ron. Let Tommy and Tilly handle closing.” Their protests are cut short as Ron tosses a towel Tilly’s way, sealing the deal. I’m already halfway across the bar, heading toward the stairs up to our apartment.

“Where do you think you’re going, hussy?” Tilly asks.

“Showering and to bed, Til. You’re on your own.”

Tilly is laughing as I reach the first step. “Oh, you are dirty! Damn, Sammy.” I’m hustling up the stairs now, not wanting her to see the smile that lets her know she is right.

***

Two weeks later, I’m battling math over the ordering form again, trying to make sure we have enough soda for the weekend rush, when the bell over the surf shop door rings.

“I’ll be right there!” I call out, already feeling stretched thin. Tilly’s out with a group from Japan, and Tommy’s competing in Florida, leaving me to juggle everything. It’s days like today where I wish I had a secret clone or five.

“Hello?” a voice drifts in, oddly familiar.

“Yep, on my way!” My patience for customers is nonexistent today. Everyone so far has been demanding and unapologetic, my least favorite combination. It’s not my fault Ron doesn’t hire more help. I decide the form will have to wait as I rush from the bar area to the surf shop. Sliding behind the counter, I shove a pencil in my mouth to tie my hair back.

Looking up, the pencil drops from my mouth. My heart stops. It’s Greg, standing right there in my surf shop, looking even more stunning in the daylight. His frame perfectly fills out a dark t-shirt, his hair slicked back, revealing more sun-kissed tips than I remembered. He looks like a goddamn beach angel sent from heaven to tempt me into hundred foot waves without a board and yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds. My chest tightens, memories of our night together flooding back, making it hard to breathe.

“Uh, hi,” he greets me, breaking the silence.

“What’re you doing here?” I blurt out, sounding more like an accusation than a question.

“I’m here for a lesson.” I flip through the appointment book to today’s date, and there it is: ‘Greg S.’ Noon. Damn it.

“Sorry, I had no idea you worked here. Fake-Stacy, right?” His gaze sweeps over me, reigniting the blush that had just started to fade. Note to self: next time I’m playing mysterious sexy dance lady, invent a better name.

I lift my lanyard. “It’s Samantha, but I go by Sam,” I correct him, trying to keep my cool as I head towards the surfboard rack. “Got swim trunks?”

“Yep, and a rash guard,” he calls after me.

“Changing room is down the hall,” I manage, avoiding his gaze. Imagining him changing sends a rush of heat through me, memories of our night together vivid in my mind. I curse myself for letting my thoughts wander.

He returns in black swim trunks, and a tight rash guard and my eyes scan him from head to toe. The sight of his defined abs and broad shoulders under the tight fabric sends my mind racing, and the outline of his cock through the shorts has me biting my lip to stifle a reaction. I spin around to hide my flushed face but hear his chuckle. He saw. He definitely saw.

“Sam?” His voice pulls me back, and I brace myself to face him again. When I turn around, his smile has this natural charm that sends my heart racing.

“Sorry, I think I need a snack,” I blurt out. Though it most definitely isn’t a hunger that a burger or taco could solve.

“We can grab a bite first?” he offers, and my heart skips a beat. The idea sends a mix of excitement and anxiety through me. But getting close to anyone is a bad idea. Especially men I know nothing about.

“Erm, I’ll be okay,” I say, though my voice betrays my nervousness.

“You don’t seem okay. Looks like you’ve seen a ghost,” he teases, his laugh sending ripples through his tight shirt, highlighting his muscles. It might be my imagination, but it almost seems like he’s flexing on purpose.

I sigh, my face warming at the sound coming from my own lips. “I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.”

He steps closer, stopping just a foot away. He’s so near, his presence enveloping me. I can smell him – that distinct blend of salt and ocean and a subtle musk that’s unmistakably Greg. It’s overwhelming, and for a moment, I want nothing more than to lose myself in his scent, in the memory of our night.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m not,” he says, and just like that, my heart skips a beat. His finger traces a line down my arm, sending shivers through me. “But I can leave if I’m making you uncomfortable, Sam.” The way my name rolls off his tongue is like a caress all on its own, and I close my eyes, savoring the sound.

Spending a half hour with him without tearing off that tight swimsuit he’s wearing feels like an impossible task. Like trying to read the fine print on a mortgage contract during a rock concert at the edge of a hurricane. And, if I’m brutally honest with myself, it’s not just physical attraction that’s pulling me towards him. The way he respected my boundaries and let me take the lead was refreshing and disarming. I’m usually on edge, ready to fend off unwanted advances, but with Greg, I felt safe and at ease.

It’s ludicrous, but the connection I feel with him terrifies me. I can’t afford to get close to anyone, can’t even share my real name. “So, there’s a little hiccup,” I finally manage to say, my voice steadier than I feel.

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