Page 136 of Forged By Sacrifice

I shrugged. “It’s a little paint. We’ll do a couple hours in the mornings and then take the afternoons off.”

“You think eight mornings are going to get this job done?” Travis stared at me incredulously.

I had to admit, now that I saw the house, I had my own doubts. Two stories. Two thousand square feet on the top floor where three bedrooms and two baths stared out at the bay. But the supplies were already here, including a spray gun, so I thought we could manage it.

Professor Abrams had insisted we could do the job in the days we were here while still having time to decompress before the summer “cruise” took off. It was debatable if he was right, but if I needed to put in some extra hours while the guys played, I didn’t really mind. I’d rather keep myself busy than sit at a bar drinking and eyeing the local girls, anyway.

We headed up the stairs, and I opened the door with the key that Abrams had given me before we’d departed.

Inside, it smelled like new paint and new furniture. Because everything was sparkling new. The wood floors were polished to a shine you could see yourself in. The walls were a mix of white shiplap and gray paint, and the kitchen spoke of money and trend all rolled into one.

Truck whistled.

“Didn’t know Abrams had this kind of dough.”

“Just don’t break anything, asswipes. We don’t have the nickels and dimes to pay for any repairs.”

I headed down the hall to the bedrooms. Two shared a Jack and Jill bathroom. The third was the master suite that stared out at the bay. I put my bag down by the dresser in the suite.

“Why do you get the master, Els-worth? It’s not like you’re going to be bringing any girls back here to show off.” Mac was still whining and still using the damn nickname, grating on my nerves.

“Did you make the arrangements? Do you want to suck face with gratitude to Abrams when we get back to school in August?” I asked.

Mac scoffed. “He’s the one who should suck up to us for doing this job for free.”

“In your wet dreams, douche,” I said.

He walked out to pick a room off the Jack and Jill.

I left my bag where it landed and went to the French doors. I opened them, stepping outside so I could breathe in the salty air and hear the waves crashing on the shoreline.

The ocean and me, we’d always been a thing. Twined together like almost nothing else in my life. It talked to my soul like some people said music or art talked to theirs.

I’d been on the water with my dad since I could crawl. And after…when he was gone, it was still the place I felt closest to him. It wasn’t the entire reason that my life goals surrounded the Coast Guard, but it was an undeniably large part of it.

“We need supplies,” Truck said, joining me on the deck.

“Abrams already bought everything we need. It’s in the garage.”

Truck laughed. “Not those kinds of supplies, asshole. We need food. Beer. You know, the two necessities.”

I sighed and headed back into the bedroom.

“Let me unpack, and then we’ll go into town.”

? ? ?

When I pulled the black rental into the driveway of Abrams’ house after getting groceries, there was a beat-up red Honda sitting there.

We all grabbed the bags from the back and headed up the stairs. Truck and Mac were already discussing the grilling duties for the night. I was still eyeing the car that they didn’t seem to have noticed or cared about.

We heard the music before we even hit the top of the stairs. Loud. Country music. It was blaring out the open windows, letting the air conditioning cool the humidity instead of the other way around.

The guys and I exchanged a curious look.

I opened the door in time to see a blur of dark hair and tan skin jump off the coffee table, guitar in hand, strumming and screaming along to the lyrics.

Except it wasn’t really screaming. It was the huskiest, sexiest female voice I’d ever heard. Her hair was a tumble of dark curls and waves that flung out about her as she continued to move, swaying with the guitar and the lyrics. Her frame was all lean muscle with small curves in all the right places.

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