Page 7 of The Sweet Spot

Either you made the cut or you didn’t.

—Brynlee’s Secret Thoughts

The faintest hint of sun barely begins to peek out beyond the horizon as Deacon and I lie on the cool sand, resting on bent elbows against the dunes. Hours have passed while we caught each other up on the past decade, although caught up feels wrong. Teenage me never really knew Deacon Kane. She may have fantasized about him from afar, a time or ten, but she never really got the chance to know the boy who became this man.

In fact, I’m fairly certain teenage me would lose her actual shit if she could see me now.

Back then, I fantasized about what it would be like to spend a night with Deacon.

I looked forward to the few weeks a year we’d spend on Block Island because I knew I could indulge in a few weeks away from Kroydon Hills and all the prying eyes that were interested in our lives just because of who our parents are. But I also got to spend a few weeks imagining myself flirting with the boy Deacon used to be. Imagining being the key word. I didn’t even know how to flirt back then. It’s hard to learn how to act with teenage boys when they only ever cared about the fact that my dad was Cade St. James, former MMA champion. Wait... that’s not completely true. Some of them thought the fact that my mom owns the Philadelphia Kings was cool too. Those guys usually wanted to meet my friends though, because their dad was the Kings quarterback.

And now I sound like a poor little rich girl. Even to myself.

Deacon was different. He never had stars in his eyes over my parents.

Unfortunately, he never had stars in his eyes for me either.

He was too old and too cool for me back then, so none of it made much of a difference.

Now, here we are, talking about all the ways our twenties have kicked our collective asses. Not that I’ve shared all the ways, but I’ve shared a whole lot more than I thought I would. And that single thought is like a strike to the chest, stealing the breath from my lungs.

I try to focus on the here and now.

On the cool sand and the hot man.

On the serenity around me.

Not on the uncertain future and what it holds for me.

I lift my eyes to the heavens and take it all in. “I don’t remember the last time I watched the sun rise.”

“Me either. Now all-nighters only happen if Kennedy is sick. This kind of peace is few and far between,” he muses.

Peace... I desperately long to remember what that’s like.

The soft, warm, water-colored rays reflect off the dark water beneath them, gently illuminating the ocean, and slowly stretch over the beach. I lower my elbows and lie back on the sand as I soak in the beauty. “It’s gorgeous.”

“It is,” he answers. But when I glance his way, he’s looking at me, not the ocean. And what could be a cheesy line coming from someone else spreads goosebumps over my skin coming from Deacon.

I roll to my side and face this man I haven’t seen in nearly a decade, and yet feel inexplicably comfortable with, and try to smother another yawn as it creeps up on me, again.

I know our night is coming to an end.

Figuratively and literally.

“I should probably get back to the house soon.” I force the words out, wishing I could stop time.

“Are you down here all week?” Deacon asks as he mirrors my body.

Close enough to feel his warmth but not close enough to feel him.

It seems to have been a theme tonight.

Flirting but not acting.

Close but not quite close enough.

With a sudden strong wave of disappointment draining me, I slowly shake my head. “No. I’m heading back to Kroydon Hills later this morning. I’ve got a few appointments on the schedule tomorrow with some of the guys. Should I send you a report, Coach?” The teasing rolls off my tongue, and Deacon’s lips curl into a crooked, sexy grin.

---