Page 18 of Stolen Dreams

“What else are you up to this summer?”

Unless my answer includes the wordvacationorrelaxationor some other variation ofI’m not working, she won’t like my response. Focusing on my task, I mentally prepare to be read the riot act. It’s inevitable. A huge advocate of self-care, Clarissa is always on me about taking time to rest and restore.

Unfortunately, she’s unable to grasp how spending time with and helping kids is one of my forms of self-care. Seeing their smiles, hearing their laughter, knowing I’ve made their day better… it’s a balm for my soul.

“Not sure yet. Maybe some gardening. My grandfather has been begging me to go fishing with him again. It’s been a while.”

Clarissa lifts her gaze from her phone and pins me with an inquisitive stare. “Don’t you garden all the time?”

I keep my expression light, neutral. “Yes, but gardening is different from one season to the next.”

She stays quiet for a beat. The only sound in the room is of me boxing up memorabilia. As I put the lid on one box, she breaks the silence. “You should come to the beach with me next month.”

My stomach pitches then plummets. “As fun as that sounds, you know I already promised to help out at the rec center.”

A subtle shake of her head, she shrugs. “Give them plenty of notice and take a long weekend. I’m sure they won’t mind.”

“Rissa…”

“Picture it, Kaya. Endless sunshine, golden sand, hot guys everywhere you look.” A devilish smile curves the corners of her mouth. “Maybe you’ll find someone to help relieve your stress.” She waggles her brows.

With a roll of my eyes, I laugh under my breath. “I’m not spending a long weekend in Southern California to”—I peer at the office door to make sure we’re alone, then drop my voice—“have sex with random strangers.”

“Boo.” She pushes out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “You’re no fun.”

“Yet you still love me,” I tease.

She lifts a hand and rests it against her chin as a huge smile brightens her expression. “I do. Not sure what I’d do without you.”

“Going soft on me, Rissa?”

Dropping her gaze back to her phone, she taps the screen. Music floats through the room as her smile turns devious. “Only for a sec.” She laughs. “Maybe you don’t need to go out of town for hot guys.”

My brows furrow. “Do I want to know what that means?”

Clarissa rises from her seat and sidles up to me at the desk. Turning her phone so I can see the screen, she taps it and a video plays. “Stone Bay’s very own celebrity.”

On the screen, a man in a shirt tight enough to be a second skin makes a crust out of crushed cookies. Seconds later, there’s whipped cream or frosting in a bowl. And then…

I gasp as my skin heats everywhere.

“Mm-hmm,” Clarissa acknowledges.

His fingers are in a bowl filled with batter, flicking back and forth in a quick, suggestive way. Then his fingers are in a piece of fruit, juice squirting out.

I swallow, inhale a ragged breath, and hold it. The good girl in me says I should look away. Go back to what I was doing. But my racing heart, searing skin, and the subtle ache between my thighs keep my eyes glued to the screen.

The video turns tame for a few seconds as the dessert gets plated. In the next shot, all I see are abs. Tan rippled panty-soaking abs. He drags his tongue up a slice of cake before his eyes meet the camera and he blows a kiss at the audience. Then, it starts over.

For the first time in years, I’m speechless, at a true loss for words.

Clarissa, on the other hand, has plenty to say. She fans her face. “Mm-mm-mmm. That man can cook for me any day of the damn week.” She stares at the screen as the video loops back to the beginning again. “Preferably naked.”

“Rissa,” I admonish.

“What?” She swipes the screen and different music echoes around us. “If he fucks as good as he cooks?—”

“Rissa!” I whisper-shout and hook a thumb toward the open door when she looks up.

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