Page 34 of Beyond the Stroke

“You don’t look annoyed.”

“Maybe I’m too tired to look annoyed. It’s been a long day and I’m hungry and drained. Edgar would understand.”

“It’s a good thing you’re dating Edgar and not me.”

I fucking hate Edgar.

“Yeah, it is.”

She hands me a plate that Mick has dished up. It’s a sampler platter of all the café’s best dishes.

When I hold it under my nose, my mouth salivates. “Mick, this looks phenomenal. Thank you.”

“I know how much you guys can eat, so there’s more where that came from.”

Summer and I sit at a table across from one another. Besides the fish and hushpuppies, her plate is loaded with pickles.

“I see you like pickles,” I comment on the three dill spears next to her hushpuppies.

“Summer loves pickles,” Darcy offers, setting her plate down and sliding in next to Summer in the booth.

“What else does Summer love?” I ask.

“Dogs, the beach, art,” Darcy grins, “oh, and Edgar.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about Edgar.” A tight smile forms on my lips. “He’s a lucky guy.”

Fuck Edgar.

nine

. . .

SUMMER

“Did you get enough to eat?” Rory asks, turning to glance at me from the driver’s seat.

I allowed Rory to drive me home after he agreed he wouldn’t show up at the café for my shift tomorrow. After some ibuprofen and a plate-free evening, my wrist feels rested, so I’m determined to work my shift tomorrow without any assistance. Without Rory Shields’ charming smile and annoyingly attractive face popping up at every turn.

His question makes me smile. He polished off two helpings of the sampler platter and all the shared crab cakes. Mick even brought over another plate of food after. I’d been full, but Rory managed to put that away as well.

“You’ve asked me that three times already.”

He shrugs, his expression turning thoughtful. “When you have an injury, you need to make sure you’re eating well. To help your body heal.”

“I’m good. All I need now is sleep.”

I can’t wait to crawl into bed. The wad of cash from my tips tonight is a bulge in my pocket. For all my complaining about Rory’s help, he came through with his charisma and personality which boosted my earnings.

I’m conflicted. Rory’s charming, sweet, and obnoxiously good looking, as well as a talented swimmer. No person should have that much going for them.

When he showed up at the café earlier, I’d been annoyed at his insistence to help me. As we worked, we slipped into easy conversation one moment, then playful banter the next. As the evening wore on, like a slow drip from a crack in a wall, I’d felt a trickle of relief. A temporary ease from the loneliness, and respite from the burden of being completely on my own.

I never ask people for help, and I’ve found that being distant and guarded has kept others away. But what has easily sent people running in the past, doesn’t seem to work with Rory. He lets my sarcasm and irritability roll right off, then comes back for more. It’s like he’s got impermeable skin. Maybe that’s why he’s such a gifted swimmer.

And that is all the more reason to squash this budding friendship or whatever it is.

Besides, while he felt obligated to help me because of my wrist, there’s no reason for us to hang out after tonight. He’s got training and a million other professional athlete things to do.

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