Page 62 of Riptide

Then his hands pause, and I wiggle my toes. “The massaging went away.”

“Thank you for this morning,” he begins as he moves to the other foot, and I have to stifle a satisfied sigh when he begins again. “You shared a lot with me, and Eugene, today, and it was good to hear the whole story. I’m sorry about your friend.”

“God, you’re really good at that,” I say, reaching for something lighter, hoping to edge away from how my chest aches at his words. Joking is easier. Distraction I know how to do. Vulnerability still feels like walking into a dark room where I have to find the key.

But then he squeezes my foot gently, grounding me, and when I glance up, he hasn’t changed his focus. His eyes don’t falter, and there’s that stillness to him that I’m beginning to like a lot.

Something shifts inside me. A quiet unspooling that somehow puts me at ease. I don’t move. I don’t look away. I just stay there, held in the quiet intensity of his gaze, and let myself be seen like I did earlier. It’s uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time, which makes no sense, but I think I need it.

I surprised myself today. I said more than I meant to. But I can’t take it back now. And I don’t think I want to. My throat closes up, because I can tell he sees me. Not just the version I present when I want to be wanted, but all of it. The mess. The grief. The gray space I don’t know how to climb out of.

“I, uh, didn’t mean to dump all that on you,” I say, rubbing a hand down my face.

“That wasn’t what you did at all.” He resumes with his talented fingers, to gently coax more warm fuzzies out of me, and I’mputty again. “I’m glad you felt safe enough to share that with me. I mean, us.”

I think I wanted to, that night at his place. I almost said it. Almost opened the door to my past. But the words caught in my throat and never made it out. It felt like maybe I could say the thing and not have it take me under. That I might still float afterward.

“I’m glad you know now,” I whisper.

Foxx nods, his touch slowing. “I can’t imagine carrying something like that alone.”

“I thought if I didn’t say it, it wouldn’t upset me as much,” I admit. “Turns out, silence doesn’t make it lighter. Just makes it lonelier.”

Foxx shifts toward me, his hands warm as they rest on my calf. “You know it’s okay to follow another dream if it’s what you need to do to move on.”

“I know.” At least, in theory, I do. “I think I could make something from a career in physical therapy. I just don’t know if I could let myself enjoy it fully,” I say. “Sometimes, it still feels like I’m not allowed to feel joy. Like moving forward in any capacity means I’m letting go of him.”

His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Do you think he’d want that? For you to hold on to it like a punishment? Or to keep yourself from moving on and living how you want to live, whether that’s school or surfing again?”

I let out a slow breath. “I don’t think so, but it’s complicated.” That’s the only answer I have.

Foxx acknowledges what I’m not saying somehow and smiles at me softly. “I teach math, so complications are literally my whole world.”

I smile at that too. “You sure you want this math problem? I come with missing data and way too many variables.”

His hands grip under my hips, urging me closer, so I oblige until my back hits the couch, my legs practically wrapped around his middle as he hovers over me. “I’ve always had a thing for complex data sets.”

I groan, reaching up to remove his glasses, even though I plan to use them to my fantasy advantage in the future, but right now, I need to kiss him. “Mmm, talk algebra to me. You’re sexy when you’re nerdy.”

His laugh is short, but it lingers as he looks into my eyes. Those dark pools see right to something that I’ve been scared to share with anyone, and it doesn’t scare him off. If anything, sometimes I feel him searching deeper, wanting more.

Then he dips his head and kisses me again like we’ve got all the time in the world, and somewhere between his hands on my back and the heat building between us, I find that sliver of peace I’ve been chasing.

Chapter twenty-seven

Foxx

“Ohfuck,I’mgonna…Yes, yes, fucking yes,” Finn cries out as he successfully flips the pancake in the air, landing it back into the pan with a slap. “Did you see that?”

I grin as I sip my coffee, my mind already corrupted because he moaned those exact words last night, but a whole lot messier. Bruno Mars’s voice distracts me as his music hums through the speaker. Finn informed me it’s the only way to spend a morning—dancing in the kitchen to his songs. I’m starting to agree, because I’m learning things about him, like he absolutely cannot sing, but he does it anyway.

“What do they say, fourth time’s the charm?” I chuckle, still fixated on him.

He throws a grimace over to the trash, where the other three pancakes lay discarded and broken. “I can’t be amazing at everything. Some things I have to learn.”

“You’re definitely improving,” I say, lifting my coffee in a lazy toast. “This one might actually be edible.”

He flashes me a grin. “Well, you get the first taste.”

---