Page 19 of Side Hustle
Granny had a penchant for smoking weed a few times a month, usually when she got together with her lady friends who lived on our street. Last year she got a batch of weed that was crazy potent and I’d had to call in Hell Raiser reinforcements to get the ladies all back to their houses safely. They were falling down laughing like they didn’t have a bone in their entire body on which to stand. And they’d eaten our entire cupboard of snacks. I don’t need to tell you how dangerous falling was at their advanced age. I’d had to sit Granny down the next day and talk to her about sourcing her weed from reputable dealers, which was a really strange conversation to have with your own grandmother. Hence my confusion on who actually raised who.
There was a knock on the door, saving us from reminiscing about that night, or worse, talking about my mother again.
“That’s probably Rip.” I stood and took my full cup of now-cold tea to the sink.
Granny made a bunch of kissing noises before I shushed her with the glare of death. She just laughed and sauntered to her bedroom like the crazy cat lady she was.
I opened the door to see Rip standing there on my doorstep with bedhead and swim trunks, no shirt. Holy hell. One could guess he had a ton of muscle based on the way his T-shirts fit so snugly, but seeing it all up close and on your doorstep was a different experience entirely. His pecs might have been bigger than my boobs. That was so unfair.
He ran a hand through this hair, messing it up even further. “I have the cure for the blues. Trust me on this. I have years of experience with that particular emotion.” Then he leaned forward, grabbed my hand, and tugged me out the door.
“Wait! I don’t have shoes.” The screen door banged behind me, and instead of thinking about bringing my wallet, or sunglasses, or car keys, I could only think about how I hadn’t yet brushed my teeth this morning.
“Don’t need ’em.” He kept tugging me, and as soon as my gaze landed on his ass in those teal shorts, I lost all ability to care about anything else.
The creak of the passenger door opening pulled my attention back to what was happening. I climbed in his truck and tried to avoid the trash on the floorboard.
“I’m not going to get some sort of disease being barefoot in here, am I?” I wasn’t kidding in the slightest.
Rip rolled his eyes and shut the door. Guess that was my answer.
He got in on his side and fired up the beast of a truck.
“You going to tell me where we’re going?” I darted a couple glances over at him and somehow he’d gotten even hotter. His elbow leaned on the open window frame and he had one hand on the wheel. His familiar frown was in place, but that didn’t explain the six-pack abs. Like, did each frown somehow flex his abs? ’Cause he must do a ton of ab work to look like that, and with all the frowning going on, who’d have time for ab workouts? I knew I sure didn’t. Between sniffing pits at FART and being a mascot and picking up side jobs as much as I could, I didn’t have time for exercise of any kind.
“Don’t you like to be surprised?” Rip asked.
“Actually, I do. It’s the best.” If I could have a surprise birthday party for myself every year, I’d totally do it, just for the fun of it.
“I hate that shit,” he grumbled.
“Yeah, we know. You’re the only guy I know who walked out of his own birthday party and didn’t come back.” He did that. For reals. His twenty-first birthday party had been thrown by Titus, who warned us he might be pissed. Rip wasn’t pissed. He was just so uninterested he’d turned right around after we yelled surprise and gone home. If you looked up party pooper in the dictionary, it would have Rip’s face next to it.
He made a left and suddenly the marina came into view. “Boat ride?” I guessed, nearly bouncing in my seat.
He huffed out a chuckle. “Nope.”
“Cliff jumping?”
“Nah.”
“Scuba diving?”
“You don’t know how.”
He had a fair point. Oh! I knew! “Skinny-dipping?”
His head turned on that one, his brown eyes practically molten as he looked at me. If I shivered, it was only because I was still in the tiny tank top and shorts I normally wore to bed. “Not today.”
Holy hot promises. Not today? My thighs clenched and I begged them to remember it was Rip insinuating a future skinny-dipping session. Not some other hot guy whom I actually liked. But sitting there staring into his eyes, his tanned, muscled skin on display looking like a billboard advertising the hottest sex of your life, I couldn’t remember why I disliked him so much.
And then he was gone, slamming the door shut again and coming around to open mine. Like a total gentleman. Which was…weird. I’d spent so many years avoiding him, I wasn’t so sure anymore if I even knew Rip Bennett.
He grabbed my hand again, his callouses obvious even from the slight touch. He guided me around a pothole in the parking lot and then down a plank to his boat.
“Wait here. I’ll get the stuff.” He let my hand go and leaped onto his boat, expertly walking along the deck while it rocked. He went below where I couldn’t see him, so I took the time alone to look out at the ocean and listen. Eyes closed, I could hear seagulls, the crashing waves, and even a ship’s horn here and there far out at sea. Rip was already working his magic. This right here was far better than staying at home and crying my eyes out.
“All set.”
