Page 22 of Side Hustle
Rip must have felt it too because in the next breath, his lips were on mine, his hand angling my head exactly where he wanted me. There was nothing shy or tentative about this kiss unlike when we were kids. It was the kiss of a grown man on a mission. My hands found his shoulders and then speared into his wet hair, begging silently for him to never stop. I’d come to like Rip on a normal day, but when he let go of all the thoughts in his head and went for something spontaneous, there was no way for me to deny my attraction to him. My legs crept up and around his waist, complete trust that he’d keep us afloat.
He tasted like saltwater and Rip, his scent surrounding me, making me dizzy. My shivering didn’t stop, but I no longer felt the cold. All I could feel was Rip, against me, under me, in me. Fuck, I missed kissing Rip.
He let out a groan, one I felt more than heard, but damn if that wasn’t the sexiest thing I’d ever experienced. Composed, grumpy Rip, so turned on by kissing me he made noises involuntarily. I licked his bottom lip and then plunged inside to tease his tongue, seeing if I could get him to do it again.
I wasn’t disappointed, but the satisfaction was short-lived. Next thing I knew, we were underwater again as Rip forgot to kick. The ocean swarmed in to stop the kiss. We sputtered back up, Rip still holding me tight to his chest. We ended up staring at each other, laughing away any embarrassment.
This was more fun than I’d had in years.
“Maybe we should take this to dry land? Seems safer.”
And there was classic Rip, back to thinking safety.
I nodded, teeth chattering. Rip hoisted me up on my board, another groan sounding a bit more strangled from behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see him avert his eyes from my backside. I smiled that ancient smile of a woman who knows she’s affecting a man with her body. Guess my pajama shorts didn’t cover much when soaking wet. When Rip got on his board, we paddled quickly back to the marina, the cold seeping into our bones making the return trip much faster.
“Get in the truck. I’ll take care of the boards.” Rip helped me off my board and pushed me toward the parking lot, his hands gentle on my back.
Feeling like my hands and feet were now icicles, I took him up on the offer, running to the truck and starting it up to get the heater going. By the time he got back to the truck, it was nice and toasty inside the cab. Goose bumps covered every inch of his skin, but he didn’t complain, just slid a shy grin my way and backed out of the parking space.
We didn’t say anything the whole way back to my house, but one thing was for sure.
He’d chased my blues away.
9
Rip
“This is so stupid,” I muttered, forehead plastered to the tile wall of my shower.
It had been three days since I kissed Hazel for the second time in my life. Three days of sheer torture where my brain ran off with every logical thought, leaving me with memories of the way she’d felt against my skin. Three days of being so turned on and tortured by my body that I had to take matters into my own hands—literally.
She finally texted me this morning, a fact that made my balls want to wither up and die. What did I even need them for anyway? I hadn’t had the balls to reach out to her first. To bridge this awkward silence and address the fact that we’d made out while treading water in the Pacific. I also knew if I didn’t rub out a quick one before she came over, I was highly likely to try to get my hands on her again and that would just lead to disaster.
I was planning on taking down my father. I couldn’t divert attention away from that life-altering chain of events in order to address anything with Hazel that would be as equally life-altering.
So there I was, a heavy lather of soap building up as I yanked on my hard cock, eyes squeezed shut, remembering the way she’d participated in that kiss. The way her tongue had darted out like she couldn’t get enough. The way her legs had wrapped around my waist, leaving her open to the very part of me that wouldn’t stay down. A simple thought of Hazel’s wide eyes and pouty lips and I was hard as steel.
I imagined what would have happened if I’d pushed those flimsy excuse for shorts to the side. Would she have let me touch her there? Would she have felt as tight as my fist right now? Would she have begged me for—
“Shit,” I moaned, my cock jerking as I made a mess on the shower wall. My body wound so tight I thought I pulled a muscle.
I may have taken the edge off, but I knew this quick release wouldn’t hold a candle to the real thing. Not with Hazel. I yanked the handle to cold while I washed away any evidence of being out of control for her. I was burning up inside and the last thing I needed was all that hot water and steam setting me up to boil over. The whole point of jerking off was so that I could be in control when she came over.
Grabbing the dingy towel off the hook, I stepped out of the shower and dried off, looking around at the bathroom with new eyes. What would Hazel see when she came over? Would she see what a shithole this place was? Would she feel sorry for a grown man still renting a house and having no firm career plans?
I jerked a hand through my hair a few times and called it good. This push to get my life in order was exposing a lot of other things I needed to get in order too. I needed to use some of the gold money to buy a house. Get a steady job. Be the kind of man a woman wouldn’t see as a loser. Not Hazel. I wasn’t trying to impress her, per se. Just women in general.
Sure, keep telling yourself that.
Back in my bedroom, I took in the disheveled bed I hadn’t bothered to make that day, the boring tan walls without a picture or decoration in sight, and the dirty clothes littering the floor every few feet. My life was a goddamn mess.
I stomped across the floor and whipped off the towel to get dressed. I went to drop the towel on the floor, but caught myself in time. Instead, I found the clothes hamper in my closet and dumped it in there. Once dressed, I put all the dirty clothes from the floor into the hamper too, a tiny kernel of pride flaring in my chest. Throwing the sheets over the bed and straightening the comforter felt both foreign and empowering, like maybe all those self-help gurus were right about creating a good day by simply making your bed. My house may be plain and it may not be mine, but I could make it nice. I could make it look like I gave a shit about my life.
The doorbell rang and my heart stuttered to a stop before galloping ahead, knowing Hazel stood right on the other side of the door.
“Come on, balls. Don’t fail me now,” I muttered, moving to the front of the house. They didn’t answer me, but I hoped I still had them. I’d need them to know what to say to Hazel. How to address that kiss and move past it.
The door swung open and there she was, looking ridiculously good in ripped jeans, high-top purple Converse shoes, and a crop top T-shirt that said Cowgirl on it. She had a big smile on her face and a plate full of cookies I’d have to pretend to eat. Fuck. Jerking off had been for nothing. I was right back to sporting steel.
