Page 11 of Stick Break
I glance her way, one corner of my mouth lifting, dry. “A problem.”
She blinks, and for a beat we just sit there, the air stretching between us, charged.
“Right,” she says, finally, her voice light but her gaze not quite meeting mine. “No more kitten talk.”
“Appreciated,” I murmur. But I’m already too late. The image is burned in.
She shifts into another pose, seated twist, her spine long, chest open, and I follow, though my joints protest. Not from the stretch. From the proximity. From her.
Goldie, with her tousled hair, her sand-dusted skin, and those eyes that see too much. She exhales slowly, grounding herself. I try to do the same. It doesn’t work.
“So, Big Bear,” she says lightly, not looking at me, “Do you growl often, or just when provoked by woodland creatures or when you face a problem.”
“I growl when someone pokes the bear.”
She snorts at that. “You’re not as grumpy as you pretend to be, you know.”
“Don’t let the pancake-making fool you. I’m a menace before breakfast, after dinner, and sometimes when doing yoga.”
“That so?” She lifts a brow and moves into a forward fold. “Guess I’ll make a note not to poke the bear during those times.”
I’m trying hard not to look, but then she glances at me, upside down, hair spilling toward the sand, a teasing smile on her lips.
“What?” she asks.
I clear my throat and turn my gaze out to the ocean. “Just… wondering if we need more rules.”
She straightens slowly, studying me. “So many rules for one week.”
Before I can answer, she stands, brushes the sand from her leggings, and offers me a hand. “Come on, Big Bear. Let’s go back. You’ve got rules to write, and I’ve got sunbathing to do. In a fully appropriate swimsuit, for the record.”
Great, now I’m picturing her not in it.
I take her hand, but don’t let go right away. Her skin is warm. Her grip steady. There’s something really different about this woman.
“We’re done, already? I ask. “Are we going to do it doggy style?” Her eyes go wide and she bites her lip, working hard not to laugh. I shake my head, confused. “What?”
“We are going to take it slow, and it’s called downward dog, and we’re going to get to that, eventually. Doggy style is something else entirely and no we will not be doing that.”
I nearly choke on my tongue. I don’t know much about yoga, but I know a Freudian slip when I hear it. “That’s not—I didn’t mean—obviously we won’t be doing that.” Fuck my life. “I mean, I don’t even want to.”
Liar.
4
Charly
I check in with my brother, to let him know I found a place to stay. I don’t tell him where. Call me paranoid, but I have no idea who is listening. That almost makes me laugh. It’s not like I’m a big star. Heck just a few months ago I was nobody. Sure my name, Indy Rhodes, became popular when I won The Spotlight, but it was the supposed sex tape I was in that really skyrocketed me.
Who knew all you had to do was flash the world to become popular.
They say any publicity is good publicity, but I disagree. I really don’t want to be known for my sex-capades, even if they weren’t mine. But honestly, I have no idea if this will blow over…ugh, bad choice of words…or I I’ll have to find another career, out of the spotlight.
I read my brother’s response. He, of course, wanted me to stay with him, but again, I don’t want to bring him unwanted attention. What would he think if he knew I’d crashed in Rip Hart’s bed. He’d probably lose his mind. Everyone knows Rip’s reputation. But I’m not about to crawl into bed with him.
No sleepovers.
No doggy style.
