Page 14 of Stick Break
I stop short, plant my feet like I mean business, and toss a hand on my hip. “Let’s have a contest.”
“A contest?” Rip turns, raising an eyebrow like I just challenged him to a duel instead of beachcombing. He adjusts the fishing rod on his shoulder with a practiced ease that really shouldn’t be so attractive.
“Yeah. See who can reel in the most useful item today. Winner keeps the loot.”
He gives me a crooked smirk—equal parts charm and trouble. “Define useful.”
“If it’s clothing,” I say sweetly. “We have to wear it. No exceptions.”
Rip narrows his eyes, full of suspicion. “I’m not putting on a dress. Or anything with sequins. Or feathers.”
I grin already imagining him in something tragic and glittery that smells faintly of seaweed and regret. “Then maybe you don’t want to play?”
He steps closer, and his eyes flicker with a cocky gleam. Why did I know this man would never back down from a challenge. “Oh, I’m playing. Just want it on record that if I end up in someone’s discarded wedding gown, I’m blaming you.”
“Why do I feel like this isn’t a hypothetical?” I squint at him.
A grin tugs at his mouth as he steps up on a rock and extends a hand to help me over. “Let’s just say I’ve seen some things in Vegas that no man should ever see. Including a groomsman in a tiara.”
This isn’t the first time he’s mentioned Vegas. “You spend a lot of time there, or did you just live in a Hangover movie?”
“My grandfather owns a resort out there,” he says with a shrug, then winces. “I’ve seen s like he accidentally dropped a secret.
Not wanting him to worry about it. Truthfully, his secrets are safe with me, as long as mine are safe with him. I pinch my eyes shut playfully. “Now I’m never getting the vision of you in a wedding dress out of my brain.”
“It wasn’t me,” he laughs. “But my buddy nearly ended up in one. Fortunately, he found himself in a Mrs. Ropers dress.
“From that old seventies show?”
“Yup.’
“That is fortunate,” I say with a laugh, not exactly sure how that as better.
“He was heling a girl out, who needed to get away from her fiancé.”
“Okay, clearly I broke into the wrong cottage. Does your cross-dressing hero friend have a place nearby? He’d obviously be up for my game.” I glance around casually.
For the briefest second, something flickers across his face. Jealousy? No. Couldn’t be. Could it?
“Nope,” he says smoothly. “And he’s married to that runaway bride now.”
I stick out my hand. “So? We got a deal? No backing out if you catch a wetsuit and a tutu?”
He shakes my hand—his grip firm, warm, and just a little too smug. “You’re on,” he says.
“Prepare to be dazzled,” I tell him, eyes twinkling. “Prepare to be dazzled by my sea trash couture.”
He sets the toolbox down, and takes my rod from me. I watch as he gives a detailed explanation on how to cast my line, and I like that he’s not watering it down for fishing dummies 101. “First we need something shiny to attract the fish.” He gestures with a nod toward the box.
“Open the tackle box and grab me a lure.”
“Is that what this is called?” I ask, as I pop it open. “I thought it was a toolbox. I just wasn’t sure what tools we used to fish. I thought maybe you kept a hammer in here and bobbed them on the head.”
He chuckles.
“That’s okay. You didn’t know. Now see that shiny lure there. Grab me that, and grab that bobber.”
“Bobber?”
