Page 11 of Summer Heat

Lessons Learned

Brady

Look but don’t touch. Flirt and leave it at that. Keep my hands to my damn self.

Got it. Probably.

Since it’s so early in the summer and in the day, I put my wetsuit on over my swimming trunks before leaving my cabin. I like to get here early before anyone who wants a lesson can show up.

I love the beach in the morning. There’s hardly ever anyone here before eleven, the water still has a bite to it that gets my blood pumping, and the sand isn’t on fire and is actually bearable to walk on in bare feet.

I prop my surfboard up against one of the loungers that are out here specifically for the guests and drop the armful of towels I hauled out here onto the cushioned seat. I always bring extras with me when I give lessons because at least one of the Richie Riches always forgets to bring one, and since I’m staff, they expect me to pull one out of my ass on their command. I learned to keep extras on hand after one old broad, who got pissed when I brushed her off after she grabbed my ass, had a temper tantrum right here on the beach. That shit had not been a fun experience for me, so I always try to work smarter and not harder.

There’s also a tube of sunblock stuffed inside one of those rolled up towels too. Not for me, of course. My tan is flawless, and my skin soaks up the sun’s rays as if I were made to be out in the sunshine day in and day out.

“Hey there, cutie!” a bright, overly giddy, voice chirps from directly behind me, and I whip around as my hand flies to my chest. Talk about a heart attack. What a sneaky bitch.

“Shit,” I say in a rush, and then I want to smack my dumbass upside the head for cursing in front of someone who’s obviously a guest here. “You scared the shi—I mean heck out of me.” Good save. She doesn’t look offended, judging by her smile. I always feel out of place with these rich people, like I definitely don’t belong with them and everyone knows it.

By the way, what the fuck is she doing down here on my beach disturbing my alone time? I thought these broads brunched while drinking mimosas andthenthey started their days, but never before.

Ugh. Hasn’t her mama taught her anything about how to be a good socialite? If so, she clearly sucks at it.

She’s pretty enough, I’ll give her that. Tall with long legs that are toned and tan. Her dark blonde hair hangs in perfect, straight lines down to her shoulders. I can’t see her eyes behind her big, movie star-like shades that cover up almost half of her face. Judging by the rest of her face that’s on display, I know I wouldn’t exactly approve of what lies behind those shades.

Who the hell wears makeup to the beach? It’s absurd to me. She’s clearly not an ugly chick, so I don’t get it.

She’s got on a pair of incredibly short khaki shorts and a dark blue spaghetti strap tank top that’s cropped short and exposes several inches of tan flesh between the hem and her shorts. The bikini strings that are tied around her neck are white, and the ridiculous flip-flops on her feet match in color, but they have at least a three-inch wedge to them. She looks like she’s heading to a fashion show more than to a surfing lesson.

“Hey,” I say as I offer her a fake smile. “Can I help you with something?”

This girl is definitely not my type. If the outfit and makeup at the beach hadn’t immediately put me off, her lack of curves did the job nicely.

Yeah, that look but don’t touch rule just got a whole lot easier. If she were an employee, drunk and at a party, I’d probably let her blow me, but just out looking? She’s not my thing. I like tits. I like ass. Curves are a fucking blessing you can never go wrong with, and I like hair that I can wrap around my fist and use to take control of the situation. The meticulous way her makeup is applied, down to the perfect spray tan she has on, tells me this rich girl here’s a complete control freak.

She takes a bold step closer, too close, making me tense and putting me on high alert.

“You’re Brady, right? The surfing instructor?” She smiles hopefully at me, but there’s a tiny hint of something dangerous there that makes me feel a lot like prey. “I’m Chelsea Manning, and I’d like for you to teach me how to surf.”

The name drop makes me wince, and despite the fact that I really do not want to give this chick my time right now, there’s no way in hell I can possibly say no to her—which I’m sure is the reason behind why she said her last name in the first place. The new owner’s daughter. Just my fucking luck.

Uncomfortable, I scratch the back of my neck. “Have you ever surfed before?”

The water is calling my name, and I find myself chanting inside my head,Please say yes. Please say yes.Yes means I can grab a board for her scrawny ass and we can hit the water.

Frowning, she shakes her head at me in the negative. “No. I didn’t think that’d be a requirement though.”

Fucking bummer. Still, I rush to assure her. There’s a definite edge to her tone that tells me that Chelsea isn’t used to hearing the wordno,especially not from the help.

“It’s not. I just need to know what I’m working with here so I know where to start.”

“Oh, honey,” she purrs as she sweeps her hand down the front of her body. “I’m more than happy to show you what you’re working with here, and you’re going to love every second of it. I promise.”

Shit. This is going to be every bit as uncomfortable as humanly possible.

Closing my eyes, I count to ten in an attempt to control my temper. This bitch is going to get me fired, and not only can I not afford that, but I’m not about to do my brothers dirty again. We’re already up shit’s creek because of me, so I’ll do almost anything in order to not make it any worse.

I take a healthy step back and away from the girl. Yup, she’s definitely a predator who wants to take a big ole bite out of me.

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