Page 26 of Concealed

“It is California,” I remind him.

“You’re a bit feisty after you open up.”

I giggle, and Wyatt Harrison is officially the only guy who has made me giggle in at least ten years. “Do you like feisty girls?”

“Most definitely.”

From where I’m standing, both the beach and the saltwater pool that’s exclusive to tenants at the townhouse complex are visible. The beach is full, but no one is at the pool.

“Let’s go swimming,” I suggest.

And then I realize what I said. I only packed bikinis because I used to sun myself by the pool in the privacy of Matt’s backyard in Vegas. He would never let me venture too far, but at least I could get outside and read.

I can’t strip down to a bikini in front of Wyatt. That’s taking the flirting game a little too far. I’m in good shape because I work hard at it, but my confidence is also at an all-time low. It’s true that it doesn’t matter how you look on the outside if your insides are shattered.

Maybe I could wear a T-shirt over my most modest bikini or something, but then I’m going to look even more ridiculous than I’ve already made myself out to be. Hopefully, he’s busy for the rest of the afternoon and will say no.

“Sure,” he agrees. “That would be awesome, and we can avoid the crowds by the looks of it.”

Well, shit.

Chapter 7

Wyatt

I’vechangedintoswimtrunks and am lounging on the couch having a total déjà vu moment while waiting for Rebecca. She’s taking an awfully long time, considering she’s putting on fewer clothes, but women are strange creatures when it comes to getting ready.

Treating Rebecca as a woman first and a trauma survivor second is/ at the top of my mind. When I treat her like a victim, she retreats and acts like one. When we’re just talking and bantering, the stress leaves her body and she opens right up.

I want to be the reason for her sexy smile’s appearance today.

I’m not harboring any illusions that things are going to get sexual between us, but if she wants to play around and explore with someone safe, then I’m perfectly content to be the guy she needs. It might as well be me, a man who is going to protect her, rather than some creep off the street.

In fact, she can do whatever she wants to me. After what she’s been through, she deserves some lighthearted fun without any pressure or strings attached.

And, I mean, no one can blame me for being a willing participant who is up for anything with a hot roommate after a long dry spell.

When Rebecca reappears, she’s wearing denim cutoff shorts that show off her mile-long tanned legs, and a flowy white shirt that doesn’t conceal the curve of her breasts. Gigantic sunglasses that hide her eyes are still in place, and she keeps licking her full, pouty lips, which she does when she’s nervous.

So, basically always.

I jump to my feet and take her hand again even though we’re inside and she doesn’t need me to steady her here.

She tilts her head and gives me a questioning half-smile, so I just shrug.

“Just getting ready and being prepared for anything,” I say.

Rebecca doesn’t pull away, so I take that as a win. Her hand is silky smooth and tiny in mine, and I’m quite enjoying the warmth swirling around my body from being so close to her.

When we get to the pool, it’s still empty, which is a stroke of good luck given the weather. The days of the week make little difference with my hours because a Monday could end up being the only day I have off.

But I’m grateful that Mondays suck for most working people. They’re probably only starting to head home to veg in front of the television with the air conditioning blasting, dreading the start of another desk jockey shift tomorrow, and living for the promise of a weekend.

Works for me.

Perfectly, in fact.

Rebecca sets her purse down and sits on the end of a lounger, resting her chin on her hand.

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