Ex on the Beach (13 page)

“Or you could just date me for the next two weeks.” Desperate much?

A smart man wouldn’t go down this path, but he admitted to himself that he wasn’t so sure he was smart. She was cute and hot and sweet, and all he could focus on was wanting her naked and writhing in his arms.

As she thought through her options, he grabbed her hand and slipped his fingers between hers, tugging her closer. He’d always enjoyed spending quiet time with her like this, and tonight was no different

“You about finished thinking it over?” he asked.

“No.” She lowered her gaze to the broken glass on the concrete between them and snuck her free hand out behind her to find the open bottle. When she tilted it up to her mouth and finished off the wine, he couldn’t help but laugh out loud again, unconcerned whether Phillip Jordan heard them or not.

“Encouragement in a bottle, babe?”

She swiped her mouth on the back of her hand, the neck of the bottle still in her grip, and grinned. And he fell a little harder. “More like hoping it’ll make me so drowsy I fall asleep before answering you.”

Oh. He had her. He just had to wait for her to come around.

“Come on.” He stood up and took the empty bottle from her. “I’m going to put you to bed.”

When she began to protest, he stressed, “Alone,” and pulled her to her feet.

“I’m giving you a day to think about it,” he finished. “One day."

She let him tug her along behind him to her open door. “Leave the door open when you leave,” she murmured. She was practically asleep on her feet. “I like to hear it rain.”

Before he crossed into her room, he stopped and looked back at her. The tips of her hair floated in the wind, dancing around her face, and she swayed sleepily on her feet. Her eyes were already closed. He scooped her up and tucked her in tight against his chest. “You’re going to fall flat on your face before I get you to bed,” he murmured.

Instead of answering — or complaining that he’d picked her up — she burrowed her cheek against his chest, her hot breath puffing across his bare skin and sending vibrations skittering over every inch his body. He stood unmoving, fighting the urge to return to the past. They had been really good at one point.

When her arm slipped over his shoulder to hook around his neck, he stiffly turned to her darkened room and forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. He was tucking her into bed to sleep tonight.
Sleep
, he reminded himself
.
He pulled in a deep breath.
That’s all.

He glanced down at the gentle curve of her face — her eyes closed, her mouth soft and relaxed — and felt his own lips curve involuntarily. She was exquisite.

As he moved through her room, he checked it out with more than the cursory glance he’d given it when he’d gone in for the wine. The layout very similar to his room, though hers was larger and much more frilly. There were pillows everywhere, a set of shelves that held an assortment of knickknacks, baskets, photos, and books. There were also what appeared to be a handful of decorative boxes stacked under the small bedside table.

Who kept boxes for no reason other than they looked pretty? He supposed there could be something useful in them, but he would lay money down, based on the way they were stacked in such a precise pattern, that they were for aesthetic purposes only.

Stopping beside her bed, he tossed pillows to the floor and tugged back the ruffled bedspread — and only then did he allow himself to look back down at her. She was watching him.

“You sleeping in the shorts?” he asked. His windpipe had narrowed, and the words came out as a strangled whisper. “Or should I help you into pajamas?”

Her gaze lowered to her clothes long enough to let him know that she was considering door number two. Oh, hell no. He quickly settled her on the mattress, almost dropping her in his haste, and yanked the covers up to her neck.

“Never mind,” he said, his voice as tight as his skin suddenly felt. “It’ll have to be the shorts tonight. Or you can change after I’m gone. But this is me being a gentleman, sunshine. So I beg of you, do not take those shorts off in front of me.”

A light note of laughter floated up from the bed, and he wanted to lean down and hug her to him. At one point in their lives he’d been the person who made her laugh every day.

He couldn’t resist pressing his lips to her forehead, though. And he lingered there against her warm skin. “Get a good night’s, sleep,” he whispered.

Thick eyelashes rested against her cheeks, and the sight flipped something over in his chest. He needed to keep this light. Fun. Otherwise at least one of them was going to get hurt.

And one just might not get over it. Again.

The next afternoon, four-foot-ten-inch Viola Bean, otherwise known to her friends as “Vanilla” Bean, scooted in beside Andie at the senior center, and peered over her bifocals at the basket Andie was making.

“Show me how you do that again,” Mrs. Bean said.

Andie smiled and put her basket down, helping the older woman by wrapping her hands over Mrs. Bean’s more frail ones and showing her in slow motion how to twist the vines into the weaving pattern they had learned that day.

“It’s the same moves, over and over again,” Andie said. “For the next sixteen rows.”

Mrs. Bean nodded, her head bobbing with its fringe of white hair tinged in blue. She scrunched up her face in concentration, taking another stab at it while Andie moved around the room to ensure no one else needed help. All were diligently focused on their projects except Chester Brownbomb, who was spending more time watching Vanilla Bean than working on his own basket.

Both of them had spouses who’d passed, and if Andie were to guess, she’d say Chester had his eye on Vanilla for his next conquest. The man thought he was the Don Juan of the senior center. And apparently most of the women there thought so, too. They lined up for his attention.

She shook her head at the romantic madness running rampant through the group but grinned when Chester caught her watching him. He gave her a big wink. She loved coming there. It was zero pressure, she was doing something she loved, and she was helping make people happy. It was good all around.

“I got it!” Vanilla squealed, and Andie laughed with true happiness. “My daughter is going to love this basket.”

“You’re not keeping it for yourself?” Andie crossed back to Mrs. Bean.

“No. Her birthday is next month. She likes it when I give her handmade gifts.”

Andie suspected the daughter probably also liked knowing that her mother was taking part in activities she enjoyed. Being fulfilled in life was a nice reward for surviving it.

When Andie was assured that everyone was sufficiently engrossed in their tasks, she headed to the other side of the room to sit beside Roni and Ginger. Her friends made a habit of dropping in on her weekly classes. It was a fun way to spend a couple hours together. But since the class was for seniors only, Andie put them to work whenever she needed extra hands.

Not that Ginger was much help, nor was Roni patient enough to do much more than damage, but both would do in a pinch.

Now the two of them smiled at her expectantly, and Andie let out a groan, knowing what was coming.

“Is this going to be about Mark, or about me dating? Because I have news on both fronts,” she said.

Roni raised her shapely brows. She was the cultured one of their group, and as such she would be taking the women in the wedding party on a shopping expedition on Saturday. At the same time, Ginger would entertain the men with a deep-sea fishing trip several miles off the coast. It was a pretty good deal, having friends who could help with wedding activities.

Ginger poked at her lopsided basket with a finger, then frowned when it sagged inward where she’d touched it. “How do you get it tight enough not to do that?” she asked. When Andie started to answer, Ginger waved her off, shaking her head. “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about baskets — I want to talk about you. And Mark. Tell us what’s happened since Sunday night.”

“You mean since you both deserted me on the beach with the man who’d once crushed my heart?”

Roni nodded, unmoved by the play for guilt. “Exactly. What happened? Have you talked?”

“Have you kissed?” Ginger added.

Andie’s jaw dropped open. “What would make you think we’ve kissed? Wasn’t I supposed to get closure?”

“Well, yeah,” Ginger agreed. “But that doesn’t mean closure wouldn’t involve kissing.”

“Really?” Andie eyed her friend, shocked by the words coming out of her mouth, then turned to the other side of the table to study Roni. Roni’s annoyed expression said she wasn’t as gung ho for the kissing thing, but she didn’t voice the words
don’t go for it,
either.

Which made no sense. Had Andie been a betting woman, she would have laid odds that not kissing Mark would be near the top of their list of priorities.

“What would make it okay to kiss the man who once left me at the altar?” She asked the question as if she were not guilty of that very act. She would eventually have to confess but not quite yet.

Ginger’s light green eyes went a little hazy. “Because he looks like a Greek god.”

Roni shrugged, a sign that she agreed — he looked like a Greek god — and Andie shook her head at both of them.

“That’s it?” she asked. “Because he’s hot? So … what? Should I sleep with him, too?” Because
oh
, she wanted to.

Ginger sucked in a quick breath but offered no additional thoughts.

“What about him breaking my heart again?” Andie asked.

“How could he do that?” Roni’s voice was the portrait of incredulity. “You know what he’s like now. So yeah, if you wanted to use him for a little R&R while he’s here, seems to me you’d have the upper hand this time. Not that I’m suggesting it — I’m merely pointing out the facts.”

“I’m suggesting it,” Ginger plugged in.

Andie sputtered in indignation. “I cannot believe you said that.”

Before anyone could say anything more, Andie detected an issue brewing across the room. She narrowed her eyes in Chester’s direction. He’d moved over to Ms. Sherman’s table and was openly flirting, while Vanilla Bean eyed the two of them and was clearly getting her feathers ruffled.

Andie went to break up the blue-haired catfight before it erupted, and sent Roni and Ginger to help two other ladies who needed more vines for their bowls.

“Chester!” Andie was determined to sound stern as she approached. He wore an instant look of a devil, his eyes sparkling with mischief. She would have laughed, but doing so might have hurt one — if not both — of the women’s feelings. “Why don’t you work on your own basket for a while?”

“How about I come sit with you and the two cuties and work on it?” Chester said, waggling his bushy eyebrows at her.

Andie furrowed her brow and pointed a finger at his seat. “Your basket, Chester. There are no rewards for bad behavior in my class.”

“Well, you’re no fun at all.” His grumble was good-natured, and she couldn’t contain her laughter any longer.

Instead of returning to her seat, she settled down beside Chester and worked with him until she was sure that he had the pattern down — and that he wasn’t intent on stirring up more trouble.

She made another sweep through the room, stopping at each table to chat with different people, helping if they needed it. They all liked to talk, and sharing a few moments in their worlds was one of her favorite parts of the day. She enjoyed hearing their stories, seeing life through their eyes. The conversations made her wish she could be as unconcerned with trivial things as most of them seemed to be.

Maybe someday.

Today she had a business to run.

And a house to save.

Finally, Roni and Ginger headed to the table the three of them had occupied, and Andie made her way in the same direction. They had a conversation to finish.

And she had to figure out what to do about Mark. He’d said he’d give her one day to think about his suggestion. That meant he’d seek her out that night. Her girl parts tingled at the very thought. Which wasn’t a good indication that she was going to say no.

If she agreed to an affair, would it start tonight?

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling as she had the thought:
it had better.

Once seated, Andie turned her gaze to Roni’s. “So?” she asked, picking the conversation back up where they’d left off. “What do you
really
think? Should I consider doing the wild thing with Mark while he’s here?”

Roni held her hands out in front of her, palms turned up. “It’s been a long, dry spell for you, sweetie. If you want a summer fling, I’d say he’d give you one. I saw the way he looked at you the other day. There are memories there. Naked ones.”

Yeah, she had some of her own, too. Especially after he’d carried her to her bed the night before. But did she really want to go there? She’d just gotten closure. Was it worth risking it for a few nights of fun?

She let her eyelids drift shut. She had to tell her friends about last night.

Lowering her face into her hands, she hid behind her fingers and muttered, “He actually suggested a fling last night.”