The Art of Appreciation (5 page)

Abby took a deep breath and let it out in a gust. “Right. Change.”

Sarah shrieked and ran for the shower. “You’d better not wuss out on me, I swear to God.”

Abby flapped her hand at her. “Go already, before I change my mind.”

Two hours later, after a change of clothes and a meal grabbed at a small bistro on the boardwalk, they walked into The Catalyst, Santa Cruz’s hotspot for food, drinks, and dancing. They were headed toward the bar when Sarah spotted some of the people from her bike group. “Grab us a spot, babe,” she shouted over the crowd. “I’ll be right back.”

A gin and tonic later, she was still MIA. Abby ordered another cocktail from the harried barmaid. As bright and cheerful as the room was, it really wasn’t her style. Clubs might have done it for her a decade and a half before, but now she appreciated a well-mixed drink, cozy atmosphere, and music over which she could hear herself think.

“Change is good…change is good,” Abby muttered to herself, turning back toward the bar when she couldn’t spot Sarah. She lifted her hair off her neck and looked down, fanning her nape with a cocktail napkin.

“That right there is beautiful.” A gentle finger ran over the arch of her neck. “I wish I had my camera.”

Her head jerked up, and she stepped closer to the bar before half-turning to see Matt, his eyes unfocussed and his face a mask of concentration. He shook his head after a second and smiled, looking at his still upraised hand before lowering it. “Sorry. Force of habit. I’m a sensory learner, too.” His smile widened. “It’s like I can’t really ‘see’ unless I use my hands. Know anyone else like that, pretty lady?”

Taking a swallow of her drink, Abby grimaced at the burn in her throat. “I might. You know, I’m beginning to think you really are stalking me, surferboy.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you the one who told Sarah about this little slice of heaven?”

Matt chuckled and gestured at his clothes. “Do I look like I spend a lot of time here?”

Abby compared his navy tee and worn jeans to the bright vacation clothes on the majority of the people in the room. She shook her head. “Don’t you own another shirt?” she joked.

He looked down at himself in surprise. “I
was
wearing this shirt the other day, wasn’t I? Glad you noticed.” Matt smiled. “I happen to like things that have stood the test of time. Take these jeans, for example.” He slid onto the stool next to Abby and nodded toward its companion. She scooted up onto the seat, and he gestured at the barmaid for two more drinks. Looking down at the leg of his jeans, Abby tried to ignore the muscles underneath, instead concentrating on the denim, pale from many washings and with a sheen like velvet. She caught herself as she reached out to touch Matt’s thigh, and he laughed, raising one leg toward her. “Go ahead. They really are that soft. I’ve had them since high school, which makes them older than some people in this bar.” Abby shook her head and turned back toward her drink. Matt grabbed her hand gently. “C’mon. You know you want to,” he teased as he drew Abby’s fingers toward his leg. “You won’t be able to sleep for wondering.”

She relented, brushing just the tips of her fingers on the fabric right above his knee. “Soft,” she murmured, looking up to find Matt watching her. He let go of her hand and lowered his leg.

“Why didn’t you come down to the water today, pretty lady?” Matt asked. He watched Abby’s hands as she fiddled with her drink stirrer.

“Because I don’t poach,” Abby said, looking back toward the dance area. “You seem to be attached at the moment, and I respect that.”
Even if I can’t respect your choice
, she added to herself.

Matt’s warm hand, surprisingly rough and dry for that of a doctor, cupped Abby’s cheek and turned her face toward his so he could catch her gaze. “I’m not attached,” he whispered.

“Does she know that?” Abby whispered back, removing Matt’s hand from her cheek. She put her own hand lightly on his jaw and turned his face toward the stairs, where the girl from the museum was waving her arms and trying to get his attention.

“Crap.” Matt gave a half-hearted wave back before turning toward Abby. “I realize what this looks like, but I swear it’s not what you’re thinking. I came here with friends
—guy
friends—and we’ve been waiting for a pool table to open up there—which apparently it has. I don’t know where Zoe came from.”

“Okay.” Abby shrugged. She slid off the stool and onto her feet, gulping the last of her drink and setting the empty glass on the bar. “None of my business anyway.” She spotted Sarah at a corner table, huddled close to the dark-haired guy from earlier that evening. “The hottie is waving at you again. You don’t want to miss your table.” Abby said, looking at Matt and wishing he were different. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll see you around.”

As she brushed past him, Matt snagged her arm. “You will see me, Pretty,” he said, rubbing his thumb on the crook of her elbow and smiling when she shivered. “Tell me your name?”

Abby reluctantly smiled back. “Pretty will do. Bye.” She walked toward the bathrooms, hoping to snag Sarah along the way. No such luck. Sarah slid through the crowd and toward the dance floor, her surfer guy in tow. By the time Abby could get in and out of a stall and up to the sinks, she’d had time to make unflattering comparisons between Matt’s Barbie and herself, and she was feeling pretty blue.

Stepping back to the bar after a fruitless search for her wayward friend, Abby ordered an Amstel. The thump of the bass and the constant clamor was giving her a headache, and she wondered how she was going to get home if she couldn’t find Sarah.

“That must have been some nasty road rash when it was fresh,” a voice drawled from beside her. She glanced down at her hip. The motion of leaning forward to take her bottle from the server had pulled her top up, exposing the scabby patch that was still too sensitive for tight clothes.

The man next to her chuckled and ended his frank appraisal when she yanked her shirt down. He raised his own bottle to his lips, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve seen and had much worse than that.” Raising one muscled arm, he pointed to the deep scar across his triceps. “Middle of a race, I was shoved off my bike. A chunk of steel that was embedded in the soft shoulder gave me this. After sixteen stitches—” he pointed to the outside of his left knee, which had its own shiny, hairless scar “—another race. Another wreck.” He started to pull up his shirt, exposing a muscled stomach. “And there’s this one on my chest—”

Abby grabbed his hand. “I believe you.”

He dropped the hem of his shirt, grinning and rubbing the curly dark hair on the back of his head. “I was just kidding anyway. Wondering how far you’d let me go.” He looked at Abby with a raised eyebrow and chuckled when she shook her head. “Although I did wreck on a motorcycle while wearing a T-shirt and no jacket once and ended up sanding off half my chest hair.”

Abby had to laugh at his enthusiasm. “You sound pretty accident prone. Maybe you’d better stay off of all forms of two-wheeled transportation.”

“Can’t do it. It’s my passion and my avocation.”

“Bike wrecker?” Abby joked. He was a big guy, built broad and hard, but the open friendliness in his eyes and across his dark, handsome face made him non-threatening.

“Very funny. No, bike racer.” He held up a hand, palm-out. “And, before you ask, not motorcycles. Bicycles. Do you ride often?”

“Not if I can help it. The one time I’ve been on a bike since I was twelve netted me this.” Abby raised her top enough to wave at the mess on her hip. “So, no.”

He nodded, smiling. “Fair enough. So, do you swim? Run? You’re doing something to keep that shape.”

“Ooh. Confident, aren’t we?” Abby said archly, and he shrugged. “I walk an insane amount every day in my real life, though I’ve been doing a lot of lying around during this vacation. Weeks of vegetating so far—well, with a little bit of yoga.”

“Not good. Not good at all.” He shook his head sadly. “We’ll have to get you back in the saddle or you’ll start to lose muscle tone.” He looked Abby up and down. “That would be a damned shame.”

Cheeky bastard…but Abby sort of liked it. She slid onto the stool next to him and drained her bottle of beer before answering. “Thanks. You do realize that I’m old enough to be your…” She searched for the term she wanted.

“I’m twenty-five. How old are you?” he asked boldly, turning toward Abby. She couldn’t help noticing the way his shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders, accentuating just a couple of his multiple assets.

“Thirty-seven.”

“Then ‘mother’ wouldn’t fit. I may be from West Virginia, but even my hillbilly mother wasn’t pregnant at twelve.” Abby laughed. “So, are we finished with that crap? Age isn’t an issue. Are we in agreement?”

Abby blew out a gust of air, enjoying the man’s candor and really enjoying looking at him. “Um…this might be a weird question, but…aren’t you a big guy for bike racing? I thought they were little ’uns.”

He laughed loudly, drawing friendly looks and smiles from the other patrons. “Bikes, not horses. Racers aren’t jockeys. In answer to your question, though—yeah, I am bigger than US norm, though some Europeans are close. I’m agile, though, and powerful.” He raised his bottle to his lips, smiling and looking at Abby out of the corner of his eye. “You ought to try me.”

“Down, boy,” she deadpanned, liking him more all the time. “Is there a big bike scene in Santa Cruz to bring you down from the hills, Billy?”

He shook his head at Abby’s bad joke. “Yeah, there is, but I have to work, too. I’m modeling for an artist this summer. Well, hopefully. I meet with him tomorrow.”

“Modeling?” Abby grinned. “How did you stumble into that line of work?”

He shrugged. “Gotta feed the obsession somehow. New frames for a guy my size don’t come cheap.” Abby nodded. “Besides, I’ve done worse gigs.” He drained his bottle, winking at the barmaid and wiggling his bottle to indicate that he’d like another.

Abby watched the play of the muscles in his shoulders and back as he leaned forward to take the drink, and her interest was piqued. “Liiike…?”

“Liiike…department store Santa. That sucked.”

Imagining him in a full beard and padded suit, Abby started laughing. After a minute he joined in, leaning forward to rest a hand on her knee. “Listen, I have an early morning, and I’m an upfront guy. Would you be interested in a drink at my place? The noise in here is getting to me. I live just around the corner, and I swear to God, I’m trustworthy.” He placed his other hand over his heart. “And besides, my best friend-slash-manager will be there. Her name’s Chelsie, and she can kick my ass. You wanna?”

Abby’s mind flew back and forth between interest and caution. He seemed friendly enough, but he was miles from her usual type.
Suck it up, Abby. That’s what this summer is all about—change
. “Sure. Why not?” Slipping off the stool, Abby linked her arm through his and slid her other hand over his bicep. “Hey, I guess I should ask you what your name is, right?”

He smiled down at her. “It’s Jason. Jason Shaw. And you are?”

“Abby Reynolds.” She caught sight of Sarah at a table not far from the door. Sarah gave her a double thumbs-up before re-engaging with her boy toy. Abby paused. She was about to walk out the door to an unknown destination with a really large guy who she barely knew. Change was good, but stupidity was not. “Listen, Jason, come meet my friend Sarah. I want to give her your address so she can pick me up in an hour or so.”

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? If I didn’t have to be at Clarke’s studio first thing in the morning I’d be turning on the charm right now.”

Abby smiled at him. “It would probably work too, but, alas…” She shrugged, and Jason groaned before following her lead. She made the introductions and explained her plan, but a glance let her know that Sarah was probably already past the driving stage.

“I’m not drinking,” Sarah’s companion said, only briefly taking his eyes off of Sarah. “I’ll come get you and drive you both home.”

“How will you get home?” Abby asked.

He smiled at Sarah and skimmed his hand over her thigh. “We’ll work that out later,” he said. Sarah giggled.

Jason wrote his address on a cocktail napkin, and Abby shoved it into Sarah’s hand. “Don’t lose this, and don’t forget. I’m counting on you.” Sarah smiled and nodded, already disengaged from the conversation.

Jason walked toward the door. “And you thought I was forward. That guy doesn’t have balls; he has boulders.”

Abby laughed, looking back at Sarah’s table. She caught a flash of sun-bleached hair as it moved through the crowd toward her. When Matt caught Abby’s eye, he stopped where he was, taking in Jason’s encircling arm before smiling crookedly, shrugging, and changing his vector to walk toward the bar. Abby followed him with her eyes, wishing for just a second that she was still sitting there.

“Ready?” Jason’s voice tugged Abby back to the present.

She looked at him and smiled. “Yep.”

The walk to Jason’s home, part of a larger house that had been split into three tiny apartments, was as short as he had said, and he was soon opening the front door. It was small and shabbily furnished, but neat. A lanky blond woman looked up from the Xbox game she was playing, startled.