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“The way I see it, it’s the perfect way to weed out a woman. Interested. Not interested.”
“What do you mean?” Nathaniel hates himself for asking, but dammit if he isn’t curious.
His brother leans in, grinning. His eyes glitter like he holds all the secrets of the universe. “My theory is, when women get drunk, they want their man. If you’re not getting a text or call when she’s drunk, you’re not the one she wants.”
Maybe Tate has a point. Maybe he’s an idiot.
Tate scans the beach. “What about Ash?”
Nathaniel gives him a dry look. Tamps down the lightning strike that courses through him at her name. “What about her?”
Now they’re both surveying the beach.
Silence falls.
Ash is kicking off her shorts, leaving her in nothing but that painted-on bikini. At the sight of her perky ass, Nathaniel is hitwith a strange, primal urge. To make his way over to her and give her a playful slap on one tight cheek.
What does she taste like? In the morning and at night. And what would those pouty red lips feel like against his? Despite his better judgment, he can’t help but imagine running his hand over all that smooth creamy flesh and kissing his way down her thighs. Does she steal the sheets, or does she share? She seems like the type to take a long nap after a day on the beach, not because she’s lazy, but because she’s like a cat and prefers to bask in the sun, and goddamn if he’ll interrupt her.
“You think she’s looking to…you know?”
Nathaniel snaps himself out of his ridiculous thoughts. “What?” he asks through gritted teeth.
Tate gives him a knowing grin. “You think she’d be interested?”
No. She wouldn’t be.
But nonetheless, a pang of irritation rises at the thought of Tate taking Ash out.
Nathaniel scowls at him. “In you?”
“Sorry, dawg. Read the room wrong.” Tater lifts his hands, giving him a conciliatory look. “You get first dibs.”
Nathaniel opens his mouth to tell him he doesn’t want first dibs. He isn’t interested in Ash.
Only, nothing comes out.
Until last night, he wasn’t sure about her.
Now? His self-control is deteriorating at a rapid pace.
Nathaniel feels dumber for having listened to Tate’s entire spiel on women and the ways of the world, but it’s the least he can do for his grandfather. And Ash.
Ash.
Fuck. Why is he even thinking about her right now?
He empties his head of her and looks toward the ocean. On the water, a sailboat slices with swift delicacy. The sky is bright and blue. A group of surfers carry their boards up to the rocks.
“You want to kayak?” he asks Tate, in desperate need of a distraction. “We could take Grandpops out.”
Tate shrugs. “Sure, man. Whatever.” His little brother is like a Labrador retriever. Eager to please. Always has been.
For the next two hours, the brothers, along with Augustus, tour the cove. No phones, minimal conversation. But within minutes of being on the water, Nathaniel’s mind clears. The beach has always been his source of calm. In LA, he has easy access. Living on the water on the rig is another world entirely. On theSophia Marie, he has to be level-headed and prepared at all times. Aware of what he can and can’t control. The sea. The weather. But he can stop blood. Restart a heart. Stay away from his family. Ash. The predictability of life gives him focus. An escape.
Back on shore, they get Augustus into his lounge chair, then make sure he’s covered by an umbrella and has water.
Once his grandfather is settled, Nathaniel straightens up. Ridiculously, his first thought is to scan the beach for Ash. He’s looking for that Pavlovian flash of yellow when the blast of a whistle cuts through the noise on the beach.
