Page 36 of Flirting with Trouble

Me: Don’t toy with me, Silver.

WellsSpells: You want to play with a toy with me?

A drooling emoji pops up.

My mind immediately conjures that scenario, and my cheeks grow hotter. Ugh. Wells Silver, what are you doing to me? I climb off the elliptical as I respond.

Me: You’re a fool. I have to get ready for work.

WellsSpells: Try not to think about me too much in the shower.

Me: That’s not a problem.

A voice in my head sings, Liar, liar, pants on fire.

WellsSpells: You’re right. You can never think of me too much.

I head up to my suite for a cold shower, hoping it’ll wipe yet another ridiculous grin off my face.

Half of my day is spent at the recording studio and the other half, in meetings, with welcome doses of flirty games in between. The anticipation throughout the day is energizing, and I’m itching to get my toes in the sand before going back to the concrete jungle of the Big Apple tomorrow afternoon, so I pick up a burger and fries after work and drive straight to the beach.

I leave my heels in the rental car and revel in the feel of the warm sand between my toes as I make my way toward the water. There are a lot of people at the beach and in the water. I find a quiet spot and sit in the sand.

With the late-afternoon sun on my face and the salty sea air filling my lungs, my whole body relaxes. I miss the beach, and grass, and not staring at four walls all the time, and I really miss relaxing. Letting my mind drift to things other than work or guilt. If I’m honest with myself, I miss living outside my box as much as I like living inside it—or need to, for my own sanity.

As I eat my dinner, I gaze out at the waves crashing along the shore, people watching. A dark-haired guy jogs out of the water toward a woman standing on shore with a dog, and my mind tiptoes back to the picture Wells sent me earlier. I’m pretty sure that gorgeous shirtless image is burned into my brain. We’ve had so much fun lately, it probably isn’t fair to flirt with him when I’m not really looking for more, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

Is it leading him on if we’ve acknowledged it’s just a friendship?

My phone rings, stirring the nervous anticipation that has been humming inside me all day. Wells and I finished our last game of WordLink before I left the office, and I was hoping he’d start another. But he’s been surprising me so much lately, I wonder if he’d call. Do I want him to? I don’t give myself time to answer that question and pull my phone from my skirt pocket. I’m hit with an unfamiliar wave of disappointment when I see my brother Clay’s name on the screen. That disappointment annoys me. I love my brothers, and I’m always happy to hear from them.

Kicking that disappointment to the curb, I answer the call. “Hi, Clay. Still floating on a cloud of marital bliss?”

Talk about a guy who I never thought would settle down. Clay was the quarterback for the New York Giants before retiring and marrying Pepper Montgomery, a brilliant scientist. The media had long-ago dubbed him “Mr. Perfect.” He ate up that attention, using it to his advantage with women for many years, but somewhere along the way that changed, and I’ve never seen him happier than he is with Pepper.

“You know it,” Clay says arrogantly, and I can tell he has me on speakerphone.

“Does that mean you’re not driving Pepper crazy yet?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I like showing up at her work, bringing muffins for her staff, and getting a little something sweet for myself.”

“I do not need to know that.” I put the trash from my dinner into the bag it came in.

“There are worse things in the world than Clay being madly in love with his wife,” Noah hollers in the background.

“You’re with Noah?” I ask. “Where are you guys?”

“At the Real DEAL,” Clay says. “I’m running the kids’ football camp this week, remember?” Noah is a marine biologist. He lives in Colorado, where he and a few of our cousins run the Real DEAL (Discover, Experience, Appreciate, Learn), a total immersion exploratory park for kids.

“I forgot you were doing that. How’s it going?”

“The kids love him,” Noah says.

“Doesn’t everyone?” I say. “Clay, when do you leave for your honeymoon?” They put off their trip until one of Pepper’s contracts winds down.

“Not for another two weeks,” Clay says.

“How’re things with you, Vic?” Noah asks.