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When he meets my gaze full-on, his hazel eyes are a little fiery and so familiar again.
Who is he? I blot out the rest of the beach, the volleyball guys, the families, the sound of kids racing into the waves, and really try to place him.
He licks his lips, hums, then takes his sweet time. “The one you were reading. McLaren, red please. Heels…on youin any color.Starts with a P and I’ll say it when the lights are off. And a yacht,” he says.
Forget the detective work. My belly is doing a sexy tango, and I can’t quite think straight. This man is a fast talker with a dirty mind, and I am here for it.
“You win. A-plus on your test,” I say.
He pumps a fist. “I love winning. Even if it means I have to get hit by a vindictive oar.”
I laugh. “That’d be a good name for a band.”
“I bet itisa name for a band.”
“Everything is a name for a band these days,” I add.
He snaps his fingers. “Rogue Wave Riders would be a sweet name too.”
“They’re playing at the Holy Cow Sunday night. They go on after Vengeful Kayaks, and then Angry Jet Skis closes the set,” I say.
“We’re so there,” he says. He turns to me again, his expression shifting from joking to genuine. “Thanks again for the concussion check. Not gonna lie—avoiding concussions is a big life goal for me.”
Now I’m curious. “Is that a risk in your line of work?”
“It’s a risk in life,” he says a little evasively, glancing away to survey the beach. Then he turns back to me and flashes a blindingly gorgeous smile. If it’s a distraction ploy, it’s effective, showing off his straight white teeth, his square jaw, his strong cheekbones.
And a little dimple in his chin that’s so damn alluring.
Like the rest of him.
Oh. My. God.
Yes! That’s the smile I see on TV. In his promo photos. When he thanks a reporter on the sidelines after a game.
I just never expected to bump into the quarterback of one of the city’s football teams paddle boarding. Especially since most player contracts forbid water sports.
We’re in the same freaking business. I work behind the scenes managing vendor contracts for the Los Angeles Bandits, the city’s baseball team, and Drew Adams is on the field, leading the Devil Sharks to the end zone.
He’s a rising star in the league, but in this city, especially in sports, you learn quickly to wait for someone famous to tell you who they are. So, I wave away the topic without letting on that I’ve finally recognized him. “Life is full of risks. Like the ocean. I’m sure that’s a bumper sticker somewhere. I’m just glad you’re doing better.”
Another smile, this one grateful. “I appreciate you making sure I was okay.” He gestures to the vast expanse of water, the scene of the fall, then offers his hand. “I’m…” He stops, seeming to swallow whatever he’d been going to say, and his eyes dart away and then back to mine. “I’m Andrew. Nice to meet you.”
The media only ever refers to him as Drew. One quick glance around gives me the answer to the unexpectedAndrew. The family with the towheads is two towels away from us. The volleyball guys are maybe twenty yards north. So far, he’s been lucky that no one has seen him, and that no one caught his fall on camera.
Sure, it’s also possible he doesn’t wantmeto know who he is.
Two can play at this pretend game, and probably two should. It’s just wiser, safer too, here in public.
“I’m Brooke,” I say taking his hand. “But you can call me Beach Nurse. Wait, No. Surf Nurse is way cooler.”
He laughs. “I was going to go with Surf Angel. But Surf Nurse works. Is that a new TV show you’re on?”
“Yes. It’s a reality show. I roam the beaches and save dudes in distress,” I say as he lets go of my hand.
He growls. “Hey now. I wasn’t in distress.”
I tsk, but I’m teasing. “You were upside down underwater, Andrew.”
