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I spot another hat on the floor—light blue, withPlays Well with Otherswritten on it. It’s innocuous enough, so I grab it, adjust the back, then return to Brooke at the bar.
She arches a brow in curiosity, her eyes on my headwear. “Well, that’s good to know,” she remarks.
I adjust the brim. “I like to be direct.”
“Clearly,” she says. “And I appreciate the insider tip.”
“More like an advertisement.” I join her at the table, scooting my chair a little closer. Since…I do play well with others.
Brooke holds out a cloth napkin wrapped around something bulky. “All right, Mister Paddle Board. I’ve got your ice pack right here.”
Wow. She’s…awesome. “Let the record reflect that you are theonlyperson I want saving me from any future vindictive oars.” I pick up the ice pack and press it against the back of my head, genuinely touched that she’s so damn on top of things.
“I’m the picture of efficiency.”
“And I’m the picture of being concussion-free. Check this out…77, 119, 2056, 2, 34. Also, boat. Cat. Shoe. Car. Book.”
She scoffs. “I was expecting them backward.”
My jaw drops in exaggerated outrage. “Woman, I remembered them fifteen minutes later. I want all the points.”
She heaves a sigh of surrender. “Fine, you get sixty-nine points.”
“Excellent.” We settle in, and when the server swings by, my date orders a margarita and I opt for an iced tea, due to the recent head injury and all.
“All right. I have to know. Are you a big sister? You have some serious caretaker skills,” I say.
“You figured me out. Although I believe Cara would call me a know-it-all, as well as a caretaker. And you? Any siblings?”
“Two half-sisters. They’re nine. Mom re-married and, oops, twins.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s quite an oops.”
“Sure is, but Mira and Sophie are the best. I’ll be teaching them to paddle board soon.”
When the server returns with our drinks, I lift my glass in a toast. “I’ll drink to vindictive oars and angel nurses,” I say.
She clinks back. “I’ll drink to playing well with others.”
“Goals,” I say.
Brooke sets down her glass after a swallow and points to a big red parachute high over the water, where a woman rides the air currents, pulled by a boat below. “That might be something to consider,” Brooke says. “I don’t think there are too many vindictive parachutes in the sky.”
“Noted. I’m a parasailing virgin, but it looks like fun.” I sip my iced tea.
Her brown eyes widen at my comment, sparkling with surprise. “You should try it. Parasailing is so much fun, and it’s like a cousin of paddle boarding.”
I arch a brow. “Brooke, you sure about that? One, you hang on a swing. The other, you ride over waves.”
“But you do oneinthe ocean and the otheraboveit,” she says with a sassy bob of her shoulder. “Ergo, cousins.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to win on a grammatical technicality,” I tease, pressing the ice a little harder against my head. I want this bump gone, gone, gone.
Glancing away, she flicks some blonde strands off her shoulder. “Well, I’m a technicality kind of gal. It’s sort of what I do all day,” she says, and this is the part of the date where we make small talk about our jobs.
I should probably say at some point that I play pro ball. It’d be weird if I didn’t ’fess up soon since I already play-faked my name, using Andrew instead of Drew. But when I introduced myself on the sand, I didn’t feel like having the wholeI’m the quarterback who nearly got concussed in the oceanconversation. Smooth, huh?
Honestly, I was stoked I hadn’t been spotted. Don’t want to end up on some podcast’s compilation list of Dumb Shit Athletes Do. Even though my contract allows stand up paddle boarding, thank you very much. It’s considered a safe sport with a low risk of injury. Lower than running.
