Two a day, p.3
Two a Day, page 3
“But you do one in the ocean and the other above it,” 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 whole I’m the quarterback who nearly got concussed in the ocean conversation. 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.
But at least there’s some privacy here in the corner of the boardwalk bar. “You’re a technicality kind of woman, and I’m an active kind of guy,” I say, easing into telling her who I am. “That’s sort of what I do all day.”
“Then you should try parasailing. Except…it’s not active. You glide. But it is outdoors and fun,” she says.
“I’ll put it on my list of outdoor activities to try. Though I might try that first,” I say, gesturing to the boardwalk where a guy rides a unicycle, a parrot perched on his shoulder.
“Do you have a parrot?” she asks.
“No, but I figure if I take to unicycling, I could get a parrot then,” I say. “Don’t put the parrot before the unicycle.”
“As the saying goes,” she says drily, then nods toward a pack of skateboarders in low-slung shorts tearing up the concrete. “But beware of dastardly skateboards when you ride.”
“They’re the real cousins to paddle boards.” I lean back in my chair, soaking in the sun and the eclectic people. Farther down the path, someone plays the drums, beating out a hippy tune. This afternoon is everything I needed to reset. The laid-back vibe is a welcome contrast to practice this morning, which was tight and tense as our team managed to fuck up nearly every play. I was eager to get my mind off all the changes coming for me, so I came here to hit the waves.
But Brooke is a much better distraction than the Pacific. And so is that dude in a pink shirt and white shorts walking down the boardwalk on sky-high stilts.
“What do you think, Brooke? More or less daring than paddle boarding?” I ask, nodding toward the guy who’s about ten feet taller than he should be.
She shudders. “Equally. And also on the list of things I won’t ever try. I have a low tolerance for falling, splatting, or crashing onto the ground or into the sea. Hence, reading,” she says, patting the book inside her mesh bag. “But I love to people watch, so Venice is perfect for that outdoor activity.”
“Hands down. I live in Santa Monica, but there is no better place in all of Los Angeles for people watching than right here.”
“That’s why I live in this neighborhood. About ten minutes away. There’s always something to do or see.”
I study her closely, nodding a few times. “That tracks.”
She knits her brow, clearly confused. “What tracks?”
“You living in Venice.”
“Even though I don’t have a parrot on my shoulder?”
“In spite of your parrot-free existence,” I say with a smile, enjoying the hell out of the view of her. “You’re fast on your feet, but you’re not wound tight. You have a low-key vibe about you. And you’re easy to talk to.”
Brooke lifts her margarita glass, like she’s toasting to me. “I’ll drink to good conversations. You’re easy to talk to, as well.” I can’t look away as she sips her drink. She has spectacular lips. I noticed her full red lips when we first started talking, even if my vision was a little fuzzy.
I’m glad I did fall victim to another guy’s boarding fail because this moment right here is pretty damn great. Talking about the world around me with a beautiful, smart, caring woman rather than football, football, football is a welcome change. From…everything.
The last woman I dated was into me for the number on my back. The number of times Jenna asked me to pose for pics so she could tag me was too high to count. She was always talking about how she was Number Eight’s gal, trying to parlay our relationship into more business at her lingerie store.
Sure, I’m all for high sales of lacy underthings for everyone, but that was not a way to make a guy feel wanted.
I have a lot to offer besides the position I play on Sundays, like a sense of humor, a big heart, and an even bigger dick. Bonus—I know how to use it.
Just saying.
One drink turns into two, and Brooke and I talk more about our favorite places in Los Angeles, and the best spots for people watching in the city.
The sun is sinking low in the sky when she asks, “And what’s the story with the paddle boarding? Hobby? Passion? Are you new at it?”
“Admit it. I looked like a noob.”
She laughs, then shakes her head. “No, actually. You seemed pretty good. Like you’d been doing it for a while.”
“I took it up last year. I’ve been having a blast so far,” I say, then knock back some iced tea. “What about you? Have you been reading for a while?”
“Did I seem like a natural reader?”
“Absolutely. I saw you on the sand before I went out,” I reply, teasing. “You just had such an ease when turning the pages.”
“Well, if you must know, I’ve been reading since I was five,” she says.
“Whoa. I learned to read when I was five too,” I deadpan.
“What a coincidence.”
“We both like the beach and we both like to read,” I say.
She lifts her drink. “But only one of us gets to drink a margarita.”
I inch closer. “Maybe next time we both can.” I leave that offer right there. Today is too much fun to be a one-time thing.
She licks the corner of her lips, then meets my gaze, her blonde locks falling over one eye. “Next time sounds like a good idea.” Then she finishes her margarita and sets it down. “On that note…” She sits up straighter, gathering her things.
Wait.
What?
I wasn’t done with this time. “Do you need to go?”
She blinks in slight confusion. “You said next time…I thought you meant you had to take off.”
I shake my head, smiling. “Are inferences like technicalities for you? Something you look for a lot, Brooke?”
She shrugs sheepishly. “It’s what I do. I’m an attorney, and I can’t help but find loopholes, technicalities, and I’m always paying attention to inferences, Andrew.”
Okay, if I’m hinting at a second date, and she’s told me what she does for a living, I really need to come clean about my identity.
“Actually, everyone calls me Drew,” I begin.
She lifts a brow, her lips curving up too. “So you want me to be like everyone?” Gently, she pushes her sandaled foot against my shin.
I push back, my flip-flop against the side of her calf. “Considering my mom is the only person who calls me Andrew, and she usually only says it when she’s mad, I do want you to be like everyone.”
She smiles. “Then I will be. And I’m still Brooke.”
“Good,” I say. I glance around. No one is close enough to hear. “So, Brooke, where do you—”
“We don’t have to talk about work, Drew,” she says gently, giving me an out. “Unless you want to. But if you don’t want to, I’m kind of enjoying all this not talking about it. It was a helluva week.”
Oh. Well. That never occurred to me—the we can table it for later possibility. But hell yeah. “Same here,” I say, relieved. “Everything with work’s up in the air for me.”
Her eyes spark. “Me too. I was hoping something would happen with a job thing I wanted. A promotion. It didn’t, and I came to the beach to escape.”
“Same. I sort of don’t know what’s happening next.” That hasn’t changed, but I don’t feel as frustrated as I did this morning.
She sits up straighter. “Exactly. It’s weird to even think about going in tomorrow, or how I should act.”
“It’s tough, when your work future is unclear,” I admit.
With a sage look, she says, “So, you’re okay to skip the whole what-do-you-do conversation right now? We can discuss it later.”
Later, as in after I take her home. Or later as in later in the week when I take her out to dinner. Either works for me.
“Then, it’s a topic for next time,” I say, then meet her brown-eyed gaze straight on. “You want to get out of here?”
“Now?” Her voice pitches up.
“Yes. Now. But if you’d rather not, that’s cool. If you’d rather wait, next time is more than fine too.”
She hesitates, seeming to weigh up my offer as she nibbles on the corner of her lips. “I don’t want to take advantage of you, Drew. Your injury and all.”
I toss my head back and laugh. “Honey, you’re not taking advantage of me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Your goose egg, I mean.”
Like I’d let that stop me. “Want to check it?”
“Yes.” Gently, she pushes the ice pack aside, brushing her palm over my head again. Her touch is reassuring. Caring. But also, arousing. She runs her long fingers over my head, and I’m picturing her hands tightening in my hair as I spread her legs and taste her.
Like maybe in the next fifteen minutes.
“What’s the report?” I ask.
“I think your goose egg is history, Drew,” she says.
That is excellent news. I lift my hand and tuck a strand of her soft hair behind her ear, then run my fingers down the strand. “Then, I’m good to go. Are you?”
Her eyes twinkle. “Let’s get out of here.”
3
All the Innuendo
Drew
* * *
I silently curse my board shorts. They don’t hide a tent at all. But I’m both a gentleman and a strategist.
“After you,” I say when we rise from the table. As she walks ahead of me, I recite a new passing route in my head. Boom. Five seconds to deflation.
There is nothing to send a dick downward like thoughts of work.
We stop on the street at Carter’s truck, parked at the corner of the boardwalk with my board sticking out of the bed.
Brooke glances at the board, then looks at me. “I’m nearby, but if you’d rather drive, we can do that,” she offers.
“I can handle a short walk.”
“You’re so tough,” she says drily.
“That’s me. Hardy. Able to withstand short walks from the beach on a beautiful day,” I say, as I set a hand on the small of her back.
“You’re not going to get a parking ticket, are you?”
I stop and tug her close until she’s only a few inches from me. Sliding my hand through her hair again, I whisper, “If I do…worth it.”
Her cheeks pinken. Then a soft breath flutters past her lips. “Walk faster.”
Ten minutes later, after a few turns here and there in the neighborhood, we reach her home, a cute little white bungalow. The porch teems with potted plants and flowers, as well as pizza coupons and takeout menus stuffed behind the mailbox next to the doorway. She turns to me and says in a professional tone, “Thank you. For the drinks and the speed walking.”
Whoa. With her cool tone, she sounds like she’s done. I might have whiplash.
But then a wicked grin spreads on her bee-stung lips. “Just kidding. I’m not done with you,” she says as she unlocks the door then beckons me in.
“Good. Because I’m not done with you either, but for trying to fake me out I’m going to make sure you get all the innuendo you can handle,” I say in a low, domineering tone.
“Oh. So me being sassy gets me—”
I close the distance and crush her lips with mine. A hard, firm kiss that lasts five seconds. “You were saying?” I ask innocently.
She stammers an uhh.
Yes. Kissed speechless. That’s such a good look on her. I pull back, enjoying the view. She leans against the wall in her foyer, catching her breath. That pose shows off all her assets—the swell of her breasts in her tank top dress, her curvy hips, her strong legs.
Her parted lips too. She licks them and swallows. “As I was saying…more innuendo,” she murmurs.
A rumble works its way up my chest as I step closer. This time, I take my sweet time, my hand traveling along her arm, her skin soft and inviting.
Goose bumps rise in my wake. “Do you know what I’ve been thinking about?” I ask.
“What’s that, Drew?” Damn, my name sounds sexy on her lips.
I brush her hair off her shoulder, cataloging her reaction to my touch. The way she shivers. How she sways against me. The rush of breath on her lips. I bring my mouth to her ear and whisper, “What it would be like to kiss you…everywhere.”
“Oh God,” she gasps, but I catch a flicker of worry in her eyes that makes me pause.
“Think you’d like that?” I ask.
She’s quiet at first, then lets out a trembly breath. “I think so.”
That doesn’t sound as certain as I’d like. “You good with everything? You need me to stop?”
She hisses, pushes her hands against my chest, and grabs the neck of my shirt. “Do. Not. Stop.”
Good. I don’t fucking want to at all.
“Sounds like you need more kissing, then,” I offer suggestively.
“I do.”
I grab hold of her hip. “Good. Because I need a whole lot more of your gorgeous mouth.”
My fingers roam up to her hair then rope through those thick blonde locks.
“Ahh,” she murmurs, her eyes floating closed, her lush mouth waiting for me. There you go. Brooke just needs a little savoring, some sexy devotion to her pleasure.
I pull her body against me, enjoying the warmth of her sun-kissed skin and the smell of sand, surf, and sunshine in her hair.
I dip my mouth to hers, clasping her face in my hands. When I nip her bottom lip, she gasps. It’s such an alluring sound.
I kiss her slowly, then tenderly. Then a little possessively. I travel across her lips, exploring, quickly learning her cues. She leans back against the wall, inviting me to crowd her, asking me to lead.
Next, I kiss her intently. A deep, passionate kiss that’s a recipe for how I want to fuck her.
Every sigh, every moan tells me she’d like a man to take care of all her needs.
Well, she came to the right beach and found the right guy.
Afternoon delight, here we come.
Brooke presses her sexy body to mine as I claim her mouth in another consuming kiss that intensifies until I’m devouring her lips. She moans and murmurs and loops her hands around my neck, tugging me closer. I leave a path of kisses along her jaw, her cheek, her neck. Her skin tastes so good, I could spend hours here, nibbling, kissing, biting. Maybe next time. For now, I nip her earlobe.
She murmurs, a long, sexy, lingering noise. “Mmm. That feels so good.”
“You deserve to feel good,” I whisper in her ear.
As I flick my tongue over the shell of her ear, her pitch rises, turning into that gorgeous gasp a woman makes as she gets turned on.
Grabbing her hips, I tug her closer. “Those little sexy noises drive me wild,” I tell her.
“I want you to make me shout,” she whispers like she just voiced something so daring, so out of the ordinary.
“Then we better get started.”
“Yes. Now. Please.”
I hoist her up and toss her over my shoulder. “Where’s your bedroom?”
She points down the hall and, with a smile in her voice, says, “That way.”
I carry her to her bed, ready to give her all the innuendo and then some.
4
The Thing Is…
Brooke
* * *
Drew drops me on the mattress and settles between my legs, his hands inching up my thighs.
I want this so much but I have to tell him something. Even though my skin is tingling so much that it’d seem I’ll have no trouble going over the cliff, I know I will, and it’ll be awkward. I don’t want to be awkward with Drew. I like him too much already. I push onto my elbows and say, “I need to tell you something.”
I sit up, my chest tightening with nerves.
His eyes flash, clearly wary I might drop some truth bomb on him.
Quickly, I try to smooth over the awkwardness. “I can’t come through oral.”
He blinks but quickly covers his surprise. “Oh. Okay,” he says. Then, after a pause to process the info, he says, “You never have?”
I shake my head. “Never.”
He sits back on his knees, his gaze going thoughtful. My heart crashes. I ruined a sexy moment. “Also, I don’t orgasm easily through sex,” I say, then wince.
Way to go, Brooke.
God, I want to muzzle myself.
But we already agreed to hit pause on the work convo. I don’t want to hit pause on the I’m complicated in bed convo. Because he’ll figure it out in a few minutes anyway.
Drew leans forward, grabs my chin, and whisks a soft kiss across my lips. “But do you like sex?”
Screw it. I rip off the Band-Aid. “Sometimes. When it’s good. But it hasn’t always been good.”
It hasn’t been good at all, actually.
But I keep that to myself. I don’t want to sound too complain-y.
Drew nods again, taking in the info. “So, you’re not…I’m not sure what the right word is…uninterested in sex?”
I whip my head side to side. “Oh, I’m very interested. Sometimes, it’s a sex fiesta up here,” I say, tapping my temple.
