It was the kind of thing where he bought a duffle bag of sex toys and tried not to jerk off thinking about how he’d use them. Where they never had to leave the bedroom. Where, if he was lucky, he would get to feel the heat of Cami’s arousal on his fingertips. His fingers clenched at the thought, and he had to force himself to focus on the erection-killing fact of his sister across from him.
“It’s not the kind of thing where you meet families. Especially notmyfamily.”
“Oh, come on. We’re not that bad. And you know Mom and Dad would be thrilled you’re getting back out there. It’s been years, Des.”
His teeth ground together. Residual anger lashed through him as it always did at the tangential mention of his ex. Ithadbeen years since he’d dated. Purposeful years in which he’d focused on his career and not letting another power-hungry ladder-climber derail it.
“You know they’ve been worried about you. We all have. You never talk about anyone, not since?—”
“I know, Liv,” he snapped. His affair with Madilyn had devastated not only himself, but his family. It was also the last thing any of them wanted to talk about. Except Olivia, who never knew when to leave things alone. “But this isn’t the kind of thing that’s going to make them feel better. It’s not a relationship.”
She surveyed him with narrowed gray eyes—the same shade as his. Defiantly, he arched his eyebrows. He wasn’t ashamed of this thing with Cami, but there was no point in getting his parents’ hopes up when it was just sex. Hell, it wasn’t even that.
When the silence stretched too thin, Liv was the one who broke it with a sigh. “It’s not healthy, you know. Avoiding relationships just because one woman?—”
“—nearly ruined my life?” He shoved his chair back from his desk and found himself on his feet before he’d thought to stand. Just thinking Madilyn’s name was enough to put him on edge. Cami was about as far from Madilyn Andrews as he could get, but he still wasn’t going to date her. He wasn’t going to go there again. There was too much risk, and he could get the same rewards with a phone number and a well-placed smile. “Cut the shit, Liv. You’re a surgeon, not a psychologist, and I’m not going to rehash this. Pick another night for dinner, and let me know.”
She stood, his dismissal blatant. Her lips were pursed, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He just wanted her out of his office.
“Fine,” she said, her tone clipped. Picking up her expensive handbag, she strode to the door. There, she paused, with one hand on the dark wood frame. “It’s not too late, you know. You could go back, finish med school?—”
“Get out, Olivia.”
She sighed deeply, but she closed the door on her way out.
The Santa Monica Pier,busy as it was, had cemented itself as one of Cami’s favorite places after her move from Tennessee. She’d been so lonely, fresh off the death of her grandmother. With no other family worth mentioning, she’d gravitated toward the beach to bask in its crowds and heat and laughter. That first night in LA, she’d wandered the pier with everything she owned in a knapsack weighing down one shoulder. For dinner, she’d eaten loaded nachos from a food truck then sat for hours on a slat wooden bench watching the sunset.
It was hard to believe that had been a year ago; it felt like a lifetime, and looking back, she couldn’t reconcile how impulsive she’d been. Yes, Grandma had been her only tie to Baxter, Tennessee, but Cami had spent her entire life being responsible. She maintained straight A’s and worked a part-time job until Grandma got sick. She’d never wanted to be a burden to anyone, especially not her grandmother who’d given up so much for her, so she’d been happy to play the dutiful caregiver. In retrospect, it wasn’t that hard to believe that once the estate had been settled and everything they owned had been sold, she’d been a little drunk on freedom.
Was that what was happening now with Des? It was possible, but she didn’t care. As she ordered a funnel cake and topped it with vanilla soft serve, she smiled. If giving into her impetuous side resulted in impromptu moves across the country and illicit rendezvous with unreasonably sexy men, then maybe she’d start doing it more often.
“Does that actually taste good?”
His caramel voice flowed through her before she saw him. It seeped into her in a way that had her grip tightening on herflimsy paper plate, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling with delicious awareness.
For whatever reason, she was unsurprised to find Des eyeing her dessert-for-dinner with a combination of wariness and intrigue. She’d never run into him outside of the store before, but now that their weird little dance of flirtation had escalated, it felt like he was everywhere. Like he existed on some spiritual plane. Intangible, but ever-present.
He wore running shorts and a tee that was dampened down the center of his chest. On his feet were a pair of Nikes that probably cost more than her rent. Still, it was the most disrobed she’d ever seen him. There was something stirring about it. His calves were muscled and streaked with dark hair. Did that dusting spread to his chest? Did it swirl around his belly button and disappear beneath the waistband of those shorts?
She cocked an eyebrow at him, broke a piece of deep-fried batter off her plate, dipped it in ice cream, and popped it into her mouth.
“Not stress eating on my account, I hope.” He gestured to the bench next to her.
She shifted over, and he sat.
“Nah. Just enjoying the sunset with some junk food.” She offered him the plate, and he hesitated before breaking off a bit covered in cinnamon sugar.
Between finding an apartment, getting a job, and enrolling in school, she’d been too busy settling in Santa Monica to enjoy last summer. But the sun set late in July, and when she locked up the store for the evenings, the California heat had faded to near perfect. Some nights, she couldn’t resist strolling out to the pier to experience the throngs of happy people and dazzling lights of Pacific Park. It was a far cry from the tepid temperatures and country darkness of Baxter.
She missed the stars, though. Lifting her gaze, she tried to peer through the light pollution to the galaxies beyond.
“I can see the appeal.” Des leaned against the bench and propped his elbows along the backrest. He surveyed the crowd with quiet interest. In the twilight, his profile was striking. The warm light of a nearby street lamp glanced off his cheekbones. “Do you come here often?”
She smirked at his pick-up line, but his steady gaze trailing her face sent a shiver through her. “Sometimes.” She shrugged. “You?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think anyone who grew up here makes a habit of it. When you’re a kid, sure, but eventually, the Pier is just old hat.”
“That’s a shame.” She couldn’t imagine ever finding the sights and sounds of this place to be tiresome.
