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Mal rolls his eyes, and Teo mimics the motion. “I’m fine. Eleven-ish? We’ll eat lunch on the pier.”
I nod, and they’re gone, both holding their hands out the window and waving before the truck turns and disappears out of the parking lot. Hopping into the Jeep, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and see that my grin could rival Teo’s.
+ + +
I learn one very important thing when body surfing: seven-year-olds do not get tired.
We go in the surf, wave after wave after wave, riding with our bodies the way I showed him, allowing ourselves to be carried to the shore before we turn around and go right back out to do it all over again.
I’ve got sand in places I haven’t had sand in a long, long time, and I’ve spit out just as much salt water as I’ve swallowed, unable to keep myself from laughing out loud at Teo’s whooping and hollering every time he catches a good one.
“This kid is addictive,” I say when I’m finally back on the shore, sitting on the blanket next to where Malcolm is laying with his head on his backpack, his legs out in front of him, hat and sunglasses shading his eyes. Although it’s not warm by San Diego standards, the temperature sitting just below seventy, Mal has taken his shirt off so every glorious bit of his chest and arms are bare.
I make sure to slip my own sunglasses and hat on so I can ogle him under cover, because holy crap, he is more gorgeous now than when he was fifteen, or even seventeen, and I couldn’t have imagined that being possible.
Shreddedis a word that can only be used to describe people like Malcolm. He’s huge—long arms, big hands, wide shoulders and a broad chest that tapers down to narrow hips and muscular legs. But where Brooklyn carries a lot of girth with his muscle, Malcolm is cut down to muscle alone. There is no excess flesh, no smoothing over—every line is cut and defined, giving him that edgy and dangerous look. His abs are a work of art, including the beautiful vee that cuts into the waistband of his shorts.
Combine that with the impressive amount of ink on his perfectly sleeved arms, leaving the rest of his skin smooth and clear, a person has to look twice. Or seven times, depending how far out in the water they are.
“He’s come to play video games with me every day,” Mal says, eyes on the little boy.
I smile, watching Teo while he runs from side to side, waiting for the waves until the last second and then sprinting away, trying to keep from getting wet. “Today he brought his board and asked me to watch what he’s learned. He kick-flipped up and down my street, and two out of three were damn near perfect.”
The pride in his voice is evident, and I slide my eyes away from Teo to watch Mal. “Whose idea was the pier?”
Mal turns his head so he’s looking at me. “Mine. He may have been right about the fact that I broke the shower—as in, an inch or two of water all over my bathroom floor.” I throw my head back and laugh, because it’s common knowledge that hammers and building are not Malcolm’s thing. Brooks and Hunter work around him when he’s on the job site. “When Isa came over, Teo in tow, it seemed like the least I could do after adding another few hours onto her day. And it’s not like he’s hard to be around.”
“He is pretty great.”
We sit longer, enjoying the sun, and the quiet. If either of us notices that this is as close as we’ve come to who we used to be, we don’t mention it. Being here is enough without adding any memories. And maybe, just maybe, we can start to make new ones.
“You’re wearing it.”
Mal reaches out and traces a finger over the ring he gave me for Christmas, stopping before he gets to my finger. I hold my breath, wishing for just a small touch, disappointed when he pulls back. “It’s beautiful,” I say when I get my breath back.
“Yeah, it is.”
I keep my eyes forward, because I don’t want to know if he’s talking about the ring. Careful, I remind myself. Friends. Do not fall in love with him again.
Again?My subconscious rolls her eyes.You mean more.Don’t fall in love with himmore.
“Hey, Nala.” Teo races over, flinging himself on Malcolm’s chest. Mal barely has time to tense, and then he’s soaked, his arms full of a wriggling seven-year-old who is laughing like a loon. “Are you coming to our New Year’s party?”
I raise my brows. “I didn’t know about a New Year’s party.”
“That’s because Mal just got the idea today.” He doesn’t say “duh,” but it’s implied in his tone. I stifle a laugh.
“Well, then, count me in.”
“Yes!” Teo jumps up and races in a circle cheering.
I look at Malcolm. He just shrugs, that little bit of red creeping up his neck again. “Like you said, the kid’s addicting.”
Just like you, I think.
