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“Were you a wild teenager?”
He shakes his head, the little smile still playing over his lips even as he scratches his jaw, his nails raking the thick hair of his beard. “I enlisted at eighteen.”
Did he tell you about his scars?
“What were you like as a Marine?”
The shuttering behind his eyes is instant. His smile stiffens. “Top of my class.” He looks away from me and picks up his beer again.
I shift in his lap, glancing at his shoulder. I should read the room. Change the subject. Not ruin this moment with more questions. I can’t. “Will you tell me how you got your scars.”
“No.”
I press my lips together and try to ignore the tug of hurt in my chest, try to remind myself that this is still new, that his past, and his unwillingness to share it doesn’t matter.
That it doesn’t sting.
But it does.
TWENTY SEVEN
Mylo
“You ready?”
I glance up from going over tomorrow’s classes on my tablet and lean back in my chair. My desk is in the back of the Surf Shack between two walls of surfboards. The sun from the window behind me lights Kenzi’s hair, picking out the white strands amongst the pale gold mane pulled over her shoulder. In her cut-offs and a dusty gray tank that hangs loose, showing the pink sports bra she’s got on beneath it, I don’t need to ask where she’s come from. I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone who works harder. She’s there from sunup until sundown, and when Pete gets the electricity sorted, I’m pretty sure I’ll be dragging her out of there at midnight every night.
“I’m ready.” I push up off my chair and round the desk, rest my ass back against the dark wood and take her in from the top of her head down to the black running shoes on her feet.
“I didn’t change. You said come casual so I didn’t change, but I can go home.” She brushes her hands down her top.
“You’reoverdressed.” I drag my hand over my mouth, then lean back to pluck the bikini I took from her drying rack this morning after she left. “Change.”
She stills, then cocks her head, frowning at the slithers of black material hanging from my finger. “What are you up to?” Her mouth curves into a bemused smile as she takes it from me.
“The Surf school opens tomorrow.” It’s been a week. A week of hanging out and just… being with her. The sex is fucking mind-blowing. But more, it’s more than that—life’s fun with her. Easy. Light. Not tarnished by the past or my life back home. “I’m gonna be busy.”
“Okaaaaaay.” She takes a step towards me and tucks her fingers into the waistband of my shorts the way she always does when we’re talking, tipping her head back and leaning her whole body into me. “Tell me more.”
My hands drop to her hips. “Have you ever paddle surfed?”
Her smile grows into a grin, and she lifts onto her toes to kiss me. “I’m gonna be your first lesson?”
“Yes, ma-am.” I smile against her lips and breathe in her floral scent, fill my lungs with it. Pull back, then kiss her again. Once. Twice.
She flicks her tongue against my top lip, one hand sliding around the back of my neck, the other slipping under my T-shirt.
“Get changed.” I nudge her back before I scrap all plans and drag her home.
“Okay, bossy man.” She rolls her eyes and presses her lips together, but her smile doesn’t fall. “I’ll be right back.”
I follow her through to the changing room and lean my shoulder against the door stop, my arms folded over my chest.
Clear blue eyes meet mine in the mirror before she drags her tank top up over her head, her hair pulling through the neck hole until it falls down her back. “You’re staring.”
“You’re stareable.” My chest expands. It’s like everything’s falling into place. My place here in Clua. The Surf Shack. Her. Me. Us.
Kenzi
