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Damn, his friend knew him too well. Rising from the bed, Luke donned a pair of sweatpants before heading to the kitchen.
Minutes later, he slipped out onto his balcony with his breakfast. Digging in, he perused the action down below on the boardwalk. It was only just past six, but already a few street vendors were setting up shop. Spying his friend Hunter walking past one of their colorful tents, Luke lifted his bowl of instant by way of greeting.
In turn, the man lifted two dark brown fingers to the brim of a bright red surf instructor visor. Flashing him a smile, Hunt hollered,“Thanks for the referral, bro!”
Ha! Luke sent lots of business Hunt’s way — and the dude reciprocated in kind — but in this case, Luke was sure by the man’s hound-dog grin that at some point in the last week, he had indeed shown those Texas gals a good time.
Luke shot the man a salute in return. More power to him. Luke really hadn’t been interested in teaching those chicks how to catch waves. At least not as much as he was interested in teaching—
“Oh, fuck me,” he sputtered around a laugh. Suddenly, Luke knew exactly how he wanted to spend the day.
Wolfing down the rest of his oatmeal, Luke strode back into his bedroom and swiped up his phone.
Luke:You awake?
Dots appeared on his phone only seconds later.
Andy:No.
Sounded like his student wasn’t much for conversation at the ass-crack of dawn. Luke grinned as he fired off another text.
Luke:Meet me at the usual spot in an hour.
Andy:Usual spot?
Luke:Do I need to spell it out for you, Creeper?
Andy:Got it. See you in two hours.
Luke:Nice try. Get your ass up.
Andy:You are annoying.
Luke laughed. This girl was seriously cute when she was grumpy. Might as well ruffle her feathers some more.
Luke:Don’t forget your swimsuit. I expect to see some skin.
She texted him a trio of middle fingers.
He texted her a giant thumbs-up.
When Andy coasted to a stop at the spot an hour later, Luke watched from the sand where he was warming up as she dismounted her bike. She’d worn her green windbreaker again, this time with the hood down, and Luke had to laugh because the chick had traded her usual cargo pants for — wait for it — a pair of cargoshorts. In a daring shade of khaki no less.
As she made her way down to him — gripping the straps of the backpack slung over her shoulder and frowning at every sandy step marking her path — Luke raised a couple fingers to his lips and let out a lusty whistle. Her head snapped up, Wayfarers targeting him as her frown yielded to the tiniest of smirks.
Stepping one booted foot onto the sand, she hesitated for only a moment before stomping towards him. When she stopped near the gear he’d laid out, her lips pursed. “Nice towel.”
Yeah, he’d brought it. Luke had decided he rather liked the Tweety and was never giving it back. Grinning, he peered down at her legs. “Nice shins.”
“Thanks. I shaved them just last night.” Behind her shades, she gave another odd flutter of her lashes.
“You fucking with me again?”
“Maybe,” she drawled with the cutest little hint of a Southern accent.
He growled low in his throat, sights dipping once more to the flesh — all eight or so inches of it — on display between the top of her combat boots and the long hemline of her shorts. “Well, don’t hold back, foxy lady. Tell me you put sunscreen on those stems too.”
“Of course. I burn easily.”
