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“Listen, it’s not like we have to turn you into the next Stephanie Gilmore. A World Surfer League win is not the goal here. It’s one date with a Taylor-Vaughn.”
Her wandering gaze snapped back to him. “One date?”
“One date.” Their lessons needed an end point. Helping Andy score her first date with Kyle seemed a reasonable one to Luke. “After that, you’re on your own.”
“I understand.” She nodded soberly before casting another anxious look at the water.
Luke sighed. “Lesson Four, bravery is sexy. You wanna earn your place out there” — he tipped his chin towards the surf zone — “or in my boy’s affections, it won’t be about how many waves you catch.” When she glanced back at him, he brought his fist to his chest and rapped his knuckles over his heart. “It’ll be about how much of this you put into trying.”
“That more important than Lesson Three?”
“Yup.”
He was graced with another small smile. “Alright,” she said more confidently but still with a considerable amount of nervous energy, “let’s do this.”
“Bad-ass.” He flashed her a shaka and a grin before schooling his expression and channeling his inner drill sergeant. “Now strip.”
Chapter eleven
Strip?
Andy’s brain locked on the word, and an immediate mental image of that scene inFlashdancewith the chick in the chair and the water crashing down over her arched, half-naked body sprang to mind—
Luke’s exasperated sigh curtailed the pervy direction of her thoughts. “You do have a suit on under that, right?” He motioned briskly to her favorite windbreaker.
“Of course. I’m not some flasher.” She waggled her brows lecherously. Luke’s, on the other hand, took an immediate nosedive. “Too soon?”
“Yeah. Way too soon. Now lose the jacket.”
“Fine,” she drawled. “Turn around.”
“You kidding me with this?”
“No.”
Rolling his eyes, he turned around and planted his hands on his hips. Which only served to draw Andy’s gaze to the taut expanse of man-bun outlined by his swim trunks.
Naturally, her gaze slid up the long length of his back. Which, even concealed by the swim-shirt, she could tell was muscular in the way of Michael Phelps. Or maybe it was more Magic Mike. Andy swallowed.
Damn, she really needed to stop thinking about strippers.
“You do realize we’re not the only ones here, right?” Luke’s question had her gaze flying up as he peered back over his shoulder. “Everyone can still see you.”
“I know that, silly” — she shooed him forward again with a flick of her fingers — “but you can’t.”
“For the love of god, Bird.”
She smiled. It really was fun messing with him.
“You’ve got ten seconds.”
“Bossy,” she muttered, unzipping her jacket and shoving it and her shades into her backpack. Her shorts were next to go, followed by her boots and a pair ofHobbitsocks she’d recently purchased on a lightning deal. Tucking the socks carefully into her shoes, Andy straightened and pulled the suit wedgie from her ass.
Sensing her readiness, Luke turned and blinked, eyes widening slightly. Then he whistled. But not in the way he’d done before. Not in the wolfish way that had sent a small thrill up her spine even though she’d known he was teasing her. No, this was more of a Houston-we-have-a-problem kind of whistle.
“What?” she said defensively as Luke’s gaze took a slow tour of her favorite one-piece. Which, admittedly, had seen better days. At one point, the swimsuit had been black, but frequent usage had faded it to a mottled grayish-purple. Andy tugged at a leg hole self-consciously. The high cut of it on her hip was probably the only thing that could be considered sexy about the garment.
But Andy hadn’t bought the suit four summers ago for that reason. No, she’d purchased it because the cut of those leg holes hadn’t irritated her thighs as much as the other suits she’d tried on. And the racer-back style had felt supportive of her boobs. Which weren’t big. But weren’t exactly small either.
