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But it’s the station the radio is set to that really makes my blood boil.
Channel 84. Stevie Nicks radio.
My eyes catch on something in the cupholders. My throat tightens when I see it’s a pair of front-row tickets to Stevie’s upcoming concert in Charlotte. Face value: eight hundred bucks each.
Jesus, what is Riley really after here? I don’t buy him wanting to win me back. Does he want to get laid? He did offer me hate sex last night.
Surely he has other women to call for that, though.
Surely he wasn’t serious when he said he spent the last decade building a big, beautiful life for me.
I whip into a parking spot beside the dock, catching the plate of food just before it careens into the windshield. I grab it and the concert tickets and hurry to the dock’s bolted entrance. Blink when a drop of rain lands on my eyelashes.
“Riley!” I call. “Riley Dixon, what the hell?”
My heart pounds in my throat as I wait for him to appear. The marina is especially gorgeous this time of day, even with the clouds. The whites and grays of the darkening sky catch on the water’s calm surface. The air is warm, the heat of the day a fading memory, and the smell of the ocean fills my head. Boats bob lazily in their slips, rigging clanking in a soft breeze.
It’s quiet. Calm. I imagine it’s not that different from when good old Stede trolled these waters how many hundreds of years ago.
I loved it here. Hard not to.
But then Riley went and ruined it for me, and now I’m not sure how to respond to all this beauty. How can I appreciate something that went on existing when I suffered category-5 hurricane level destruction?
“Lu?”
My stomach plummets when I see him. He steps off Dolly in bare feet, reaching up to pluck the baseball hat off his head and put it on backward.
The motion is so achingly familiar—so unspeakably hot—it makes my chest feel heavy.
That heaviness migrates lower and gathers between my legs as I watch him jog toward me, eyes locked on mine. Tom at his heels, tail wagging.
“Everything all right?” Riley asks.
The motherfucker’s not the least bit out of breath when he unlocks the door and holds it open for me. He’s wearing a Bald Head Island T-shirt and a pair of broken-in khaki shorts. His nose is sunburnt.
Tonight he smells like coconut. Even in bare feet, he towers over me.
A wave of desire hits me, hard, which only pisses me off more.
Tom noses my leg, panting.
“Hey, Tom.” I give the dog a quick pat on the head before I hold out the golf cart key and Stevie Nicks tickets to his shithead owner. “This is yours. The tickets too.”
He looks down at them. “Nope. They’re yours.”
“I’m not accepting any of it.”
“I’m not taking any of it back.”
He looks at me. I stare him down. Eyes slipping to his mouth. The scruff that covers the sharp angles of his jaw. The soft sinews of his throat.
“You need reliable transportation,” he says softly. “Something safe. I love Old Winny, but she’s past her prime. If you ever got stuck . . .”
The words burst out of me. “Why do you keep doing this? Honestly? You broke up with me ten years ago and disappeared. Now I run into you—purely by chance, by the way—and all of the sudden you’re Daddy Warbucks, giving away golf carts and telling me you made all this money to deserve me or some shit?”
His lips quirk into a cocky grin. “You can call me Daddy anytime, princess.”
“Fuck you.” I blink when a raindrop lands on my nose.
Grin fading, he holds the door open a little wider. “C’mon. Let’s talk.”
“Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it right here.”
“Lu, it’s about to start pourin’.” He glances up at the sky. “You don’t gotta come inside, but let’s at least get on the deck underneath an awning.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. I don’t trust this bastard as far as I can throw him.
I don’t trust myself when he looks—and smells—this good.
But then another raindrop lands on my face, then another. Riley blinks when one hits him too.
Rolling my eyes, I step through the gate. “Fine.”
thirteen
Riley
Tan Lines
We walk toward Dolly, the dock swaying in time to our hurried steps. Tom lopes beside Lu, trying to jump on her every two seconds.
“Dude, stop bein’ ugly!” I gesture to the boat. “Get on up.”
Instead, he sticks his nose into the foil-covered plate Lu is holding. She manages a tight smile. “Smells good, right?”
“That’s enough, Tom.” I take the plate from her. “What’s this?”
“Dinner that I made.” Her eyes are sharp when they meet mine. “Mom insisted I bring it. Little does she know I’m planning to throw it in your face. Would you take these tickets already?”
