The Careless Boyfriend

by Erika Kelly

  She knew he’d come around. “Thank—”

  “And if you don’t, things will not go well for you.”

  Chapter Five

  Breathing in the ocean air, woodsmoke, and weed, Gray let the heat from the bonfire warm his face.

  Ingrid, one of the Central Coast locals who’d come to hang out with the surfers, passed him a joint, eyes squinting, as she held the smoke in her lungs.

  He waved a hand. No thanks. Most of his life was spent riding monster waves and uncharted mountains. He didn’t do drugs or booze. Never had.

  She nudged him, breathing the smoke out the side of her mouth. “One toke?”

  “I’ve got a date with a barrel in the morning. No, thanks.”

  She leaned across him, her breasts grazing his arm, and passed it to the woman sitting on his other side. Instead of leaning back, Ingrid stayed where she was, watching him with invitation in her eyes. “You were amazing out there today.” Her long blonde hair spilled over his bare skin, her gaze fixed on his mouth.

  With her skimpy bikini and toned body, Ingrid offered him a few hours of pleasure. But…he just wasn’t feeling it. “Thanks. We got some good sets.” Over the crackling fire and murmur of conversation, the ocean pounded against the shore. He could feel each thunderous crash under his ass. Tomorrow, he’d be out there. Fuck, yeah. Couldn’t wait.

  Ingrid sat back, slipping an arm under his, like they knew each other. With two fingers, she traced figure eights on his inner thigh, slowly inching closer to his dick. It was a good move; he’d give her that. But he wasn’t attracted to her.

  Because she’s not Knox. A roiling frustration had him pulling out of her hold.

  Her eyes went wide, and she looked mortified, which sucked, but come on. He wasn’t some playground she could crawl all over. He hadn’t given her a single indication of interest since he’d met her a couple hours ago. “Excuse me.” He got up and headed toward the surf, feeling the spray from this distance. Pulling out his phone, he was disappointed to see no signal. He’d have to climb to the top of the cliff to download messages.

  He had to get in the zone, stop thinking about Knox. Zach had texted to let him know how things were going, and he’d told him about Knox’s marketing plan. It was genius. She’d also formally agreed to work with his team, including Wyatt, who’d handle her finances, so she was all set to kick some ass.

  But that’s the issue right there. He wanted to work with her. By the time he finished competition season five months from now, she might be gone.

  Some big designer will scoop her up, and she’ll be out of my life again.

  Which was her goal, so that would be for the best. She couldn’t have the career she wanted in Calamity, anyway. Let her go.

  The ocean called the tide back, way back, and a massive swell rose. That’d be sweet to ride. It hung suspended for a long, threatening beat, before curling over and…boom. It exploded. Cold water barreled onto the shore, knocking him back a step.

  “Bowie,” someone called from behind.

  He looked back to see a fellow competitor.

  The guy tipped his head toward the white press tent perched on top of the cliff. “You’re up.”

  “Pass.” He wasn’t interested in interviews.

  “Sorry, man, not only do you have the highest score.” The guy gave a teasing smile. “But you’re the ‘sexiest.’ They’re waiting for you.” He laughed, jogging off to the bonfire.

  If he went up there, he’d get a signal. That got his ass moving. Skirting around the gathering of surfers, he hit the narrow dirt path that climbed the nearly vertical face of the cliff.

  Once on solid ground, he pulled out his phone. Two bars. Score.

  “There you are.” The reporter held open the flap of a roomy, white tent propped with aluminum bars. “Come on in.”

  Gray stepped inside to find tables crammed with monitors that tracked currents and weather conditions, cameras, and all kinds of equipment. The bright lights and bodies drove the temperature up, and his skin pebbled from the contrast of the cool night air.

  “Gray Bowie.” She shook his hand. “Marnee Fletcher. Great to meet you, and thanks for taking a moment to talk to us.” She led him to a corner.

  “Marnee?” someone called.

  With a touch to his arm, she said, “Give me one second.”

  As he waited for them to set up, he checked his phone again. Messages rolled in, his phone vibrating like crazy. Nothing from Knox, though. Because she doesn’t need you. Yeah, well, they were business partners. He could fucking check in with her. But, right before he started tapping out a message, the reporter cupped his elbow.

  “Ready?” She got him situated, and then stood on the taped X on the floor facing him.

  The cameraman held his fingers up over the camera. Three, two, one. And then he sliced a finger through the air. Go.

  “We’ve got Gray Bowie with us, pretty much an enigma in the world of extreme athletes. He seems to ride the waves as effortlessly as he performs technically perfect tricks on the halfpipe. As the surfer with the highest score today…” She turned to face Gray. “Where’s your heart?”

  He froze, as a toxic mix of shame, embarrassment, and sharp, painful awareness erupted in his core. In Calamity.

  The reporter continued, as though his features hadn’t flamed. “Do you have a preference for either sport?”

  Obviously, she wasn’t talking about Knox. And, just like that, he dropped back into the moment. “Nah. It’s all good.” His phone buzzed against his thigh. More messages coming in.

  “Just a basic adrenaline junky, huh?” She gave him an encouraging smile.

  “There’s probably some truth in that.”

  The reporter covered her frustration with his brief responses by brightening her smile. “You’re leading the pack today. And, if you win tomorrow, you’ll be ranked the number one surfer in the world. How is it so effortless for you?”

  “It’s not effortless.” What a ridiculous thing to say. “Not for anyone. Look, twenty-four surfers got the invitation for Titans. That means we’re all at the same level. It’s Mother Nature who decides who wins. I just happened to get a tight barrel today.”

  “Let’s talk about the Olympics. I know it’s on everyone’s mind, now that your brother, Will Bowie, announced his retirement. First Brodie, then Will…the whole world’s wondering, are you going to step up and take that medal home for your family?”

  “A lot of things have to line up just right to even get to the Games. We’ll have to see how it all plays out.” Who knew if he’d even make the team?

  “It’s the one award none of your brothers has managed to bring home, so it would make you stand apart in a family with some of the greatest extreme athletes in the world.”

  He looked at her, feeling more exposed than he ever had in his life. She was saying all the things that pinged him hard—but it wasn’t like she knew him. She didn’t know anything about Knox or his complicated feelings for his family.

  He supposed it was obvious—his dad had died, and none of his brothers had managed to fill the one empty trophy case built for an Olympic medal. And, yeah, he did want to be the one to put it there.

  Hey, look at me, Dad. For once in my life, look the fuck at me.

  But he forced a casual smile and just said, “No lie, it’d be cool. But the coaches make those decisions.”

  “But you want it, right? You wouldn’t win competitions if you didn’t have the drive. People like to think of you as easy-going, not driven like Will, but I can’t imagine you outscoring the world’s top surfers like you did today if you didn’t take your training as seriously as they do.”

  Of course he did. He trained as hard anybody. He just didn’t want to commit to a team, a coach…one sport. His phone chimed with a call, and he checked out the screen. Callie. “Hey, man, sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got to take this.”

  Clearly disappointed, she waved a hand at the cameraman. “Sure. Thanks for you
r time.”

  He headed away from the tent, hoping he didn’t lose the signal. His brother’s fiancée never reached out to him. “Hey, Callie. Everything okay?”

  “No. Listen, Knox had a tough call from her boss yesterday. He made it clear if she didn’t come back to work for him, things ‘wouldn’t go well for her.’”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Hang on. I’m about to tell you. While she was talking to him, she came up with an idea to do something with her twenty-five dresses. She wants to make knock-offs to sell in a pop-up boutique.”

  Brilliant. “Great idea.”

  “It is, and she got really excited. Soon as she got off that call, she was pumped. Ready to go.”

  “Sounds good. What’s the problem?” But he could think of a hundred problems. She had no start-up capital, for one.

  “Well, she can’t do anything without fabric, right? So, the first thing she did was get on the phone with a vendor she’s worked with in the past, but guess what?”

  “Just tell me.”

  “He won’t sell to her.”

  “Why not?”

  “She tried a bunch more, until she figured out that her asshole boss must’ve told all his vendors not to sell to her. Gray, he blacklisted her. She can’t even get the fabric to make our dresses, let alone recreate the ones from her show.”

  Tucking a hand under his arm, he stared out at the churning ocean. The clouds had parted, and a single shard of moonlight beamed down, like a spotlight on the thrashing surface.

  “Are you there?” Callie sounded pissed. “Did you hear me?”

  “Yeah, I heard you. Not sure what I can do about it. I don’t have any connections to luxury fabric vendors.” Fucking hell. What had they done to her?

  “We have to do something.”

  “Yeah, I know, but there’s not a damn thing I can do from here.”

  “Well, what do I tell her?”

  “I don’t have any answers for you right now. Depending on the weather, I’ve got my last heat tomorrow. I’ll think about it then.”

  Last night, Knox had barely slept. She’d paced the length of the room, moonlight casting long, eerie shadows. She’d trusted her whole career to Luc, and he’d turned on her.

  What had she done, though? She hadn’t wrecked her gowns, but it had happened, and now she needed to find a new path. Why would he cut her off from the suppliers, ensuring her failure?

  The startling crack from the air hockey table made her flinch.

  “He said he’d only be gone a few days.” Fin, the youngest Bowie brother and Callie’s fiancé, watched the puck intently, the thick muscles in his arm bunching and flexing as he drew back the paddle and whacked it. “It’s been nearly a week. Where the hell is he?”

  Weird that Gray hadn’t told his brother—his trainer—where he’d gone. It wasn’t like he was afraid to tell him. Gray was too confident for that.

  Sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen island, Callie twisted around to see him. “He’s got other things going on.”

  Fin shot an apologetic look at Knox. “Sorry. I know he’s working with you.”

  The sound effects went off, giving a tinny shout, “Score!” Fin tossed the paddle onto the table. “But he’s not here, so he’s not doing that, either.” Stepping back, he shoved his hands through his unruly hair.

  Knox hadn’t heard a word from Gray, but she couldn’t be angry. He’d done everything he could to get her set up. There’s nothing more he can do.

  “What is that?” With both arms wrapped around his fiancée, Fin nuzzled her neck and eyed her laptop.

  “Gray’s friend Amelia is setting up a social media account for us. We’re going to make really pretty photographs documenting the making of our wedding gowns.”

  “Will there be pictures of you on it?” Fin asked.

  “Of course.” Callie leaned back into him.

  “I don’t want the whole world knowing about our wedding.”

  “I told you we were taking advantage of the meme.” She gripped his forearms. “It’s going to be great for Knox’s business.”

  “You realize that’s basically an invitation to get the paparazzi here, crawling all over town?”

  “It’s going to happen anyway,” Callie said. “The meme might’ve died down, but we’re still feeling the effect of it. Look at my museum. Last weekend, that soccer team from Germany came, remember? They came out here specifically to see The Museum of Broken Hearts. And I’m still getting more donations than I can handle. The attention’s unavoidable, so why not throw some of it Knox’s way?”

  The French doors opened, and Delilah and Will came in, their cheeks rosy, their hair windswept. The little girl in Will’s arms—the half-sister he was raising—wriggled to get down. Once her feet hit the floor, she took off for Brodie, who quit resetting the hockey table to greet her.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” Delilah came right over to them, bringing in the cool mountain air. The scents of pine forest and sage swirled around her.

  Callie turned the laptop toward her. “This is what Amelia’s done so far. What do you think?”

  “Oh, that’s a pretty banner.” Delilah smiled at Knox. “I hope you’re ready for this, because once we go live, the orders are going to start rolling in.”

  “Not without fabric.” Knox said it quietly, but she felt the tension squeeze hold of the room. All eyes were on her, so she pasted on a smile.

  She’d find a vendor. Luc didn’t have a lock on the entire market. She just couldn’t understand why he’d do this to her. Well, intellectually she knew. If she went off on her own, he wouldn’t benefit from her talent. Emotionally, though, she’d thought—well, not that he was like a father to her. That would be stupid. But that he cared about her. As a person. That, sure, he’d be disappointed to lose her, but he’d still be rooting for her.

  She didn’t want to worry them—her customers—though. “I’ve reached out to some people.” She’d emailed her college advisor and some friends she’d made over the years. Friends? Well, acquaintances. “They’ll hook me up. No worries.” People made custom gowns all the time—and they certainly didn’t have access to couture’s unique textiles.

  “In this section here.” Delilah tapped the screen. “It’d be fun to put in photographs of some of your gowns.” Her gaze flicked up to Knox. “Would you want to do that?”

  “That’s a great idea,” Callie said. “One look at them, and they’ll be hooked.”

  She had dozens of dresses she’d love to post, but they all belonged to Luc. He’d never given her credit for anything. “I’d rather not show the ones in the pop-up, but I’ll dig some up from my senior year project.” She thought of the sketch she’d taken from the trailer—the gown she’d designed for herself. “I’ve got some sketches, if you want.” Maybe not that one, though.

  “Oh, I like that idea,” Delilah said.

  Just thinking about what Luc had done to her got her all worked up. “I’m going to check my email. See if anyone’s gotten back to me.” And then she’d start sourcing her own suppliers. “He couldn’t have blacklisted me from the entire market.” Just his personal connections.

  Luc could throw up roadblocks all day long, but he couldn’t keep her from succeeding.

  Knox didn’t have a lot of confidence—you don’t grow up being barked at and ostracized for living in a trailer and come out feeling like a champ. But she did believe in her talent as a designer.

  The moment she sat down beside Callie on a barstool at the kitchen counter and opened up her laptop, Delilah handed her a glass of wine. “Yassss. Thank you.” As her email loaded, she skimmed the subject lines.

  In the background, she heard the clacking from the air hockey game, two of the brothers shouting and laughing. On the couch, Will read a picture book to Ruby, snuggled up on his lap, her stuffed chicken wrapped tightly in her arms. Beside her, Callie and Delilah talked quietly about the profile picture they wanted for the social media pages.


  And then the door flung open.

  Chapter Six

  Gray Bowie strode in like an FBI agent on a bust. In his black Henley, faded blue jeans, and black boots, his body vibrated with purpose.

  Mother of God, that man is so freaking hot. Their gazes locked, and a thrill sizzled through her.

  “Hey, man.” Will set the book on the table and rose off the couch, effortlessly lifting his sidekick. “Where’ve you been?”

  The brothers were tight, loyal, honest, so it made her sad that Gray hadn’t told them about Titans. They’d love that one of them had gotten such an elite invitation.

  With a subtle shift of his shoulders, as though girding himself, Gray said, “Half Moon Bay.”

  The game table rattled, as if Fin had shoved it. “You did not do Titans.” The youngest brother stormed over.

  “I did. Had some trouble with the weather, but we managed to finish it off.” Gray grinned. “Good times.”

  “You’re training for the Olympics. What the he—”—Fin shot a look to little Ruby—“heck are you doing surfing Titans?”

  “I got the invitation.” He gave a careless shrug. “Not gonna turn it down. I came out alive.”

  “You win?” Brodie asked.

  “Heck, yeah.”

  Brodie and Will burst out laughing, surrounding him with back slaps and hugs. Ruby pumped her little arm, the chicken’s bright yellow legs flopping around.

  “You’re an ass—” Fin cut another look to the little girl. “Idiot. Your first competition’s in five weeks. Are you going to commit to this or not?”

  “Starting tomorrow, I’m yours.” But Gray only had eyes for her. Pushing through his brothers, he came right over. “Can we talk?” He directed all that power and urgency on her, and it made her heart pound. “Got something to run by you.”

  He still cared about her business. Deep down, she’d known it. No matter how nonchalant he acted, he’d always been there for her. Her heart beat furiously, because it mattered. “Yeah, of course.”

  He side-eyed his brothers. “Outside?”