He laughed. “You’re a hell of a kisser.”
“So are you.”
He grinned at her. “So it’s a tie?”
“For this round, at least. We’ll need a few more rounds to determine a winner.”
Jake turned to look at her but otherwise did not react. What was he thinking and feeling behind his serious, unsmiling expression?
She opened her mouth but he beat her to it. “You’re leaving in four days. There’s no reason to complicate this.”
“What are you saying?”
“You seem like a great person, someone I’d like to be friends with if we ever ran into each other again. No reason to screw up a potential friendship with a one-night stand.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
Jake chuckled sardonically. “Look, I’m not in the market for a relationship right now, but neither am I interested in a one-night stand with a woman who’s not sure what she wants.”
“So you’re looking for nothing?”
“I have to focus on my game. There isn’t time for much else. I didn’t want complications with those other girls for the same reason I don’t want any complications with you. I’d have avoided you the way I avoided them, but it’s just that…”
“Just that?” she prompted, hope in her voice.
“Just that you make it hard to think straight. I want you, badly. I don’t even know why.” He let his hand fall to his lap.
She shrugged. “Maybe we’re just proof that guys and gals can’t just be friends.”
He grimaced, but he nodded.
“Or maybe we just haven’t invested enough into friendship. Maybe we should start over.” She extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Ariel Falconer.”
He stared at her hand for a long, silent moment. When he looked up at her, he wore a wry half-smile. He, too, extended his hand. “Jake Hunter. Glad to meet you.” He expelled his breath. “I don’t have a game today. If you have time, I’d like to show you around town.”
After he rinsed the blood off his elbows and knees, Ariel and Jake stopped for breakfast at a café that served a variety of freshly baked goods. He pointed out his top choices at the counter. “The muffins are good. Croissants are great, too, especially with hot chocolate.”
“My favorite.”
“What is?”
“Hot chocolate,” Ariel said.
“With whipped cream?”
“Of course. And chocolate shavings.”
“Of course,” Jake murmured. He looked at the lady behind the counter. “Two hot chocolates, whipped cream, and chocolate shavings. And we’ll take two large croissants.”
They ate outside the café, their knees nudging beneath the small patio table. “So, how did you get into beach volleyball?” she asked.
“Dad used to play it on the weekends, just for fun. He brought me along to his games and I picked it up. It became the thing we did together. He passed away when I was sixteen, and beach volleyball just became the thing to do—for him.”
“Is that when you went pro?”
“Not officially, but considering how much time I spent playing, it might as well have been. Twelve years later, here I am, still playing volleyball.”
“And on the brink of making the Olympics. When will you find out?”
“End of this year, maybe early next year. Six months, and the window is shrinking.”
“There are more Olympics after that,” she pointed out.
“Some dreams don’t age well. It’s now or never. What about you?”
“You know about me.” She dipped her croissant into her hot chocolate and took a bite of the delicious, dripping mess. “I’m not doing much of anything right now. In fact, I don’t think I did much of anything ever.”
“Are you having fun?”
Fun. She frowned. “I don’t know. Are you having fun?”
“Of course.”
“But you never smile on the court. You act as if your face might crack if you did.”
“The game is serious. Winning matters. Taking part in the Olympics is everything to me.”
“Because of your father?”
“Because it’s what I want. I’ve sacrificed a lot to get this far. I’m right on the brink; I can’t quit now.”
“Of course not.” She tried not to sound bitter. How many times had she told herself that her acting career was on the verge of breaking out? The difference was that Jake’s dream was truly within reach. Her dream, on the other hand, had never been real, not even to her. Deliberately, she changed the subject. “Where to, after breakfast?”
“We’ll head down Las Olas, check out the art galleries on the way, and then I’ll take you to the River Walk. Fancy a cruise on the Intracoastal?”
The stroll down to the River Walk, which should have taken an hour, lasted four hours because Ariel stopped to check out every art gallery on the way. Bemused, Jake followed her through each store and listened to her conversations with the artists and the gallery owners. Curiosity was like a religion for her; she engaged a particularly taciturn artist in a lively discussion. It started with an innocent question on the meaning behind the art and why that particular technique was chosen. Before long, the artist was walking her slowly through the gallery, talking through each painting and describing how his life experiences affected the evolution of his art. Ariel listened as if the artist were the only person in the world. Her comments were insightful, her questions probing. She did not buy anything, but by the time she and Jake walked out of the store, Jake would have sworn that she and the artist had become best friends.
In another store, no artists were present, but Ariel and the gallery owner talked about the trials of owning an art gallery in a tourist destination. By the time that conversation ended, Jake, too, had learned that most purchasers of art in Fort Lauderdale were wealthy South Americans. No direct mention was made of the drug trade or money laundering, but Ariel had dug up that little tidbit too from the gallery owner.
In that four hours, Jake learned more about art and Fort Lauderdale than he had in the twelve years he had visited the city for beach volleyball tournaments.
When they stopped for lunch at Las Olas, Ariel chatted up the waiter on the seasonality of the business and the freshness of the seafood. To Jake’s surprise, the waiter recommended against the expensive lunch special; he didn’t want Ariel to be disappointed by the quality of the halibut—how about the trout instead? It was freshly caught and grilled to perfection, he promised.
“Do you do this all the time?” Jake asked after the waiter departed to place the order.
“Do what?”
“Chat people up. Ask them countless questions about their lives.”
She shrugged. “Everyone has a story to tell, and chances are, I haven’t heard it. Sometimes they just want to talk, and I let them. It isn’t a big deal, really. Just a bit of kindness, and most of the time, I learn lots of cool, new things, like money laundering.” She winked as she reached for her iced tea.
“But you like it.”
“Of course I do. I wouldn’t do it otherwise.” She tilted her head and stared at him across the table. “You disagree.”
“I’ve never tried. I just go in, get what I need, and leave.”
“You miss out on all the fun that way. It’s the stories that make the hours fly by. Come on, admit it, you didn’t even notice how much time we were spending until your stomach started to complain.”
“All right, you got me there.”
“Anyway, since I’m out of people to grill, it’s your turn. Colin said you have a job.”
Jake nodded. “I majored in information technology in college. It’s what I do now.”
“Which is?”
“I get to break stuff.” He reached for a slice of bread and dipped it in olive oil. “Companies hire me as an independent third party to test their computer programs—games, apps, user interfaces, websites, stuff like that. I put myself in the place of an inexperienced user or a malicious hacker—depend
ing on what the client wants—and try to break the program.”
“Super awesome. How many people actually get paid to break stuff?”
Ariel was right, Jake mused. He’d never thought of it that way before. “Anyway, I test the program and send recommendations back to my clients—the best place to provide a walkthrough; topics to add to the FAQ; sections where security slipped and I got past the user interface.” He smiled. “Things never work the same way twice. Each project is fresh, even with my repeat clients. It’s almost like a treasure hunt—using logic and creativity to push through the artificial boundaries someone else set up around the program. It’s great.”
She popped a piece of bread into her mouth. “You actually sound like you’re having fun.”
“I do. Work should be fun.”
She stared at him. “It’s just work.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s not just work. People invest too much time doing it; it would be a shame not to enjoy it. What do you enjoy?”
“I don’t know.”
“You like talking to people.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“And you like mixing drinks.”
She blinked. “I do?”
He shrugged. “You looked like you were having fun back at the party. The gleam in your eyes. The happy smile on your face—a contented smile. Seemed to me you were having fun bartending.”
She started, as if he’d hit her.
“Ariel?”
Her hands fluttered as she waved his concern away. “No, no, it’s okay. I…you just caught me by surprise.” Her eyes searched in his face. “Bartending?”
“Just seemed like something you’d probably enjoy doing. Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m not offended,” she said, but he knew better. She’d stiffened. Of course she was offended by the implication that someone like her, who could afford the Ritz while on vacation, would ever do anything like bartending.
It was a jolting reminder that they came from different worlds, a jolting reminder that she was rich.
As the River Cruise puttered along the Intracoastal, Jake reclined in his seat, with Ariel beside him, and listened to the practiced patter of the narrator. Multimillion dollar homes often concealed behind tall trees, thick hedges, and high walls were displayed in their full glory from the river. Yachts that cost as much as mansions lay anchored in front of those homes.
Jake scarcely noticed. The Who’s Who of Fort Lauderdale didn’t intrigue him as much as the woman beside him, who made his heart beat faster every time she arched a sideway glance at him. The way she threw her head back when she laughed, her flashing smile as she chatted up young and old, people of every race and profession, the way she could ease confidences out of them—she was intriguing.
And she said she did nothing. She lived up to the stereotype of the idle rich. No job, no career, no ambition, but a host of party skills—including mixing drinks.
Those girls were bad news. He had met many of them on the beach volleyball circuit. After all, who else had time to hang out at the beach instead of work a full-time job except those who didn’t need the money? Invariably, those girls started out fun but became wearying. They always needed more attention and time than he could give, in large part because they didn’t understand why they couldn’t be the priority in his life.
No one liked playing third fiddle to volleyball and work.
The right thing to do would be to not drag things out with Ariel. It would only end the way his other relationships had ended—the woman screaming and calling him a selfish bastard who didn’t care for anything or anyone other than his volleyball game.
Ariel glanced at him. The vivacious gleam in her eyes dropped away. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
She frowned. “You suddenly didn’t seem to be.”
“How could you tell?”
She looked rather confused as she rubbed her chest, right over her heart. “It’s like I could feel it here. Bad vibes from you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. What got you tied up in a knot?”
“You. You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”
She stared at him, her lips slightly parted in surprise.
Jake could almost feel something pop in his head. Damn it. He leaned forward.
Instead of backing away, she closed her eyes and raised her head for the kiss.
She was as intoxicating as he recalled. The scent and flavor of her seemed to shoot straight into his brain, as distinct and as elusive as the drink she had mixed for him. The sexy little sound, like the purr of a kitten, she made in her throat made his groin tighten.
His need for her, a constant burning inside of him, roared into full flame, scorching through coherent thought. His grip on her tightened. He had to—
Breathing hard, he broke the kiss, shoved to his feet, and strode away. He stared out at the Intracoastal, his hands curled into fists, his shoulders taut with tension.
Her light footsteps came from behind him. The fragrance that always accompanied her—of sugar and spice—wreaked havoc with his self-control.
“I know you enjoyed the kiss as much as I did,” she said. “Why did you walk away?”
He did not turn around to face her. “I enjoyed it too much.”
“Why is it a problem?”
“Because I wanted to take you, here, on the boat, everyone else be hanged.” He spun around and glared at her. “Don’t you get it? You’ve gotten into my head, into my blood. I don’t want to scare you. I don’t want to push you where you don’t want to go. But it’s hard, and getting harder every moment. It’s okay—almost okay, if we don’t touch—but the moment we do…” His breath shuddered out of him and he squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second. “You drive me crazy, and I don’t even know why.”
Ariel inhaled deeply. Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet. “Who broke your heart?”
He ground his teeth.
“Jake?”
“It was a long time ago.” He breathed out a sigh. “And she didn’t break my heart. I broke hers. We were sixteen. My father passed away around the same time her parents divorced. Our losses brought us closer, I suppose. We dated for many years and broke up after we graduated from college, just before I went pro.”
“Which had something to do with the break-up.”
“She wanted more. I couldn’t give more. More than anyone else, she knew how much beach volleyball meant to me, and if she couldn’t get it, how can anyone else?”
“Where is she now?”
“Up near Seattle, I think. Her mom moved back to her hometown. Last I heard, Vivienne moved out there to be with her.”
“Are you still holding the torch for her?”
Jake shook his head. “No, but sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I’d quit volleyball and settled down with her. We’d probably be married. The quintessential American couple. Two and a half kids, one dog, and one cat. Brick house with a white picket fence.” He stared down at his hands. “What I have right now is everything to me, but sometimes, I wonder what I gave up for it.” His gaze fell on Ariel, and he drew a deep, shuddering breath. Frankly, she freaked the hell out of him. At another time, another place, if he had known her better, would he have given up volleyball for her?
Ariel continued softly. “The problem with questions like that is that they never have answers.”
He had to change the topic. He was way over his head, entirely out of his depth. Jake glanced at Ariel. “What about you? How many hearts have you broken?”
“Me?” She shook her head. “None.”
“Really.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“Of course not. Pretty. Flirty. You open your mouth and people fall for you.”
“Not quite so easy, trust me.” She leaned against the rail next to him, not quite touching.
“What happened?” he asked.
“We both had the same dream.
He got there. I didn’t. End of story.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You can get strangers to tell you their life story, but you’re not all that chatty yourself.”
Ariel laughed. “I know my story. There’s nothing interesting about it to me, so I tell the Cliff Notes version.”
“It’s interesting to me. Where’s the War and Peace version?”
“It’s not much longer, or more interesting, than the Cliff Notes version.” Ariel shrugged. “For a while, we had the same dreams, and then when we didn’t, it ended.”
“Dreams are rough—when you have them, and when you don’t.”
She nodded. “I guess you could say I’m in between dreams right now, just chilling out until I find something new.”
“Do you know what you’re looking for?”
“No. But I’ll know it when I see it.”
Their eyes met. For a moment, their gazes locked before she looked away, color blooming in her cheeks.
She wanted him, as much as he wanted her; he was certain of it. The crazy, raw physical chemistry wasn’t just on his end.
He raked his hand through his hair. No complications. Yeah, right. What were their chances of escaping unscathed, hearts unbroken?
Chapter 7
The sun was setting when Jake walked Ariel back to the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton hotel. They paused outside of the entrance, and she stepped into a half-turn to look at him. “Thank you. I had a good day today.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“Will you be playing volleyball tomorrow?”
He nodded.
She smiled. “I’ll be back out there to cheer for you.”
“If you like.”
He returned the smile but he sounded distant and noncommittal. Ariel’s heart sank. It had all been for nothing. In him, she had wanted a friend, not necessarily a one-night stand, but apparently, she’d only succeeded in driving him farther away. In spite of the moments of closeness they had enjoyed through the day, he had evidently decided she posed more complications than he wanted to take on.
“Good night.” Jake did not extend his hand. He did not step in for a hug. He did not lean in for a kiss.
Flawed: A Love Letters Novel Page 6
