by Jewel E. Ann
“We haven’t had any more messes since yesterday morning and he inhaled his breakfast an hour ago.”
“So two miles huh?” he asks.
“Yes, that’s my limit today.” I nod.
“Well, that’s about all I have left before I need to get ready for work. Want some company?”
“Dr. Abbott, I don’t want to slow you down.”
“It’s Dane and I’ve already jogged eight miles. I think a slowdown would be just fine.” He shifts from side to side, stretching his inner thighs.
Tightening my ponytail, I consider his offer. With twenty-nine more days to go and a completely unpredictable mutt, it might not be a bad idea to make nice with the cute vet who lives in the neighborhood.
“Come on, it’s just a jog.” He rests his hands on his hips and cocks his head.
I nod. “Fine, but I’m serious. The legs on this five foot five inch body have to work twice as hard to keep up with your six-foot-five frame.”
“Six-foot-three and I’ll go slow.”
We head north at the end of the drive, and Dane starts playing twenty questions.
“So how do you know Trevor and Elizabeth?”
“Elizabeth is my dad’s sister.”
“Where are you from?”
“Illinois.”
He laughs. “Midwest girl, huh?”
“Yeah, yeah, Midwest girl.” I try to keep my grin contained, but I can’t.
“Did you go to college?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t elaborate.” His voice is deep with sarcasm and not at all labored from his already eight mile run.
I’m not usually a talker when I jog, not enough oxygen.
“University of Iowa. Art History. Mom died. Dad’s a minister. Younger sister. Your turn.”
Dane laughs. “It’s like jogging with a robot. Swarley has more enthusiasm than you right now.”
I stop as Swarley pulls me off to the side to drop a load.
“Poop looks good.” Dane grins.
I bag the poop and we continue.
“Veterinary Medicine, UCD. Parents in Los Angeles. Younger brother in Seattle. Older sister in San José.”
He gives me a sideways glance, but I don’t say anything in response nor does he add anything else as we jog in silence.
“This is me.” He points off to the right at a two-story red brick house.
Bending over, hands resting on my knees, I catch my breath while Swarley lifts his leg to anything and everything.
“Can I get you some water before you head back?”
“Thanks, but I’m good. Come on, Swarley.”
“I enjoyed our jog … uh … maybe we can do it again sometime?” Dane shifts his weight from one foot to the other. It must be a nervous habit, or maybe he needs to use the bathroom.
“Sure. Swarley would love that. Well, you know where to find us.”
“Bye, Sydney.”
“Later.”
*
As soon as we turn the corner into Elizabeth and Trevor’s long drive, I stop. A familiar black Toyota 4Runner is parked by the front walk. Crap!
“Okay, dog, when I say attack you’d better obey.”
I tread up the drive and as I come around the corner of his 4Runner I’m taken back by the sight on the porch. Pseudo pool guy is sitting on the steps holding a huge bouquet of wild flowers and beside him is a drink holder with cups and a white sack.
“Attack,” I whisper, releasing the leash.
Swarley runs up the steps and starts licking pool guy’s face.
Stupid dog.
The I-couldn’t-wait-to-see-you-again smile that graces his face melts my resolve and those blue irises … My God, they render me speechless.
“I thought we should call a truce before you have access to any cutlery.” He licks those full red lips and my tongue mirrors his.
Catching myself, I bite them together with a tight smile. “Mmm … wise.” I step closer.
Swarley finds a patch of shade near the front door and collapses.
Standing, he holds out the flowers. “Truce?”
This guy is off-the-charts irresistible wearing black and gray striped board shorts and a black muscle shirt with aviator sunglasses hanging from the front. Everything about him screams dangerously sexy. Today, however, I’m deaf.
I bring the vibrant flowers to my nose, walking past him. “What do I call you?”
Turning my head, I raise a questioning brow and his grin doubles. “Lautner Sullivan.”
I keep walking and open the door without looking back again. Swarley jumps up and heads into the kitchen.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
Pausing in the middle of the doorway, I contemplate the sanity of inviting a total stranger into a house that doesn’t belong to me. Okay, I did it yesterday, but completely under false pretenses.
Twisting my lips to the side, I shrug my shoulders. “Depends. What’s in the bag?”
“Cherry-almond galettes.”
I grab the bag and look inside. It’s a done deal. He’s officially invited in, and if one of those four cups is a chai tea latte, I will drop to my knees and give him the best damn blow job he’s ever had.
“After you.” I grin and pivot to let him in.
“Thank you—?”
“Sydney.” Our eyes meet.
“Just as I suspected. Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
Oh jeez, this is not good … not good at all.
In the kitchen Lautner takes a seat at the counter while I grab plates from the cabinet.
“Hope I brought something you like. I have plain decaf, Frappe, green tea, or chai tea latte.”
Chai tea latte? Oh dear God!
One of the plates slips out of my hand and crashes against the counter. By some miracle, it’s not broken.
“Shit!”
“Sorry, you’re probably an orange juice girl. Huh?”
Sydney! Get a grip … figuratively and literally.
My whole body warms and I know my face is flushed. I can’t look at him without thinking about giving him head. I’m quite certain I will never drink another chai tea latte without thinking about giving Lautner a blow job. Shit! I hope he’s not a mind reader.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” I clear my throat with a quick recovery, setting the galettes on the plates without making eye contact.
“Are you sure? You seem … flustered.”
“Fine, I’m … just … fine. Chai tea latte, please.” I regain some composure and look at him as I take a bite of the galette. It’s so good!
Seemingly satisfied with my persuasion, he slides my tea over to me and starts eating.
“So I take it you’re dog siting for the owners?”
Swallowing, I nod. “Housesitting. The pleasure of taking care of the dog is just a bonus.”
“Not a dog person?” he asks with a knowing smirk.
“No, I’m a dog person. I’m just not sure if I’m a Swarley person.”
“Maybe he’s an acquired taste, like me.”
I choke on my tea because I can’t believe he just said that. I’m trying desperately not to picture him naked, which is hard to do because I’ve actually seen him naked. Why did he have to say that? Is he reading my dirty mind?
“Are you okay?”
I nod, covering my mouth and stifling my cough. Who the hell is this guy and why does he affect me so?
Remember, Sydney … guys are serpent-like distractions, fairytales don’t exist, and you’re allergic to pixie dust.
“I’m … fine. Swarley, in a world where dogs are considered family members, is my cousin. The homeowners, Elizabeth and Trevor, are my aunt and uncle. It worked out that I wanted to be on the West Coast, closer to my sister, around the same time they needed a house and dog sitter while they travel through Europe this month.”
Lautner sips his drink and nods. “Well, lucky me.”
“Yeah about that … let’s
acknowledge the elephant in the room. Who are you and why were you here yesterday?” I ask, taking a seat at the counter, making sure to leave an empty chair between us. I don’t trust him yet, but worse than that … I don’t trust myself in his close proximity.
He finishes chewing while a sly smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Funny thing actually, my friend moved into a house at 1109 SW Vine. I didn’t write down the address, I was going by memory and as you know this house is—”
“1109 NW Vine,” I finish. “So you were just at the wrong address?”
“Crazy, huh?”
“No. Crazy is impersonating the pool guy just so you can stalk an unsuspecting young woman staying alone in someone else’s house.”
He twists his lips to the side and scratches his chin. “Hmm, when you spin it like that it makes me sound like some sort of predator.”
“How exactly would you explain yesterday’s events?” I raise a brow at him and sip my tea.
Teasing his tongue over the corner of his mouth, he rolls his eyes to the ceiling for a moment. Bright blue irises meet mine and his face softens.
“Boy meets girl. Boy physically feels like he’s gasping for air because the girl before him is just stunning, absolutely … breathtaking. An unfamiliar feeling seizes boy—fear. Fear that he’s taken a wrong turn for all the right reasons. Fear that the moment could slip away and for the rest of his life he’d live with the excruciating agony born from the soul-snatching ‘what if?’”
Lips parted, my eyes blink rapidly.
Speechless.
What if?
Silence hangs in the air like a heavy cloud waiting to burst. I’m staring at him, but his head is bowed looking at his plate while he pushes a few crumbs around with his finger. His eyes risk a peek up at me and I see something in his somber expression that I haven’t seen yet—vulnerability.
I wrinkle my face and squint my eyes. “Worst pickup line ever.”
Holy Shit! Best pickup line EVER!
I’m lost in blue irises, but he doesn’t hold my gaze. He looks back down at his plate and shrugs with just a mere hint of a smile.
“Can’t blame a boy for trying.”
“True. But your sappy,”—actually, boombox-over-your-head-banner-in-the-sky-no-other-guy-will-ever-compare— “explanation doesn’t explain why you nearly let me drown before you jumped in the pool after me … completely naked.”
This time it’s his squinted eyes that snap back to mine. His head juts forward and his jaw drops.
“Drowning? Yeah, right.” He laughs. “Because people who are drowning sit cross-legged at the bottom of a pool with their hands folded in their lap.”
“Whatever.” I wave my hand in a dismissive gesture. “Still doesn’t explain jumping in the pool naked.”
“You were playing around, so I thought I would too. Don’t act all Goody Two-shoes. You were eye-fucking me from the moment you opened the door, and when I took my shirt off it was like nothing above my neck even existed.”
“Eye-fucking you? Don’t flatter yourself.” I stand and take our plates to the sink.
I was totally eye-fucking him, but come on … how ungentlemanly of him to call me on it.
“I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree. However, I will concede that I may have over shot it a bit by jumping in the pool naked.” He holds up his thumb and index finger about an inch apart.
A very unladylike snort escapes me. “Jeez, what makes you think that?”
Biting his thumbnail, he smiles. “I’d have to say the butcher knife. Did you really think I was a threat?”
Leaning against the counter, I smile. “No. You were playing around, so I thought I would too.”
“Touché, Sydney.” The shimmery reflection in his eyes and the unrestrained smile possessing his lips consumes me.
He stands and moves with slow caution toward me. Every muscle in my body contracts. I’m frozen, numb, and completely raptured by blue irises. We’re so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face. I jump at the touch of his thumb on my chin.
“Crumb,” he whispers, brushing it off.
My brain is screaming, say something!
“Let’s go.”
“What? Where?” I shake my head to clear the fuzziness his close proximity has created in my jumbled head.
He steps back and I draw in a quick breath to keep from withering to the floor. The way my body involuntarily responds to his is magnetic and alarmingly dangerous.
Retreating another few paces, he leans against the opposite counter. “The beach.”
“I can’t go to the beach with you,” I retort without hesitation.
“Why not?”
Why can’t I go to the beach with Lautner? I don’t know, but my instincts tell me it has something to do with self-preservation. That, and it’s the correct response to a person I’ve known for two seconds. Who in their right mind would do something so reckless as to say “what the hell” and jump into a stranger’s vehicle because he said “what if?”
Me. That’s who.
Barely able to contain my nervous excitement, I twirl my long hair around my finger and grin that you-might-be-Ted-Bundy-but-fuck-it-I’m-going-with-you-anyway grin.
“I’ll grab my suit.”
*
“This is insane.” Skipping down the porch stairs, I sling my bag over my shoulder. Lautner leans against the front of his 4Runner with one leg casually crossed over the other. A pang of disappointment threatens my beaming grin as I notice his sunglasses hiding those hypnotic blue irises. I make a quick recovery when his lips part into the most infectious smile.
“I’d hardly call a day at the beach insane.” He opens the passenger door and takes my bag, grazing his fingers over my bare shoulder. My breath hitches at his electric touch and my lips pull to a tight grin to hide my nervousness.
“Thank you,” I whisper, relinquishing my bag. He tosses it in the back then shuts my door. The man I threatened with a knife less than twenty-four hours ago is taking me to the beach. He’s hijacked my ability to reason. I’m going on impulse and it’s exhilarating, liberating, and insane. What if he’s luring me away from safety to rape me, cut me up into tiny pieces, and throw my body in the ocean? Maybe I’ve watched too much Dexter.
The slam of the driver’s door sends a shiver of doubt through my body. My heart races in my chest, stomach knotted, lungs gasping for air. His hand rests on mine which is white-knuckled into the charcoal leather armrest.
“Everything okay?”
My gaze fixes on his hand. The searing sensation of his touch frazzles my focus. Is he running a fever? Why does he feel so hot? Maybe I’m sick. I feel chilled and slightly disoriented.
I drag my eyes to his face. He slides his glasses up on his head.
“Sydney?”
Blue irises. They’re so indescribable. It’s more of a feeling. My chills evaporate and blood surges through my body heating the surface until it glistens. No words can escape, just the faint whisper of a satisfied sigh as my posture relaxes. It’s as if all the wonder and nostalgia of the most surreal places on Earth have been captured then released from his gaze. It’s crazy, I know it, but there are blue eyes and then there are blue eyes. It’s like God decided to give one man infinitely beautiful irises, a passageway to forever, a glimpse of Heaven, and I’m looking at him. It’s the only explanation because it’s not possible—or fair for that matter—to have eyes so mesmerizing.
“Fine …” It’s all I’ve got. One word.
Flipping his sunglasses back over his eyes, he removes his hand from mine and starts the engine.
Fucking Medusa eyes! Get a grip, Syd.
“You look a little nervous, that’s all.” He puts the 4Runner in gear.
“Nervous? Why would I be nervous? It’s not as if I’m going to the beach with a complete stranger who could rape me, chop up my body, and feed me to the sharks.”
A deep staccato chuckle reverberates from his chest. “Sydney,
I’m not going to rape you.”
And …?
An eerie silence hangs between us as I give him a sideways glance. Focused on the road, his slightly crooked smile is filled with mischief.
“And …?” I tilt my head in his direction waiting for a more reassuring response.
“And what?”
“And I’m supposed to take comfort in knowing that my virginity will be preserved when I’m butchered and fed to the sharks?”
Lautner’s head whips in my direction. “You’re a virgin?” he emphasizes the last word with a high-pitched tone.
“No, of course not. It’s just a saying.”
He shakes his head. “Being ‘nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs’ is just a saying. ‘My virginity will be preserved’ is not a saying. It’s a declaration, an announcement, a disclosure … a big reveal. But it is not a saying.”
I shrug a single shoulder and look out my window. “Yeah, well maybe not where you’re from.”
“Sydney, it’s okay if you’re a vir—”
“I’m not a virgin! Jeez! What do I have to do to make you believe me?”
“Well—” His new smirk is laced with devilish intentions as his tongue eases out to wet his full lips before he bites the edge of his bottom one.
“Not happening,” I affirm.
“Okay,” he mumbles.
“I’m serious. I am not sleeping with you.”
“I said, okay.” He laughs, inching his head back and forth.
“No, you didn’t just say ‘okay,’ you said ‘okay,’” I mock, “but what you meant was ‘whatever, baby, you know you’ll never be able to resist my hypnotizing sex appeal.’”
Laughter erupts from deep within his belly, as if he’s just heard the most amusing joke of all time. “God, Sydney, you’re a real spitfire.”
A warm breeze twists and pulls my hair as we pick up speed out of town. Taking the hair tie off my wrist, I pull back my wild locks and secure them in a ponytail.
“We can roll up the windows,” Lautner offers.
“No way. Since we’re not taking a convertible to the beach, windows down is a must. By the way, what beach are we going to?”
“Not sure yet. Just thought we’d head west to Highway One then see what waves call to us between there and Santa Cruz.”
