40-Love (There's Something About Marysburg Book 2)

by Olivia Dade

  Oh, Lord. “You may, uh, have heard that we—”

  “Were yelling at each other across a tennis court in public two nights ago?” She raised her brows. “Yeah, I heard. Trust me.”

  “Right.” He scuffed his sneaker against the patterned carpet underfoot. “I, um, need to apologize to her for my unprofessionalism. As a resort employee.”

  “Not good enough.” The door started to close. “Bye, Lucas.”

  “Wait!”

  Operating on sheer instinct, he shoved his foot forward, and shit, that was a heavy door. Even though she wasn’t trying to push it shut, the impact hurt like a mofo.

  Belle opened the door a few more centimeters and eyed him like an insect. “Yes? Do you have something else to say?”

  “I don’t just want to speak to Tess as an employee.” He dragged a hand through his hair and grasped the back of his neck. “I like her. I want to fix whatever I damaged on that tennis court and maybe see where we can go from here. If she’s interested.”

  She swung the door wider. “That’s more like it.”

  Thank Christ.

  “Now can I talk to her?” He didn’t crane his neck to look around Belle, but he was sorely tempted.

  “Nope.”

  His stomach took another nosedive.

  “Shit.” He dropped his chin to his chest. “What did I do now?”

  Belle laughed, completely unsympathetic to his torment. “Nothing. She’s just not here. I’m guessing she got going before dawn, like she normally does. But if I know her, she’s left me a…” Turning to scan the room, she gestured for him to hold the door. “Wait here.”

  A moment later, she returned from the coffee table with a small piece of paper in her hand, and he tried his best not to snatch it from her fingers.

  “According to this note, she’s on the far end of the island. The adults-only, swimsuit-mandatory beach. She says she’ll be back within an hour or two, so if you want me to tell her you stopped by when she—”

  “No.” He could get to that spot within ten minutes, and it should offer them decent privacy. Perfect. “I’ll go talk to her there. Thank you.”

  Belle grabbed his arm when he turned to go, her grip firm. “I don’t think so, Sparky. Either you promise me you’ll leave right away if she wants you to go, or I’m going with you. And I’ll complain to management that you’re harassing a guest after having yelled at her during her lesson.”

  Sparky? What the fuck? “If she tells me to leave her alone, I will. I promise.”

  He would, even though he was dying to talk to Tess. Because his desires weren’t more important than hers. His parents had taught him that long before he’d gone on his first date.

  “When she comes back, if she tells me you didn’t keep that promise, I will rain hellfire upon you.” Belle let go of his arm. “And I watched Game of Thrones, so you don’t want that. Trust me.”

  He considered some of the plotlines he’d seen and shuddered. “Fair enough. Thanks.”

  Then, before she could threaten him more, he was jogging down the hall and toward the beach. Toward the most interesting woman he’d met in God knew how long. Toward the only woman who’d seen past his lazy-dude façade in months. Maybe years.

  Toward a woman who might not want to talk to him at all.

  Shit.

  He put his head down and jogged faster.

  Somehow, Tess had found his favorite place on the island.

  The adults-only end of the resort was always quieter than the family beaches, not only because it was child-free, but also because reaching the area required a much longer walk from the hotel. Even by the adult-beaches standard, though, this spot was special. Peaceful and secluded.

  At the very tip of the island, the resort had created a little pool of turquoise ocean water, protected by rocks about ten meters from shore. That line of rocks, a sort of homemade reef, absorbed the force of any waves before they reached the pool. More rocks marked the sides of the protected area.

  While the pool constantly received a fresh influx of ocean water, that water moved only in tiny ripples, lapping like a gentle caress against the skin of anyone lucky enough to find the spot. Visitors could even see over the line of those dark rocks and into the stunning ocean beyond, with the mainland and other islands nowhere in sight.

  If those visitors waded into the water and let it climb over their knees, their waists, their necks, and—briefly, if they were shorter than him—their heads, they’d find another hidden wonder. A sandbar rising beneath the sun-dappled surface of the pool, high enough in one spot to provide a seat. High enough for someone to sit comfortably on the silky sand, waist-deep in the water, surrounded by nothing but clear, beautiful ocean, and enjoy those caressing waves in solitude.

  Sometimes, the sheer loveliness of the spot helped him forget everything he’d lost.

  Other times, it helped reconcile him to that loss.

  Today, Tess was there. Sitting in the middle of the water like a behatted mermaid, facing the ocean beyond as her hands swished in the water at her sides. Her dark hair lay loose around her upper arms, half-covering a blue…

  What the hell was she wearing? Because that wasn’t a swimsuit.

  The water came up higher on her than it did on him, to her chest rather than her waist. But she clearly found the spot comfortable too, if the relaxed lines of her shoulders told him anything. And he hated to disturb her peace, he really did, but they didn’t have much time.

  Soon, some other early riser would find this spot, or he’d have to prepare for his first lesson of the day. He couldn’t wait long.

  “Tess?” he called out. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  That hat-covered head turned, and she gazed at him for a long moment. Then she lifted a hand from the water and waved him toward her, and his heart uncramped in his chest just a tiny bit.

  It took only seconds to tug off his tee and make his way through the warm water to her side. He sat beside her on the sandbar, the slight tug and sway of the blunted waves a comfort. When he tried to read her expression, she didn’t look at him, only dug her fingers into the sand, gathered a handful, and let it sift and dissolve through her grasp.

  That damn hat was getting in his way.

  Taking a chance, he touched the edge of the brim, lifting it so he could see her face. “How did you manage to keep this dry?”

  Finally, she turned those hazel eyes to him. Wary, tired eyes, with starbursts of lines at their corners. “I held it above my head with one hand while I paddled with the other. And the water was only deep for a couple of feet, so it wasn’t hard.”

  Made sense. “This is my favorite place on the island.”

  “No wonder.” She slid her hand through the water, just under the surface, as if riding the currents. “I can almost feel my blood pressure dropping each minute I’m here.”

  She needed to relax more, and he was interrupting her solitude. Dammit.

  “I’m sorry to intrude.” No more delaying. He needed to make his purpose clear, and he needed to reaffirm her consent to his company. “I came by your room to talk to you this morning. Belle told me where you were and made me promise I’d leave immediately if that’s what you wanted. Which I would have done anyway, but she doesn’t know me.”

  A faint snort from Tess.

  He was pretty sure he could read her thoughts. Of course she doesn’t know you. Who does?

  She was right, of course. But he was trying to change that.

  “If you want me to go, I will. But I’d really like to talk for a few minutes.” He paused. “Is that okay?”

  Her lips drew tight. “No arguing?”

  “The last thing I want to do is argue with you, Tess.” He didn’t reach for her hand as it glinted like a fish beneath the water, but he wished he could. “I know you don’t trust me, but please believe that.”

  She took a minute to answer.

  Then she sighed and shifted her shoulders to face him. “Okay. You can stay. Say
what you need to say, Lucas.”

  Yes. Hallelujah.

  But also…

  Oh, shit.

  He’d hoped she would let him say his piece, but he hadn’t let himself plan any further than the request. Hadn’t thought about the exact words he’d use or the stories he’d tell. Hadn’t visualized success, in the way his coach had always urged him to do.

  Nevertheless, the moment had arrived, ready or not, and he was a battler. Always had been.

  For this particular match, he wasn’t walking out onto a court or waving to cheering crowds or hearing his name announced over loudspeakers. But the feeling was familiar. The anticipation. The nerves. The determination.

  If he wanted a chance with her, he needed to concentrate, make his stand, and devote his time and wholehearted effort to that singular goal, now and for the rest of her visit. It was the sort of gut-level commitment he hadn’t made in over a year. Something he hadn’t pictured himself doing again in any context, professional or personal.

  But right now, he was fighting for the promise of Tess Dunn.

  And yeah, he was ready to admit it: For that, he’d do almost anything.

  Eleven

  Lucas took another moment to study the silent woman at his side.

  Shoulders visibly bunched and raised high with tension. Tight jaw. Hands no longer slicing through the current in relaxed arcs, but instead fisted underwater in the sand by her hips.

  Seeing Tess in that state because of him hurt worse than his post-match ice baths. And on a purely pragmatic level—Tess’s preferred level—people under stress had trouble listening and taking in new information, much less coming to mutually agreeable decisions. As often as possible, his coach had waited for him to calm before discussing lost matches, and she’d told him that was why. He’d believed her. Still did.

  Immediately tackling the fraught subjects from their last disastrous encounter wouldn’t serve his purposes, then. Morning lessons or not, this conversation would require patience.

  He’d ease into this conversation the same way he’d eased into those ice baths. Gingerly. Expecting discomfort. Hoping, in the end, the pain would help him move forward.

  And speaking of pain… “This spot is a pretty long walk from the hotel. Is your knee feeling better?”

  “Flat ground isn’t a problem.” One round shoulder lifted. “Ibuprofen helps too.”

  Which wasn’t really an answer. “What does your doctor say about it?”

  She was not responding well to his initial, get-Tess-more-relaxed topic. If anything, she’d become more tense beside him, her arms now crossed in front of her ample, glorious chest. “I’m at school before her office opens and working until after it’s closed again. There’s no time for non-emergency appointments.”

  A very practical reason not to go. But based on their argument two nights ago, he suspected practicality wasn’t the only reason she’d been avoiding her doctor.

  In fact, he was beginning to suspect practicality wasn’t why Tess did much of anything.

  He gave a noncommittal hum. “So you haven’t told her.”

  “No.”

  Her chin had turned pugnacious again, and he waited. Let the silence spin out.

  Finally, she swung on him. “I know what she’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Okay,” he said mildly.

  “When you’re fat, doctors propose weight loss as a solution to everything. Joint pain, strep throat, broken arms, spider bites, the bubonic plague, whatever.” With a near-silent sigh, she dropped her arms back to her sides. “Since I have no intention of dieting, there’s no point.”

  He looked down. Took a moment to think.

  From what he could tell, she hadn’t used the word fat as a pejorative. There had been no venom in the adjective, no bitterness or sadness, no implicit plea for his denial. It had served only as a descriptor, rather than a sign of self-loathing. Matter of fact. Value-neutral.

  And he wasn’t going to protest that she wasn’t fat. They both knew better. Contradicting that would be patronizing as hell, insulting in its own way. More importantly, protesting might imply that being fat was somehow bad. Somehow the worst thing she could be, rather than merely one aspect of a complex, fascinating woman.

  A wise man would probably change the topic. Immediately. Then again, if she’d wanted to chat with a wise man, she shouldn’t have let Lucas sit next to her instead.

  He’d spent years defined by his body, but not in the same way she had. He wanted to understand.

  He met her eyes again. “Is that what your doctor usually does? She asks you to lose weight, no matter what the problem is?”

  Another long silence.

  “Not usually,” she finally muttered. “If she did that, I’d have found another doctor.”

  Point made, he tugged lightly on the elbow-length sleeve of her garment and changed the subject. “This blue…” It was both bright and deep, like a jewel against the pale velvet of her skin. “It’s pretty on you.”

  There. A less-fraught topic of conversation, served up nice and easy for her.

  “Thanks.” The hem was swirling around her thighs in the water, beneath the surface, and she pulled the fabric over her bent knees. “You’re probably wondering why I’m wearing a cover-up in the water.”

  Honestly, he’d first thought maybe she was wearing it because she didn’t feel entirely comfortable revealing herself in a swimsuit. His older sister had insisted on layering a t-shirt over her swimsuit for just that reason while they were growing up, and though he’d hated what it said about how she saw herself and disagreed with her reasoning, he’d understood the impulse.

  That didn’t make sense in Tess’s case, though, not when she’d already been running around the beach in a bikini. His conclusion: She probably just wanted an extra layer available in case another swimsuit went MIA. A disappointing but wise decision.

  Since she might not appreciate a reminder of her topless state during their first meeting, he kept his answer neutral. “I figured maybe I’d missed out on a fashion trend. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “I have a swimsuit beneath.” She tugged the neckline of her dress to the side, revealing a thick, red strap over her shoulder. Then her lips lifted in a brief smile. “Not that damn bikini, though. Even if the top weren’t sleeping with the fishes right now, I wouldn’t have worn it again. Halter tops are not designed for women with my overflow of chesticular bounty.”

  She’d brought it up. She couldn’t blame him for pursuing the topic.

  He grinned at her. “I was very fond of that halter top.”

  “You never saw it.”

  “Exactly.”

  She gave him a companionable smack on his arm, and then they settled once more into silence. The hem of the dress swirled in the water again, dancing around her round thighs, and this time she let it.

  “My parents didn’t worry much about sunscreen when I was a kid, and the effects of that are showing up now.” A quick sidelong glance his way. “That’s not an attempt to use my age as a weapon against you. Just a fact.”

  Nope. Not commenting on that.

  “Anyway, Belle was sleeping when I left this morning, and getting sunscreen on all the tough spots is even harder when you don’t have anyone to help.” She lifted a shoulder. “So I decided not to risk it. I figured I’d just wear my cover-up into the water. That way, I’d only have to slather sunblock on areas I could easily reach.”

  Watching her reaction carefully, he reached beneath the water and loosely interlaced their fingers. “That makes sense.”

  To his pleasure, she didn’t pull away. In fact, her grip tightened, until their hands were locked together.

  Her fingers were long and strong and warm between his. Perfect.

  She chewed her lower lip for a moment. “In your profession, you probably have to be careful about sun exposure too.”

  Finally. She was seeing him, not some construct of her imagination or his. Th
inking of ways they might be similar, rather than different.

  “Yeah. My dermatologist is already looking pretty closely at a few places.” He rubbed the hair—still thick, to his relief—covering his crown. “He wants me to wear a baseball cap when I play, but that’s not something you can change after so many years. It just feels…wrong. I’ll wear a sweatband during a match, but a hat? No way.”

  Her cute little ski-jump nose wrinkled. “Then how do you protect your scalp?”

  “I mostly just spray a little sunscreen there in the mornings and call it good enough.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sure your dermatologist is thrilled when you dismiss his advice.”

  Lucas laughed. “He doesn’t mince words. Every time I see him, he delights in telling me how much older I look than my actual age because of sun exposure. Then he tries to sell me some sort of laser treatment that would require way too much recovery time out of the sun for a man in my profession.”

  In his memory, he’d never discussed his sun damage with a woman who wasn’t his mother or his sister. The sexiest of topics, it was not. But Tess wanted honesty, and he was trying to give it to her.

  “You mentioned wearing sweatbands during a match.” Her voice had turned soft. Tentative. “Do you still play? Competitively, I mean?”

  He guessed they’d spent enough time dancing around the subject. “How much do you know about my history?”

  “I spent some time Googling yesterday. So…” She shrugged. “A lot, I guess. The parts that played out in public, at least.”

  He’d figured as much. The woman was a former teacher, for God’s sake. Discovering that he was a retired pro had taken her a while, but once she knew, she was going to do some research.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you discovered, and I’ll fill in any missing pieces?” Stretching out his legs in front of them, he tried to keep his breathing even.

  It probably wasn’t fair to make her do most of the work, but they had to start somewhere, and he wasn’t sure he could recite his entire professional history without humiliating himself.

  Besides, if this morning progressed as he hoped, they’d eventually have time for other conversations. Time for him to explain the parts of his past no one could find online, because he’d never told them to a single soul. Time to get comfortable revealing themselves to one another in ways more intimate than physical nakedness.