Seaside Dances: A Sweet Romance (The Seaside Hunters Book 3)

by Stacy Claflin

  Contents

  Title Page

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Twenty Five

  Twenty Six

  Twenty Seven

  Twenty Eight

  Twenty Nine

  Thirty

  Author's Note

  Hunter Brothers

  Other Books

  SEASIDE DANCES

  THE SEASIDE HUNTERS

  by Stacy Claflin

  http://www.stacyclaflin.com

  Copyright ©2015 Stacy Claflin. All rights reserved.

  Edited by Staci Troilo

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental or used fictitiously. The author has taken great liberties with locales including the creation of fictional towns.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited. Do not upload or distribute anywhere.

  This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to others. If you would like to share this book with others please either purchase it for them or direct them to StacyClaflin.com for links. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

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  One

  Zachary Hunter narrowed his dark eyes, glaring at the punching bag as he sauntered toward it. He stood in front of it, balling up his bare fists. After all the stress—that he'd kept to himself—this was the ideal release.

  He struck the bag. Even with the force of his pent-up frustration, he received little push-back.

  Zachary pummeled it again. And then again. The skin on his knuckles hurt. He didn't care.

  With each impact, he thought about everything that had gone wrong in New York.

  The newspaper closing down. Punch, punch.

  Those high and mighty publishers who refused to even look at his book. Strike, strike.

  His agent, who hadn't worked hard enough for him. Whomp, whomp.

  All the wasted time. Bash.

  The wasted money. Smash, smash.

  His failed relationship. Punch, punch, punch.

  Now living with his parents. Slam, slam.

  In his old bedroom. Whack, whack, whack.

  It was all too much. Not all of it was his fault, but it didn't keep him from feeling like a massive failure.

  This was not where he pictured his life at the cusp of thirty. Bash. Bash.

  Jobless, without a book deal, recently dumped, and poor. Strike, strike, strike.

  Zachary closed his eyes and continued his attack on the bag until sweat ran down his face and he felt warm liquid on his hands. Opening his eyes, he saw the blood. Great. Now he'd have to clean off the punching bag.

  He glanced around the room, hoping no one in the gym was paying him any attention. He looked like a rookie, having forgotten to wrap his knuckles or put on gloves first. Luckily, everyone else was busy with their own workouts. There were no paper towels for cleaning the mess, so he would have to get some from the bathroom.

  Covering his knuckles, he crossed the gym and went to his brother, Brayden, who jogged on a treadmill while reading a magazine.

  "I gotta run out to the hall for a little bit," Zachary said.

  Brayden wiped some sweat from his forehead with the towel resting on his shoulders. "Everything okay?"

  Zachary stuffed his stinging hands into the pockets of his shorts. "Yeah. I'm just going to see if they added anything new to the club while I was in New York."

  "I heard they added a ballet program," Brayden teased his younger brother.

  "Thanks," Zachary muttered. He shook his head as he spun around and went into the hallway. He found the restrooms exactly where he remembered. He promptly washed the blood off his hands and then splashed cold water all over his face.

  He stared at his reflection, almost startled at what he saw. It hadn't been so long ago that his features showed his once carefree spirit. Now he had a permanent frown, several days' worth of stubble, and dark bands under his eyes. Even his brown eyes seemed darker.

  Zachary shook out his hands, trying to work out some of the pain. It had been a stupid idea to workout with his brother.

  Brayden was a cardiologist, and as a result, was in perfect shape since heart health was always on his mind. Zachary, on the other hand, hadn't so much as looked at a gym in the last year. Probably longer. He sat at a desk writing all day, ignoring his muscles and added pounds.

  Now his body ached from his head to toe. But, at the same time, his muscles felt good just from a little use. Maybe he would take up Brayden's offer to workout together a few times a week. He'd planned on backing out after this trial session. But it could be just what Zachary needed.

  He grabbed a stack of paper towels for cleaning the punching bag, and went out into the hallway. As soon as he did, he ran right into someone.

  "I'm sorry," Zachary said. "I wasn't looking."

  "No, it was my fault." A pretty girl with brownish-red hair turned around and smiled at him.

  He quickly hid his bruised hands behind his back. "Not at all."

  Her bright eyes shone as her mouth continued to curve upward, as she held his gaze. "I wasn't paying attention. I'm heading to class."

  "Ballet?" Zachary asked, noting her leotard. The style reminded him of the one Sophia, his late sister, had worn when she took dance lessons.

  She nodded, pulling her long hair into a bun behind her head, securing it with a bright yellow band. "I'm teaching ballet to a bunch of silly girls."

  A little girl in a tutu ran in between them, giggling.

  "And that's one of them. Hey, Emma—slow down!"

  "I will, Miss Jasmine!" the girl called. She spun around and crashed into another little girl in a tutu. Both girls fell to the floor and burst into tears as they landed.

  Jasmine shook her head, sighing. "I'd better get going. Sorry again for crashing into you." She ran after the kids.

  "It was my fault," Zachary called, but he doubted she'd heard him.

  He watched Jasmine as she helped up the crying girls and got them laughing in a matter of moments. She dusted one off and spoke animatedly, keeping them in giggles.

  Zachary admired her optimism. He'd once been like that. There was a time he would have wanted to have a girlfriend like her. But with his current state of mind, he would probably suck all her happiness away. Not that he even had time or the energy for another relationship. Especially after the way things had ended with Monica.

  He remembered the blood on the punching bag, so he went back to the gym and wiped it off before anyone else needed the equipment.

  Brayden walked his way, and Zachary threw the paper towels into the garbage, hoping his brother wouldn't notice.

  "Are you done?" Zachary asked.

  "Yeah," Brayden said. "I need to get to a meeting. So, did you decide? Want to make this a regular thing?"

  Zachary paused. Did he really want to commit?

  Brayden tilted his head, his eyes wide. "You know you wa
nt to."

  "I was thinking about ballet," Zachary teased. He smiled, remembering his run-in with Jasmine. If he came regularly, he might see her again. Even though he didn't need distractions in his life, he couldn't help hoping to see her again.

  Brayden gave him a playful hit on the arm. "Right. I can just see you in a leotard."

  "You'd rock it more than me," Zachary said, feeling a bit of his old self trying to come out.

  Brayden laughed. "Anyway, I'll be back same time, same place in two days. Sound good?"

  Zachary pretended to think about it. "Yeah, sure. I suppose I can do that." Maybe he could arrive a little early and see Jasmine again.

  Brayden adjusted his gym bag over his shoulder. "Maybe next time we can try to catch up some more. I want to hear all about New York."

  Zachary withheld a groan. "I'd rather hear more about your clinic. And Lana."

  Brayden's face softened at the mention of his new fiancée. "Definitely. See you in a couple days."

  "Sure. See you then," Zachary said. He went over to the lockers, grabbed his bag, and slung it over his shoulder. He glanced at the punching bag again, making sure he hadn't missed any blood. Once he was sure it was clean, he headed out to the hallway.

  Zachary peered in all the windows along the way, curious about what other classes were in the club. He hadn't stepped foot in there since he was a teenager, competing with his friends to see who could lift the most weights. He turned down a corridor he didn't think had been there before.

  In windows along the hallway, he could see all kinds of classes. Zumba, yoga, karate, kick-boxing, cross-training, swimming, and even tumbling toddlers. He couldn't remember the building being so big. They had to have added on at some point over the years.

  He slowed down as he rounded a corner and found himself back near where he'd started. He passed more classes, but slowed at the last one. Jasmine was showing little girls how she spun on her toes.

  All the little girls gathered around her with wide eyes. Some jumped up and down, and a few pushed each other to get closer to the front.

  He kept walking, not wanting to be some creepy guy watching girls dance—not that it was the kids who held his interest. He slowed again, gazing back at Jasmine. She had stopped spinning, and now helped the young students get in their places.

  Jasmine spun her arm around in front of her, and several of the children twirled around. One little girl had a difficult time with her balance, and Jasmine bent down to her level, holding one arm and leg so the girl could spin.

  Zachary's heart warmed watching her, and a soft smile crept across his face. Having grown up as one of six siblings, he could appreciate anyone who had such patience with kids.

  Footsteps sounded down the hall. Zachary straightened his back, readjusted the gym bag over his shoulder, and scrambled in the other direction.

  When he got outside, he blinked fast to get his eyes to adjust to the bright sunshine. Birds in a nearby tree sang as he breathed in the familiar ocean air. He had nowhere to be—since he was jobless and living with his parents—so he sat down on a bench not far from the building, soaking up the rays.

  He sighed, enjoying the moment of relaxation. He hadn't taken any time for himself in a long time, and it felt even better after having worked out a little in the gym. The warm California sun massaged his sore muscles.

  After a few minutes, he pulled out his Kindle from his bag and started reading. He loved the no-glare screen that allowed him to read anywhere. It was like having a book without having to lug his entire library around. He found the thriller he was reading—studying, actually—and opened it.

  Despite his agent telling him how good his own manuscript was, Zachary couldn't help feeling like something was wrong with it. He had taken to purchasing every thriller novel he could find to compare to his own.

  If it was so good, like his agent had told him countless times, then why wouldn't any of the publishers take a look at it? Big or small, none would touch it.

  His stomach grew tight, so he rested his Kindle against his knee and groaned. Why couldn't he just focus on reading? No matter what he tried to focus on, his mind wandered back to the publishers and their refusal to even look at his work.

  The agent had said it was one of the best she'd read in a long time. But she probably said that to all of her clients, or she was just a liar. Or maybe she just hadn't read many thrillers. Who knew? Certainly not him.

  Sighing, Zachary went back to the novel he was reading and tried to figure out how it could get published when his couldn't. Zachary's dialog was better, and the action in this book sucked. Not that Zachary thought his debut novel was award-worthy, but it was definitely a good read. It was at least as good as half the ones out there.

  He ran his fingers through his hair. There had to be a way he could convince someone influential to read it. Then it would get published for sure. The problem was finding someone while he was stuck in the small touristy town of Kittle Falls, all the way across the country from the big New York publishing houses.

  Two

  Jasmine Blackwell put the broom away after sweeping the dance floor. Even though she didn't allow food in her classroom, crumbs always found their way onto her floor. She glanced over the room to make sure it was pristine for the next class. Everything seemed better than it had when she had come in. Not even a stray hair remained on the floor.

  She walked over to the window to get her dance bag and her purse, but stopped when she saw who sat outside.

  On a bench rested the hot guy who had bumped into her earlier in the hall. He was reading a tablet, but his face scrunched up like he didn't enjoy it. It was time to leave so she could punch her time card, but she wanted to keep watching him. There was something dark and mysterious about him.

  Jasmine had hardly been able to look away from him after they had bumped into each other. He was gorgeous, despite being all sweaty. Maybe the sweat made him even more attractive, but either way, he was far better looking than anyone she'd seen in a long time. Even just sitting on the bench, unhappy, he was handsome.

  Part of her wanted to go out there and strike up a conversation, but she had to get going. She was supposed to meet her roommate for dinner before hitting the nightly concert on the beach.

  If she chose to chat up the hot guy, though, Kate would surely understand.

  "Still here?" came a voice from behind.

  Jasmine turned around, cheeks heating up. "I, uh, yeah. Just grabbing my stuff. How's it going, Olivia?"

  "Oh, you know. Spent all day at the beach. I swear, this is the best internship ever."

  Jasmine grabbed her bag and purse. "Yeah. I wasn't sold at first, but I have to say I love the town. See you at the concert tonight." She headed out the door, waving to the other dance instructor.

  Jasmine went to the employee lounge and clocked her time card before leaving the building. Deciding to strike up a conversation with the alluring stranger, she took the long way around the building to where he'd been reading.

  Disappointment ran through her when she saw some middle-aged guy sitting at the bench. He glanced up from his newspaper. "Into dance?" he asked.

  "What?" Jasmine asked. If that was a strange pickup line, she didn't want to stick around and find out. She hurried away, hoping she'd see that cute guy again.

  Well, it was a small town. She was likely to run into him again, especially if he made a habit of going there to work out. She'd just have to make a special effort to keep a lookout for him—and find an excuse to get his number.

  Jasmine's phone buzzed, letting her know she had a text. She glanced at it, knowing it was probably her roommate. Sure enough, Kate was already at the restaurant wondering where she was.

  Jasmine sent her a quick message. Almost there.

  She picked up her pace and jogged down the walkway until she reached the cute diner they'd agreed on. It was a bit early for dinner, but at least they'd beat the rush. Once five o'clock hit, every restaurant in town filled
up.

  Kate and Jasmine had a full kitchen in their rental condo, but it was so much easier to just eat out. It didn't involve cooking or cleaning up. It made their internship feel more like a vacation than work.

  She hadn't been excited at first. Not by a long shot. Kittle Falls had actually been her last choice of places to intern. Her eyes had been set on a couple large dance companies in Portland, but they had filled up quickly.

  With Kittle Falls being a touristy beach town, the classes she taught changed kids nearly every week as families came and went. In Portland, she would have been able to teach the same kids all summer, watching them learn, grow, and blossom as young dancers. Now she had to start fresh every week most of the time.

  Sometimes kids stayed around for a couple weeks. There were actually a few staying the whole summer, and even one girl who lived in town, but Jasmine had to start from scratch every Monday because of all the new dancers in her class each week.

  If nothing else, Jasmine would become great at dealing with new kids. She still got some practice with the few who remained every week, so she at least got some experience helping them become experienced dancers.

  "What took you so long?" Kate asked when Jasmine sat down at the table. She was already eating an appetizer.

  Jasmine stole a jalapeno popper from the basket. "Took me a little longer to clean up today," she fibbed, not wanting to admit to being distracted by a cute guy.

  "Someone pee on the floor again?" Kate asked.

  "Please. We're eating."

  "I'm eating. You're late." Kate stuck a fried cheese stick in her mouth.

  "You're sharing." Jasmine took an onion ring and ate that. "And I'm starving."

  "Did you see the dancing pigs at the beach earlier?" Kate asked, rolling her eyes.

  "Must have missed that." Jasmine was glad she'd spent her time watching the mystery man rather than dancing swine.

  "They have the craziest stuff around here," Kate said. "I can't believe you wanted to stick around Portland. Boring."

  "And I can't believe this was your first choice," Jasmine said. "Where's the challenge?"