Keeping Mr. Right Now: A Kisses in the Sand Novel (Entangled Bliss)

by Robin Bielman

  “He’s the only Fritz I’ve heard of.”

  She laughed and pulled her hand back to cover her mouth. “I meant the rain in August.”

  He knew what she meant, and if she drew any more attention to those pretty lips of hers, he was going to kiss her into next summer.

  “Mr. Hollander?”

  Zane turned, both happy and bummed at the interruption. He was too easily lost in Sophie and needed to remember their friendship didn’t give him any right to act on the impulses she stirred. Especially in public, where someone always seemed to have an eye on him.

  “Hey, bud.”

  “Would you mind autographing my board?” the teenage boy asked.

  “Not at all.” He leaned his board toward Sophie so she could hold it and grinned like a fool when she wrapped both arms around it like it was something fragile. “What’s your name?”

  “Joseph.” The kid handed Zane a pen and tipped his board.

  “How long you been surfing?”

  “Four years. Since I was ten,” Joseph said.

  “You always surf with someone, right?” Zane signed and gave the Sharpie back.

  “Yeah. My mom and dad won’t let me go out otherwise.”

  Zane had gone out all the time by himself at Joseph’s age. A stupid move, given accidents happened in the water. But then most days, he hadn’t asked for permission.

  “That’s chill. No man left alone out there is a good rule to stick by.”

  Joseph grinned and nodded. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Find me later in the week and I’ll join you.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. “Really? That would be so unbelievably cool.”

  “Just do me a favor and keep out of the water today.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Mr. Hollander.” Joseph tripped over his feet as he backed away.

  “Call me Zane.” He watched Joseph join a couple of other teenagers.

  “You, Zane Hollander,” Sophie said, peeking from behind his board with green eyes sparkling, “are really good with kids.”

  He tried hardest with young people. “I like them.”

  “I could tell.”

  “I’m starting to think I can’t keep anything from you, Sophie Birch.”

  She dropped her chin at that, long, dark eyelashes reaching toward her eyebrows as she pinned him with a bashful gaze. “I could stop.”

  “Stop?”

  “Trying to figure you out. I like trying to make sense of people. That’s the one thing I do miss about my research.”

  He put his hands on the surfboard, just above her arms, their faces mere inches apart. “You want to figure me out?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Why?”

  “Who wouldn’t want to? You’re…you’re lots of things. All good.”

  “I’m not all good, Sophie.” Hell, he was maybe half good. “And you’d be smart to keep your distance from me.”

  “What if I don’t want to?” Her blush spread down the pretty column of her neck.

  “Then you might have to do some very bad things to completely figure me out.” He should be the one walking away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Her breath caught. “Maybe I will.”

  Best “maybe” he’d ever heard. As he spent more time with her and she came out of her shell, he didn’t know whether to take what he wanted with increasing need or wait for her to give him a glaring signal.

  “Zane?” a woman said from over his shoulder.

  He twisted to one side. Two bikini-clad women flashed their bright white teeth and thrust out their chests. The standard pose that once upon a time would’ve had his interest.

  But this morning, not even a speck of curiosity filled him as he let go of the board and did a one-eighty. “Hey there.”

  “We were hoping for an autograph,” the one on the left said.

  “Sure.”

  They took a few sidesteps and glanced Sophie’s way. They each did a little hair flip and tilted their heads. Zane tossed Sophie an apologetic look, but he didn’t think she caught it. Instead, she’d shrunk behind the surfboard.

  “Pen?” He didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in his voice. These two women were trying to show Sophie up and it pissed him off.

  “Right here.” One of them handed over a pink Sharpie, oblivious to his irritation.

  He silently cursed his motto of never turning down an autograph request. Given they wore nothing but two small scraps of material, they probably wanted him to sign their chests. He’d done it too many times to count, but not anymore.

  The girl doing all the talking brushed the swell of her breast like it had dust on it or something and pulled her shoulder back to give him access.

  “Sigs go on the arms now, ladies.”

  “Aww,” the woman said. “What if I say pretty please?”

  “New policy. So, your arm?” He put out his hand. One woman, then the other, gave him access to her forearm and he quickly signed. He handed back the pen. “Have a good one,” he said and turned his back. They mumbled something but left.

  “If that was for my benefit, you didn’t need to do that,” Sophie said to the sand.

  Zane moved the board to the side and, with a gentle touch, lifted her chin. Eyes that held so much real, authentic emotion tangled with his, and a tremble charged through him. Jesus Christ. That had never happened before. “Do what exactly?”

  “Pretend you didn’t want to sign, uh, somewhere else.”

  “I didn’t.”

  She took a deep, pull-herself-together breath. He’d seen his sister do it yesterday when they said good-bye.

  “I wasn’t pretending anything there.” He smoothed his thumb across her chin. “Those girls—”

  “Were gorgeous, Zane, and pretty much offering themselves up. Heck, I almost wanted to sign my name.”

  He threw back his head and laughed harder than he had in…well, forever. Sophie Birch proved to be a direct link to his funny bone. Brains, beauty, sense of humor—she intrigued every part of him.

  “See, I occasionally can get a guy to laugh, but girls like that get a guy to…”

  “What?” He stopped laughing and stared at her.

  “Do whatever they want.”

  “The only person I want to be with is you. You’re far more beautiful than they are. Than any woman in the Strand,” he said.

  “Please,” she whispered. “You don’t need to exaggerate like that to keep me around.”

  “I’m not exaggerating. Not by a long shot.” He traced a finger down her neck and across her collarbone. “You’ve got an amazing mind, a rockin’ body, and a heart that’s more genuine and kind than anyone I know.”

  Goose bumps popped up on her skin, but damp eyes behind heavy blinking almost undid him. Hadn’t anyone ever told her how awesome she was? He pulled her into his arms and breathed in the flowery scent of her hair. Felt the wild thumping inside her chest.

  “Let’s do something,” he said. He couldn’t match her in smarts, but he could give her a peek into his life. A glimpse he hadn’t shared with anyone else.

  She looked up at him, her brows knit together. “What?”

  “Come on.” He grabbed his board and took her hand. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to do.”

  “Uh, okay. And thank you,” she said softly. “For saying such nice things. No one’s ever complimented me like that before.”

  He slowed his pace. “No guy has ever told you you’re hot?” At twenty-four, she had to have been in relationships.

  She gave a nervous giggle. “No.”

  “You’ve had boyfriends, though, right?” Zane noted the sky darkening, the clouds edging out the blue hues. The temperature had stayed the same, though, a balmy breeze blowing across their faces.

  “Two.” Her quiet voice drew his eye. “But they didn’t last very long and…”

  “And?”

  “There was no real chemistry. I think they were more out of convenience than anything el
se.”

  Real chemistry. He took a minute to think on that. He’d experienced lust for sure, desire, urges, horniness, puppy love as a kid. But honest-to-God chemistry?

  Not until now.

  Did it flow both ways? He had no idea. The way Sophie looked at him. The flushes she couldn’t keep at bay. Her shallow breathing when he was close. He knew she found him attractive. And when he’d wrapped his arms around her a minute ago, he’d also felt her nipples harden. The more they touched, the more she responded.

  But a woman like Sophie would need more. She’d want an intellectual connection as well, and there were thousands of men out there with more intelligence than he had.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  What the hell was he doing? Whatever he was feeling for Sophie was damn selfish. But she was a grown woman and could make her own decisions. She knew what he was, and for the next few days, there was no reason not to enjoy each other.

  He might be a total ass for taking advantage of her innocence. He might be a prick for asking her to help with his image.

  But right now he hoped to redeem himself some by letting her in further than anyone had been before.

  Chapter Seven

  Once again, Sophie surprised the hell out of him. She’d been quiet on the short drive, like she sensed the war battling inside him. Do this. Don’t do this. Let her in. Run as far away as possible and never peer into those knowing eyes of hers again. This was the biggest leap he’d taken since the day he left home, and he had no clue why he’d decided to jump now.

  It’s her hand. Inside his as they walked down the quiet street just outside of White Strand.

  It’s her goodness. She had it in spades and he wanted it to rub off on him.

  It’s her compassion. No doubt she knew all about his womanizing, troublemaking past and she still liked him. She didn’t pass judgment, didn’t think less of him.

  She makes you feel worth something.

  The small, nondescript two-story brick building situated between a florist and a shoe repair shop came into view. His pulse picked up, kicking his heart into more disorderly conduct. The damn thing had gotten more of a workout these past few days than it had in his entire life.

  Screw it. He was really doing this.

  “You look squeamish,” Sophie whispered. “Maybe now’s not the best time for this ‘something’.”

  He stopped at the entrance and squeezed her hand. “Now’s okay.” He pressed in the security code, opened the door to Safe Haven Domestic Violence Women’s Shelter, and led her inside before he could change his mind.

  The homelike environment had been upgraded since his visit last year, but the vanilla scent, said to soothe discomfort, was the same. He smiled.

  “Zane Hollander, as I live and breathe.” Mo came into view, her hand over her heart and deep wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. “I was hoping you’d stop by. It’s that time of year again.”

  “Hi, Mo.” He stepped into her outstretched arms and hugged her back.

  “It’s good to see you, son.” She let go and, as was her habit, tugged on his ear.

  “You, too. The place looks great.”

  “Thanks to you. You got our card, didn’t you?”

  “I did.” He took a quick look at Sophie. “Mo, this is my friend Sophie Birch. Sophie, this is Mo. She runs the shelter here.”

  Sophie put out her hand. “It’s nice to—”

  The rest of her sentence was muffled when Mo drew her in for a tight hug instead of a handshake. “It’s wonderful to meet a friend of Zane’s,” she said, releasing Sophie and eyeing them back and forth.

  “Thank you.” Sophie cleared her throat and glanced at him. “It’s an honor to be here.”

  “The common area is empty at the moment. Come on back for a few minutes, won’t you?”

  “Absolutely,” Zane said. He and Sophie followed Mo, Sophie taking in the surroundings with what he could only describe as a look of respect.

  Nothing, he imagined, was too much for her to handle. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

  They sat on new couches. In the little space between their bodies, he laced his fingers with Sophie’s and pressed their hands into the upholstery.

  Yeah, he was nervous.

  Mo steepled her hands together and cast affectionate eyes on him. “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s good.”

  “Julia?”

  He filled Mo in and then said, “How are things here?”

  “All five of our rooms are currently occupied.” Her voice, a mixture of warmth and concern, hit Zane in that spot he tried not to think about very often.

  “Can you tell me about this place?” Sophie said. “I’ve never visited one before.”

  “I’d be happy to. We’re an emergency shelter for women getting away from domestic violence and/or abuse. We take in those with a history of alcohol or drug use and those without. We want battered women, no matter where they come from and what abuse they’re suffering, to have a safe place to be.”

  “Do the shelter residents get any sort of counseling?”

  “Yes. We have a wonderful therapist on staff.”

  “She’s also Mo’s daughter,” Zane said.

  Mo nodded. “We ultimately strive to offer privacy and peace for healing to the women who walk through our door.”

  “It’s certainly comfortable here. Do children come too?”

  “Yes. Families are welcome. We don’t turn anyone away.”

  They talked a few more minutes and then stood. Mo led them to the door. “Thank you for stopping by. Please be sure to give your sister and mom my best.”

  “I will.” Zane kissed Mo’s cheek.

  “It was very nice meeting you,” Sophie said.

  Mo put her hands on Sophie’s shoulders and squeezed. “The pleasure was all mine, sweetie.”

  As soon as the door swung shut behind them and he and Sophie were on the street, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shirt. He wasn’t sure if she was comforting him or needed his comforting, but he stroked her back all the same.

  When she stepped away, she picked up his hands and led him to a bench. They sat, and she looked her fill at his face, touching his forehead, nose, cheeks, and mouth with eyes that held true caring. It unsettled him at the same time it drew him to her like a bear to honey.

  “Will you tell me what happened to your family?” she whispered.

  He’d brought her here to share something he’d never shared with anyone else. Bryce and Danny knew, yeah. But they didn’t know the details, the deep, confusing feelings he chose to keep buried. Lately he’d thought he might drown in his memories if he didn’t get some things off his chest. He wanted to be the ambassador for SHE, and he wanted to start with a clean slate.

  “My dad was a son of a bitch.”

  She blinked like she knew that part.

  “He was… He was verbally abusive to me growing up.” His mom had tried drilling that into his head for years. Telling him he wasn’t stupid, that the problem lay with his father. “I didn’t think of it that way, though. He told me I had shit for brains and I believed him.”

  “Oh, Zane.” She squeezed his hand.

  “To escape him, I surfed. I got better and better the more time I spent in the water. The ocean was the only place I felt any peace, and when an endorsement deal came up that allowed me to leave home, I did.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Not quite seventeen. The summer before my senior year of high school.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “I never got my diploma. Never went to college. Which didn’t do my confidence in the smarts department any good.” He held his breath. Waited for the warmth in her eyes to disappear, the caring to fade.

  Didn’t happen.

  “John D. Rockefeller dropped out of high school two months before he graduated. And Abraham Lincoln never went to college. Two very smart men, Zane. A formal educati
on isn’t an indication of intelligence.”

  He smiled. Just a little. She did the same back.

  “After I left, my dad decided to take things out on my mom.” He pulled his hands away, the tension in his fingers so strong he needed to flex them. Sophie didn’t shrink away, but she took a deep breath and sat taller, a sign she could handle whatever he said next.

  “It was mostly verbal attacks, but one night she said something my father didn’t like and he hit her. She grabbed Julia and left. They ended up here with Mo.”

  “But she went back.”

  “Yeah. She didn’t tell me about any of this until the bastard died. He didn’t hit her again, but words can be just as painful.”

  His stomach twisted with hate for his dad and what he’d done.

  Sophie cupped his face in her hands. She looked at him with affection, and the potency of that had his heart racing in double time again. She also looked like she wanted to kiss away his hurt, but no way did he want their first kiss to be like this.

  No. The first time he kissed Sophie, she’d have laughter in her eyes and want in her touch, and he’d kiss her so thoroughly she’d remember it as her first kiss.

  He covered her hands with his and lowered their arms. Time to move on. “Ready for the best fast-food burger of your life?”

  “How did you know I was craving a hamburger?” She jumped to her feet. “Let’s go.”

  This woman could seriously read his thoughts, and it scared the shit out of him. She didn’t press him for more, didn’t apologize or show pity, just freaking bounced up with a conspiratorial glint in her eye. He felt lighter than he had in years.

  “I think I need a milk shake, too,” she said. “Tell me they have shakes.”

  “They have shakes.” A raindrop hit his cheek. Then another.

  “Looks like Fritz was right.” She kept pace beside him on the way to the car. “And if you’re walking a mile a minute because of me, you don’t have to. I won’t melt.”

  Not out here, no, but he’d have her melting against him soon. He slowed his pace. “So chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry?”

  “Shake? Can they do a chocolate-vanilla swirl?”

  “They will today.” He’d jump through the drive-through window and make it himself if he had to.

  “How about you?” She lifted her face to the sky and stuck out her tongue, losing her balance and bumping into his arm.