“Are you hearing this?” he asked Coop, jerking his thumb toward Trina.
“Yup.”
Darcy mentally braced to defend her friend. She didn’t allow anyone to pester Trina about dancing to her own, unique drumbeat. A person’s life was their own to shape and mold. Did she worry about Trina not having a retirement fund? Absolutely. But could she tell that Trina was far happier on a daily basis than all the gray-faced, tenure-chasing professors at her colleges? Absolutely.
A wide smile softened all the hard planes across Brad’s face. The dour, heavy-lidded gaze that had made Darcy think of a sullen teenager widened. “Trina, you are one of a kind.”
“I know,” she sassed back with a twitch of her ponytail. “Technically, everybody is. Even identical twins aren’t truly identical.” Uh oh. Trina had passed sassy and rounded into full-on smart aleck. Just one, short step from a smart-ass. She usually revved hot like this when a guy flipped all her switches. Darcy wasn’t at all sure that was a good idea. The Hudson family had exiled Brad to the beach to get over a bad break-up. He might be ready for a rebound, but probably any woman would do to jump-start him past the pain. Trina deserved better.
Brad barked out a short laugh. “You’re better than a cold beer on a hot day. And in case you hadn’t noticed, today’s pretty hot.” He winked. “How about we grab a drink later?” Oh my. Fast mover. A couple of deep breaths of sea air and a quick banter was all it took to cure two months of bitter pouting? Darcy didn’t buy it. It made her even more sure that Brad spelled bad news for her friend. She glanced over at Coop. Thumbing through the P.I. book, he didn’t appear to be listening.
“I don’t like beer,” said Trina. “I prefer dark rum and ginger ale. Gives your taste buds a velvet-covered kick.” Then she actually shimmied. Geez, Trina, the only way to be more obvious would be to just lift her bikini top. Darcy needed to get her away from the droolworthy men and fill her in on Brad’s back story. Pronto.
“Sounds like the lady knows her own mind.” Coop looked up from the book and pushed his sunglasses to the tip of his nose. “Got a problem with that, cuz?”
What was that about? Darcy could tell they had a whole unspoken conversation going on, and it upped her discomfort even more.
Brad yanked his own sunglasses from his trunks and jammed them on. “No.”
“Good.” He handed the book back to Trina. “Glad you did some research. Smart first step. But it’s about as smart as you scanning an instruction book on how to fly and jumping straight into a cockpit. You need a trainer. You need someone with experience in the field with you. What if you accidentally stumble on something dangerous? You’re not prepared.” Coop leaned back on his hands. “Why not wait and let me hook you up with an investigator I know in Baltimore?”
Good speech. Logical, but it didn’t completely naysay her interest. Sadly, Darcy knew it wouldn’t work. Trina only had two speeds: stop, and go as fast as humanly possible. No way would she drop this self-guided attempt at training to wait and start under real supervision. Hopefully, their adventures this week wouldn’t amount to anything more than lots of traipsing around. Then Darcy could fly off to Africa worry-free, knowing that Trina would be under the wing of a seasoned professional. If she ended up going to Africa. If she couldn’t come up with a single viable reason not to, besides the immature mantra of I don’t want to on a constant loop in her head.
Trina finished rooting around through her pile of loot and triumphantly waved the keychain tubes of pepper spray. “If I’m still having fun by the time I go home, and decide I one hundred percent want to dive into investigating, I’ll take you up on your offer. This week is just a trial run. Like sampling ice cream before you commit to an entire scoop. But don’t worry. I can take care of myself, and Darcy.” Thank goodness she hadn’t been able to purchase a gun yesterday. Trina probably would’ve waved that around just as recklessly.
“Give me your phone,” Coop ordered Darcy. She handed it over, and he tapped away. “I’ve entered my cell number, and the address of our beach house. Call me if you get in over your head.”
Darcy didn’t want to rely on bad guys chasing her as a reason to see him again. Or kiss him again. Or whatever else they could think of doing together. “What if I just...call you?”
He grinned. Picked up her hand and began to trace slow, sensuous patterns across her palm. At least, she saw him holding her hand, and yet every touch pulsed right between her legs with the same rhythmic pounding of the ocean meeting the shore. “I’d like that,” said Coop. “In fact, I stopped by today to ask you to dinner.” Brad harrumphed loudly. Kinda sounded like he was coughing up a sea gull. “Sorry, I mean, to ask both of you to dinner.”
“That would be great.” Now she wanted them both to disappear so she could do a cartwheel and back handspring across the sand. Not that Darcy knew how to do either one. A crooked somersault was the entirety of her gymnastic ability. But a somersault wouldn’t convey her excitement at spending the evening with him. She’d been working so hard without a break to finish her doctorate. The word fun hadn’t been in her vocabulary for a long time. A night with Cooper Hudson would go a long way towards refilling her fun reserves.
With a smile that felt to Darcy like a promise, Coop dropped her hand. “We light the grill at seven. Come early for cocktails.”
Brad jumped up. Dusting the sand from his legs, he said, “I’ll make sure we’ve got dark rum on hand, just for you.” He pointed at Trina on the last word. Then he waved at Darcy and sauntered away.
“I also stopped by today to give you this.” Cooper’s voice was suddenly right at her ear. She hadn’t so much as felt the air stir when he moved closer. She did, however, feel the gentle nips along her jawline as he worked from her ear down to her mouth. And smelled the sun-baked, salty tang of his skin. And saw long, dark eyelashes that she’d kill to have drift shut against tan cheeks as he took her lips. A day’s worth of stubble scraped the sensitive edges. Darcy loved the contrast between that and the smooth glide of his lips over hers.
Before she could even wrap her hands around those wide shoulders, he stopped. Probably a good idea, since she’d been on the verge of pulling him down on top of her. The family of five next to them, with three kids in single digits, would not approve. Well, most of them would be confused, but the parents would probably go rat her and Coop out to the lifeguard. Darcy didn’t think a self-important, barely legal lifeguard tossing a Maryland State Police officer off the beach would go well at all.
“See you tonight,” he said with a final, back-handed stroke of her cheek.
Uh huh. Darcy hoped to see much, much more of Coop tonight. But how to do that while keeping Trina away from too-suddenly-not-bitter Brad?
Chapter Seven
Brad winged an elbow at Coop. “Mom said you turned down her offer of knock-out pills.”
“What?” Brad’s comment jerked his head harder than a good yank on a yo-yo. He’d been staring down, trying to avoid stepping on a shell. Or a smoldering cigarette. People tossed their trash any damn where at the beach. The only safe way to jog was with both eyes glued to the ground. Which kind of took all the fun out of running along the shore. If you couldn’t take in the scenery—bikinis, babes and the occasional dolphin sighting—it was just exercise. “Jesus. Bad enough she offered it. I can’t believe Aunt Judy’s going around talking about trying to medicate me. She’s an elementary school principal. She’s not supposed to illegally push her drugs on me.”
“Hey, don’t give Mom a hard time for her prescription. She only takes the pills to help her sleep once in a while. Those kids give Mom stress headaches. The teachers, well, they give her migraines.”
Coop held up his hands. “She can take whatever she needs to handle the one-two punch of children and parents. But what I don’t get is why she’s trying to medicate me.”
“Really? You’ve g
ot no idea?” Brad stopped running, bent from the waist and braced his hands on his thighs. “Let’s check the scoreboard. You miss out on the job of a lifetime by a hair. Then you don’t let our captain know when or if you’re coming back to the MSP. The whole family’s worried you’re depressed. Clinically.” He put air quotes around the word with his fingers. “I mean, you’re not in the dark, rocking in the fetal position. That we know of. But your life did just get upended. So your not jumping right back onto the MSP roster’s set off alarms for everyone. Even me.”
“I’m not depressed.” Once Doug was killed, the MSP made him visit with a therapist for a couple of weeks before they cleared him for active duty. Then once he started training, the Secret Service put him through multiple rounds of psychiatric testing and evaluation. Coop’s brain felt like an overscrubbed toilet. They’d practically used a plunger to churn up every damn emotion he’d ever had. So there was no goddamned way he was depressed. “I’m taking stock.”
“I think your mother is scared you’ll move to some shack in Montana and grow a foot-long beard. That would put a serious crimp in her plans for more grandkids.”
Coop pulled his arms overhead, interlaced his fingers and stretched into a back bend. Looking at the cloudless sky was a lot easier than looking at his cousin during this conversation. “My life does not revolve around procreating the next generation of Hudsons.”
“No kidding.” Brad smirked. “I saw that giant box of condoms in the bathroom.”
Okay. Maybe he’d bought some in anticipation of his date with Darcy last night. And thanks to all the college kids hooking up their way from dune to dune, they hadn’t been easy to find. Three stores were sold out. He’d finally bought the jumbo box at a gas station. Didn’t mean he planned to use them. At least, not all in one night. “You went all the way through Eagle Scouts with me. Tell me that being prepared hasn’t saved your hide more than once.”
“No argument here. But the whole family drilled me about how you’re so sensitive and moody that you might as well have PMS. I expected to find a box of tampons in the bathroom, not rubbers.”
“Very funny.” Hot and sweaty, Coop splashed through the low breakers until he could dunk himself. When he surfaced, spluttering, Brad was right there next to him. As were two kids sitting in oversized inner tubes, and three boys with boogie boards lined up in front of them. Coop kept on eye on them. One decent-sized wave could spell trouble for the tubers. He decided to bob for a while, now that he’d gotten used to the cold nip of the water, until they headed back to shore.
“I’m relieved you’re thinking with your dick again.” Brad kicked his feet up to float next to Coop.
“Right back at ya. Those weren’t smooth moves you used on Trina, but at least they were moves. Way to get back in the game.”
“She’s great. Spunky. Cute.”
“Uh huh. Don’t you really mean that she’s the complete opposite of your ex-fiancée?”
“Maybe. So what?”
Coop hated this. Hated that two of his sisters had texted him this morning with instructions on how to “handle” Brad. How to draw him out, boot him out of his doldrums and reset his self-esteem. And the dire threats of what would happen if Coop screwed up and made Brad even more sad. Courtney and Caroline probably wouldn’t approve of Brad attempting to fix himself by taking a couple of doses of a free-spirited strawberry blonde.
“So...Dana pretty much chopped your balls off and carried them off in her suitcase when she left.”
“You don’t need to remind me. I was less interesting than her career. She’d rather spend time racking up dollars than rolling in bed with me. I get it. But Trina doesn’t sound like she cares about a career. She’s just having fun. Running around, pretending to be a private eye, playing dress-up. She’s cute.”
“Yeah.” Just cute enough to get herself—and Darcy—into a whole lot of trouble. “And she seems to have the attention span of a goldfish. Are you ready to go straight from being engaged to being just a beach fling?”
“Wow.” Brad kicked none too gently at Coop’s stomach with both feet. Either that or a very small dolphin was head-butting him.
“What the hell? What are you doing?” He cartwheeled his arms through the water, putting some space between them.
“I’m looking for your uterus. Cammie was right. You have turned into a girl.”
Coop slapped the water hard, geysering it straight into Brad’s face. “So my sisters are talking to you about me, and they’re talking to me about you.” Cammie, Courtney and Caroline could play armchair psychiatrist as much as they wanted. He was done. If Brad wanted to self-medicate by scoring with the pretend P.I., more power to him. “What do you say we agree to ignore all of them and drop this conversation?”
“Deal.”
The lifeguard blew a series of short bursts through his whistle. No lightning in the sky. Must be a riptide warning. Everyone swam for shore. Coop made sure he and Brad brought up the rear, catching a wave that flopped them right onto the beach. They sidestepped around a trio of middle-aged women. Already tanned crisper than Sunday morning bacon, the three sat in low slung chairs right at the surf, the tail end of each wave rushing over their feet.
“But seriously, what’s with holing up at the beach?” asked Brad.
What happened to dropping the navel gazing? Coop hustled the last few steps to his towel and threw himself belly down. He pillowed his cheek on his hand. “It’s summer in Maryland. Everyone comes to the beach.”
“You’re dodging the issue faster than Floyd Mayweather dances away from a left hook.”
Brad shook his head, spraying water all over Coop’s back. Then he took his time settling in. Straightened the towel, pulled on his shades and hat, opened the bag of ranch tortilla chips. Coop wanted to think he’d given up. But he’d shared interrogation rooms with his cousin. He recognized the long silence for what it was—a way to lull him before socking him with the big question. Sure enough, the minute Coop closed his eyes, Brad went for the kill. “Don’t you want to be back on the force?”
Fuck. What with the waffles and flirting with Darcy, he’d been having a pretty great day. Now a dark cloud the size of Camden Yards darkened Coop’s mood. It blanketed all thoughts of the sweet and sassy brunette that had been on a constant loop in his mind. “Depends. Are you asking as a representative of the entire barracks, or as my cousin?”
“Flip a coin. I’ll take whatever answer you’re ready to spill.”
Coop wasn’t ready. Not by a long shot. He wasn’t ready to think about it, or talk about it. And if he didn’t think Brad would just follow him to keep pestering, he’d run straight back into the ocean—riptides be damned—to avoid answering. He rolled over and sat up. If Brad was going to be this annoying, he damn well didn’t get to hog the chips. A quick grab netted him the bag.
Fine. Brad wanted an answer? Coop would shovel one out. “I’m grateful the MSP allowed me the opportunity to pursue training with the Secret Service. After taking some long-overdue banked vacation, I look forward to rejoining the force, and utilizing my new skills to serve and protect the people of Maryland.”
“Is that the email you sent the captain?”
“Word for fucking word.”
“So you don’t want to talk about why your mom is convinced you want to quit the force?”
A football speared into Coop’s shin. He reversed the trajectory and saw a circle of high school kids who hadn’t even outgrown their acne. Two of them threw a towel over a six-pack when they saw him looking. Great. Escape from Brad and the opportunity to let off a little steam. After picking up the ball, he squared his shoulders and stalked over to their group.
“Thanks for, um, bringing our ball back,” said a boy in too-big board shorts almost to his ankles. He grabbed for the ball. Coop held it overhead, about a foot out of his reach.
/> “Huh-uh. I’ll give you the ball when you give me the beer.”
Hands balled into fists, bristling with attitude, the obvious ringleader angled forward. “No way. We had to pay Seth’s brother twenty bucks to go buy it for us.”
Didn’t even bother to deny it. Which meant they were stupid. And stupid kids ended up getting exponentially more stupid after a few beers. Someone was bound to get hurt. Maybe not today, but eventually. Coop tossed the ball to his other hand. “Which means I can charge Seth’s brother with providing alcohol to minors. Right after I confiscate that six-pack, and whatever else you’ve got stashed in the cooler.”
The two with the towel whipped it off and practically tossed the six-pack at him. “Take it.”
“You playing at being a cop, trying to scare us?” The head idiot tried to look cocky. But with his concave chest and nose streaked with zinc, the nervous little boy in him couldn’t be disguised.
“You bet I’m trying to scare you. I’d rather have you be pissed at me then end up paralyzed because you’re too drunk to catch a wave right. Even if you were twenty-one, it’s illegal to drink on the beach.” Okay, that part was hard to say with a straight face. He knew everyone drank on the beach. Sticking their beer bottles in cozies didn’t fool anyone. But he could damn well put the fear of the law into these teenagers. Keep them safe for a couple more years. “The ocean’s dangerous. Don’t forget it. And don’t let me catch you pulling this again.” Coop tossed the ball into the sand, pulled another two bottles out of the cooler and strode away.
He dropped the beer in the sand at Brad’s feet. “Not even smart enough to deny their stash. Can you believe it?”
Love at High Tide Page 8
