Playing For Fun: Stewart Island Book 6

by Alvarez, Tracey

  “Maybe I’ve poked a toe over the friendzone line, but it doesn’t mean he has.”

  “Sure sounds like he has. Sounds as if he’s been checking out your fine self all along.” Shaye’s forehead crumpled. “Seriously. You’re into him, he’s evidently into you, too. What’s the problem in seeing where things go?”

  Aside from the fact she planned to leave in less than six weeks? Not ready to blurt that out yet. Not until Shaye and Del finally picked a date. Wedding fever was the perfect antidote for Holly’s stage-right exit. Only not even Holly’s dropped hints about flower arrangements or A-line versus ball gown in satin or silk could drag Shaye’s attention from engaged bliss.

  “Del’s my Mr. Perfect-for-me,” she’d say with a goofy smile. “What’s the rush when we’ll be together forever?”

  Holly suspected a parasitic alien slug had wormed into her friend’s brain since Shaye had dreamed of the perfect wedding since kindergarten.

  Shaye raised an expectant eyebrow at Holly’s continuing silence.

  “I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” Holly said.

  “Naked fun times can make friendship even better…with the right friend, of course.”

  “And if he turns out to be not the right friend?”

  “Pisces and Scorpio are super compatible.” Shaye pressed a finger into her cheek and cocked her head. “Someone told me that many, many times when we were teenagers.”

  “Yeah, well.” She’d been talking about Harley in those gushing moments, not Ford. And after their terribly awkward ‘real’ auction date, she knew Ford didn’t return her lil’ crush. At all. “This whole online dating thing has bugged him more than he’ll admit. You know how he is with women he doesn’t know—he’s more verbally stunted than your brother.”

  “Mr. Suave, Ford’s not. But even Ben managed to reel Kezia in with his half-mute appeal. Don’t sell Ford short.”

  “I’m not selling him short.” Any woman who couldn’t read between his long silences and see the thoughtful, enigmatic man beneath was an idiot. “But he’s uncomfortable putting himself out there, which is why he was so happy when I saved him at the bachelor auction. Suddenly suggesting we date now is Ford’s way of saying, ‘I’m scared of rejection, so I’ll hit on someone familiar and safe.’ If it weren’t for you being with Del, Kezia being with Ben and Piper pregnant with your adorable little niece or nephew, Ford would’ve tried to tap one of you guys. Like reaching for a human security blanket.”

  Shaye studied her with an unblinking stare. “That has to be the biggest load of horseshit you’ve ever dumped at my feet.”

  Holly dropped her gaze and snatched up the onion, peeling off the last few strips of skin. “That’s a dollar for the swear-jar, sister. And just because you say horseshit, doesn’t make it true.”

  “De-ni-al. One awkward first date doesn’t necessarily mean he’s not interested. You’re not going to even try?”

  “Nope. And I’m all over the lil’ crushing insanity. We’re just mates.”

  “Huh. One hundred percent sure?”

  “Yep.”

  When Holly proceeded to attack the onion with the chef’s knife, Shaye let out a long, drawn out sigh.

  “Okay. Well, here’s the thing, Hol. Ford’s already got a date lined up.”

  Holly’s hand froze, knife poised above the onion. Ford had arranged a date without confiding in her? Her heart slammed into her ribs with heavy thuds, as if someone repeatedly hit her in the chest with Shaye’s marble rolling pin. “Bree’s new photo worked then?”

  Of course, Bree had CC’d the girls copies of her quick photo shoot, which had captured Ford looking all windswept and gorgeous. He’d taken her advice and used the guitar. Bree had taken a shot of him looking out over Halfmoon Bay with the instrument slung over his very broad, very masculine back. In one of the shirts Holly had picked out.

  “Good for him,” she added, hoping her voice came out steady and impartial. “I’m surprised there’s only one.”

  Shaye’s green eyes slitted. “Oh, there’s more than one. Just the first of them, a woman called Julia, is coming this weekend.”

  Ford had arranged multiple dates without confiding in her? Get a grip, sweet. After their last little chat, could she really claim to be surprized he moved on with his own agenda?

  “The man’s got some moves, after all.”

  Told you he’s not really into me, she wanted to add but didn’t. Because, you know, how pathetic to admit it aloud.

  “When did you find out?”

  “Last night.” Shaye looked a little guilty. “Piper sent me a text after West told her after he’d heard it from Ben.”

  “Those guys gossip worse than Mrs. Taylor and her church ladies.”

  “Ford’s first online date showing up in Oban on Friday evening’s ferry is big news.” Shaye slanted another glance at Holly. “I would’ve called you, but Del and I were about to, you know.” The glance turned dreamy.

  “Yeah, yeah. No oversharing, thanks-very-much.” Holly sliced the onion in half with deliberate moves. Started to chop. “So. What did your brother find out about this woman?”

  Shaye tugged the collar of her white chef’s jacket away from her neck. “Ah. Not much. She’s from Dunedin. Supports the Highlanders, naturally. Um…” Shaye tipped up the bag and lined up the onions in neat rows.

  “And?”

  “She’s a personal trainer.”

  Which meant she’d have a body like a goddess. With defined abs not hidden by a teensy roll of fat-um-flesh and she probably had an actual thigh gap.

  “And?” Holly chopped faster. As if the onions joined in with the name-calling carrots and pointed their stumpy roots at her. “Ben saw a photo?”

  “Uh huh.” Shaye’s voice was pitched half an octave higher than normal. “She’s cute, Ben said.”

  “Ben’s never called a woman cute in his life. What did he really say?”

  “Stone cold fox.” Shaye positioned the last onion in the row, refusing to meet Holly’s eyes. “I heard Ben talking to Del early this morning on speakerphone, and the words ‘Blonde’ and ‘stellar tits’ may’ve come up.”

  “Oh, that’s a classy way to describe her. Assbutts.”

  “They’re just being guys.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m sure there’s more to Julia than blonde hair and stellar tits. Ford obviously sees something in her.”

  “Obviously. So you’ll be her one-woman welcome wagon, then?” Shaye asked. “Or perhaps a chaperone to make sure she and Ford do nothing more daring than exchange longing glances?”

  Holly dumped the diced-to-hell onion into a bowl and slammed the next terrified bulb onto her chopping board.

  A stacked blonde arriving to meet a guy, who, as far as she was aware, hadn’t had sex in months? Longing glances were the least of her worries. Her mind flicked to the Fifty-Shades-wannabe book Erin made the book club read last year. Pictured personal trainer Julia tying a naked Ford to his bench press with a skipping rope.

  And…now she needed brain bleach.

  She straightened her shoulders and sliced the next onion in half. Gently. “Ford can do whatever he likes with blondie big tits.”

  Shaye chuckled. “Now who’s the assbutt?”

  “I wish them nothing but the best.”

  “Course you do. We only want our friends to be happy, right?”

  “Right,” Holly agreed.

  Because she couldn’t be Ford’s happy. So as his friend, she’d pretend to hope Julia-the-personal-trainer could be.

  * * *

  Writteninthestars.com Daily Horoscope.

  Pisces.

  Today be open to new friendships and new opportunities. Jealousy serves no one and will only end up causing pain.

  After ten minutes of skulking around the outside of The Great Flat White Café, Holly decided she didn’t make a half bad ninja spy. Totally gave Shaye credit for teaching her some sneaky moves and for smuggling one of Del’s black hooded sweatshir
ts to her earlier in the day. A dozen other nosy locals pretending to drink coffee huddled inside Erin’s café when really they were all there for the same thing.

  Bragging rights to be the first to spot Julia Mason as she got off the Friday, five o’clock ferry.

  Least Holly was being ninja subtle about it.

  Ford was nowhere to be seen. Keeping his distance from the gossiping locals, like Old Smitty seated by the café’s front window. He’d been there since three, giving Erin the evil eye every time she suggested two cups of tea weren’t enough to keep occupying the best viewing position in the house. Smitty was the meat in the sandwich between Mrs. Randal and Mrs. Brailsford, sworn to dish every detail to Mrs. Taylor since her arthritis had been acting up too much that day for her to venture down to the wharf.

  Cupping her mitten-covered fingers around the to-go hot chocolate, Holly pressed closer to the café’s outside wall, tucked out of view of the inside customers. A chill wind blew relentlessly against the black hoodie pulled low over her face. With her black jeans, mittens, and Chuck Taylors—excellent for ninja-creeping—she blended right into the shadows cast by the venomous-looking rain clouds above.

  Holly angled her chin, taking in the choppy waves buffeting Halfmoon Bay harbor and the anchored Mollymawk roiling from side to side. Foveaux Strait had put on a cheery welcome for today’s tourists. Holly hoped the woman didn’t get as seasick as poor Piper. Scratch that. Because, meow. She hoped Julia had hurled all over her stellar tits while wearing winter white. Make that a white, cashmere, hand-wash-only, three hundred dollar sweater.

  The sudden vicious stab of jealousy made no sense at all.

  No more sense than the creak of old wooden boards behind her. Or the sudden whiff of leather and fresh crushed pine needles. Or the deep, masculine chuckle that sizzled into her ears and jump started her heart rate like an adrenaline bolt.

  “Hey, Hol. Waiting for someone?”

  Her gaze slid sideways and up to the cuff of Ford’s leather jacket, braced above her head on the rough café wall. His hand dangled loosely from the sleeve, all relaxed and easy, the tanned skin of his wrist encased by a dark-green cable sweater—another garment she’d picked out for him.

  She hunched farther into her hoodie. May as well suck it up. Busted big time. “Yep.”

  “Me?”

  His voice, rough and far too sexy, came right beside her ear. If she hadn’t had the fleece-lined layer of Del’s hoodie snug around her face, he would’ve breathed all that sexiness on her cheek. As it was, she melted like one of the marshmallows floating in her hot chocolate.

  “Nope. Julia Mason.” Since her voice came out in a little squeaky rush, she covered it by dragging her phone out of the hoodie’s pocket. “On a mission from God—or Mrs. Taylor, since she thinks of herself as his right-hand man. She wants a photo.”

  “You her minion now?”

  “Minions are yellow.” Something hard bumped into her shoulder blades, and the scent of leather grew stronger. Do-not-lean-back-do-not-lean-back…

  She jolted forward, and her hot chocolate slipped from her mittened fingers. The disposable cup hit the ground, and chocolatey-marshmallowy goop splattered over her jeans and sneakers. There went karma, turning on a dime to bite her ass.

  For a big guy, Ford moved fast. One moment behind her, the next crouched in front of her, running a palm down her leg.

  “Are you okay? Did it burn you?”

  Holly swiped his hand aside. While the droplets soaking her jeans were only lukewarm, the heat from his hand on her calf wasn’t.

  “Stop it. I’m fine.”

  Her voice came out sharper than intended, and Ford’s dark gaze locked with hers. Teeth grazing her bottom lip, Holly peeled off her mittens, stuffed them in her pocket and dragged out a paper napkin. She shoved it at Ford. “Here. Now your hands are all sticky, and the ferry’s here.”

  Ford took the napkin and wiped his hands. Then he stood, and Holly’s eyes were drawn to the long length of thigh muscle flexing under his jeans—black jeans, worn buttery soft in all the right places—but totally wrong for the sweater and collared shirt combo.

  Holly did the lip gnawing thing again to keep from blurting that out. How Ford chose to put together a first date outfit was none of her damn business.

  “Better go.” He cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the ferry chugging toward the wharf.

  “Yeah.”

  He nodded, balling up the napkin in his fist and stepping around her. Walking away.

  Holly’s shoulders hunched. Get a grip, woman. But the heavy pit in her stomach remained…and grew barbs as Shaun the purser ducked out of the ticket office next to the café, ready to help with disembarking passengers.

  Ford had settled himself on the bench seat positioned where the café’s outdoor tables would go in summer. His knees were spread wide, and feet planted solid—a typical position of casual male confidence, belied only by the occasional jittering of his knee and the swipe of his fingers through his now short hair.

  And did short hair suit him?

  Holly opened her camera app, zooming in on the spot where, any minute, Julia would appear.

  Suit him? Hell to the yes. Even Erin changed her vote from not to H.O.T, with ohmigawd eyes the first time Ford appeared at the pub after his haircut.

  Evidently, she wasn’t the only one to appreciate Ford’s clean-shaven square jaw, soulful brown eyes and come play with me smile. A willowy blonde in a wine-colored jacket and black pants emphasizing slender hips and yes, a definite thigh gap, stepped onto the wharf. The matching slash of wine-colored lipstick on the woman’s mouth stretched wide as her gaze flicked to Ford rising from the bench.

  Holly took a few shots of Julia exposing her perfectly white smile. Zoomed out as she strode across the wharf, making good use of that killer thigh gap. Then Blondie threw her arms around Ford.

  “Can safely say she likes the look of him,” Holly muttered.

  Julia’s wine-tipped nails stroked down Ford’s back before she pulled away to kiss his cheek. A tinkling giggle as she swiped her fingers over the smudge of lipstick left on Ford’s skin. He said something to her in response, but the wind whisked away the words. His hand, which only minutes ago had stroked down Holly’s leg, now patted Julia’s arm.

  Ugh. She’d seen enough. Holly ducked around the corner out of sight and sent all five of the photos to Mrs. Taylor. Minion mission accomplished.

  Tucking the phone into her pocket, she hurried down the rear of the wharf, cutting around the far end of café. Her phone buzzed with an incoming text.

  SOMEBODY GIVE THAT GIRL A BACON BUTTIE SHES TOO SKINNY BUT PRETTY HAIR NOW FOLLOW THEM AND FIND OUT MORE

  While Mrs. Taylor had mastered the basics of texting, after being upgraded to a smartphone courtesy of one of her kids, she’d yet to conquer lower versus uppercase and basic punctuation. But Holly got the underlying message loud and clear. Engage stalker mode and report in.

  Not happening. Ford is on to me. Going home now. She typed and stabbed the send button.

  Plus she had streaks of marshmallow goo on her jeans. Like hell would she let the blonde whippet catch a glimpse of her dishevelled self.

  Holly peeped around the café corner. Ford and Julia were hemmed in by Mrs. Randal, Mrs. Brailsford and Smitty all of them talking at once. A polite smile stretched across Julia’s mouth, and as Smitty shifted his beer gut to the side, Holly glimpsed the flash of red nails tucked in the crook of Ford’s arm.

  “Cosy.” Her phone vibrated again.

  BE A DEAR AND STOP IN AT THE FOOD CART AND GRAB AN OLD LADY SOME FISH N CHIPS MY KNEES ACTING UP TERRIBLE WITH THE COLD

  Leos were often known for their pain-in-the-butt persistence and sneaky manipulation. But she’d get the damn takeaways, and Mrs. Taylor knew it.

  Fifteen minutes later, Holly took the two steaming parcels from Zach—who’d extended his sabbatical from Otago University and now spread his working hours between the pub and takeaway
caravan.

  “Say hi to Mrs. T. for me. I gave her an extra half scoop of chips.”

  Holly hugged the rapidly heating paper parcels to her chest. “You know she’ll interpret that as flirting.”

  Zach shook his head, his badly due-for-a-trim mop of straw-colored hair spilling over his forehead. “Nah. We have an understanding, me and her.”

  “I bet.” Like Mrs. Taylor only charging him half-price rent for the flat at the bottom of her property once Carly had moved in with Kip.

  “Plans for tonight?” Zach slid a couple of tomato ketchup sachets across the caravan’s high serving counter.

  For a moment her bruised ego wished there was something on Zach’s mind other than amicable chitchat. That his Caribbean-blue eyes saw more than Holly-the-nice-girl-who-bugs-me-about-getting-my-hair-cut.

  “Quiet night at home.” She forced her lips out of resting bitch face pose and into a facsimile of a smile. “Just me and Ray.”

  “What’s old blu playing tonight? Doctor Who? Star Trek Next Generation?”

  All binge-watching choices that were usually attended with Ford stretched out on her couch, feet propped on her coffee table, and a popcorn bowl between them. He was more the sci-fi buff; she just enjoyed driving him nuts by deliberately mixing movie references.

  “Not tonight.”

  “I know. The Notebook. Am I right?” Zach cocked a finger gun at her.

  “Guilty.” Of wanting to claw her eyes out before watching that sob-fest again. “Better go. Ryan’s waiting.”

  Zach raised a hand. “Have a good one. Yo, Ford—”

  Holly’s heart whipped into her throat faster than the spin she’d just executed. She bounced off a leather-jacketed wall directly behind her, teeth painfully clipping the edge of her tongue.

  “Whoa—where’s the fire?” Ford grabbed her upper arms to steady her.

  Tears sprang hot, burning into the corner of her eyes. Her gaze shot to Ford’s side and Julia’s politely curious gaze.

  Clutching the parcels of fish and chips tighter, Holly mustered a diplomatic expression in return. Even though her tongue hurt like a sonofabitch.