Bad Boy Summer (Bad Boys on Holiday Book 5)

by Sylvia Pierce

  Ultimately, they agreed that the best way she could help was to keep him company, maybe pass him tools while he crouched under the kitchen sink, messing with the pipes.

  Over her baggy white T-shirt and denim cutoffs, he’d outfitted her in the tool belt, and she looked fucking adorable. Every time he held out his hand for a screwdriver or wrench, she bit her lip in concentration, trying to locate the right tool and making his balls ache in the process.

  All he could think about was what she’d look like wearing his tool belt… and nothing else. The visual wasn’t helping him with the work, or with figuring out what the hell to say to her.

  “This is the allen wrench, right?” she asked now, holding it out to him.

  He was tempted to tell her no, just to buy some more time to look at her. But instead, he nodded and held out his hand, their fingers brushing as she passed the wrench.

  “Where’d you learn how to do all this remodeling work, anyway?” Pam hopped up on the kitchen counter, her bare feet dangling over the edge right next to him.

  “Picked it up along the way.” Sliding back under the sink, he said, “You’re out in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere in the middle of the night, some crucial piece of equipment breaks, could mean your life. Or your buddy’s.”

  “So you saw some action, then?”

  “Some.” He held his breath, waiting for her to ask the next question—whether he’d lost anyone, whether he’d killed, how close he’d come to meeting the devil face-to-face. That was the kind of shit everyone seemed to care about—the drama, the nightmare shit he’d give anything to forget. But whether she didn’t want to know the answers—or realized he didn’t feel like giving them—she didn’t push.

  Ash blew out a breath, still working that pipe. Damn thing was welded tight with about three decades of grime.

  “Well,” Pam finally said, “I’m glad you’re home again. I mean, not just here in California. But here here. You know?”

  “No shit.” Some nights he still couldn’t believe he’d survived. But Ash was a lifetime away from all that, thank God.

  “Do you think you’ll have to go back at some point?”

  “Hell, no.” Far as he was concerned, Uncle Sam had done him a favor when they cut him loose last year. Well, “cut him loose” was a bit of a stretch.

  Last trip to Afghanistan, Ash had saved two of his men, but he’d disobeyed about seventeen direct orders in the process. Yeah, they’d gotten through that night with minimum casualties, but he’d made senior command look like a bunch of Girl Scouts standing around picking daisies. After that shitshow, and what they liked to call a few too many “disciplinary actions,” they’d given Ash a choice: cut out at the end of his term, or go black-ops with the rest of the hardcore, crazy-as-fuck guys they didn’t know how to control.

  Fuck that. He’d done his time. Served his country. Saved his men. No way was he signing up for any suicide missions after that.

  So he’d told them to kiss off, collected his shit, and he’d been cooling his heels in Seattle ever since.

  Until now.

  But all that was behind him. Today was another postcard-perfect sunny day on the west coast, he was doing some good old-fashioned manual labor with a beautiful woman at his side, cold beer waiting for him in the fridge. No sense getting morbid.

  “Tell me about New York,” he said, finally prying off a U-shaped section of pipe. It was loaded with wet, black gunk—totally unsalvageable. He chucked it into the pile of loose shit on the newspaper spread out at his feet. “You like it out there?”

  It was the first time they’d been alone in the same room together long enough for a conversation, and Pam gave him the full report—the hustle and bustle, the crowds, the energy, the constant sounds and smells of the city. Sounded more like a punishment to Ash, but then, he'd never liked crowded cities. Ocean, mountains, trees—those were his people.

  “I live about a half-mile from work, but if I take the train, my commute is an hour. Which is fine, because I’ve got it down to a science: walk to the train, pick up coffee and a scone from the Irish bakery, head to the north end of the platform, try to get an open seat, then I can catch up on the financial news and check in with my clients en route. Plus, walking has its own dangers. You get your heel stuck in a grate, you could snap an ankle. And winters? Fuhgettaboutit.”

  “Jesus. You really are a New Yorker.” Ash shook his head. “What happened to ‘you can take the girl out of California, but you can't take California out of the girl’?”

  “One winter in New York can take the California out of anybody.”

  Again, he wondered what the fuck she was doing out there. College was one thing, but Pam was a California girl. He never thought she’d stay out east. Not for good.

  “You didn’t say whether you liked it,” he said.

  Still dangling over the counter, Pam’s feet stopped moving and crossed at the ankles. “That’s where the jobs are.”

  Still dodging the question, but Ash wasn’t ready to push it. Wasn’t his place—something he had to keep reminding himself.

  “Hand me that flathead?” He held out his hand for the screwdriver, but this time he kept his eyes on the pipes, even as she hopped down off the counter and rooted around in the tool belt. After she located the screwdriver, she walked over to the fridge, checking out the photos.

  “Your dad saved everything, huh?”

  There was a whole collection, twenty-some years worth of memories plastered to the freezer door with little magnets in the shape of crabs and sailboats.

  Pam had taken a lot of those photos. He wondered if she was still into photography—didn’t sound like it.

  “Yep. Camera’s still around somewhere, I bet.” Ash hauled himself out from under the sink and dropped the rest of the pipes and fittings into the discard pile. When he looked up at Pam, she was smiling.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Check the storage benches in the mudroom,” he said. “If it’s not there, try the closet shelf in Lizzie’s room.”

  She came back a few minutes later, tool belt sliding down one hip, that old clunker of a camera in hand, a big shit-eating grin plastered on her face.

  Seeing that smile… God. Something inside him squeezed tight.

  “It still has film in it,” she said, peering into the viewfinder. She snapped a picture of Ash, then another, and he would've told her to stop—he was a filthy, sweaty mess—but she looked so natural and happy with that camera in her hands, he couldn't bring himself to shut her down.

  “Still got it, I see.” Ash turned to wipe his hands on an old rag. “Last time we were here, you spent the whole summer with that thing around your neck, annoying the hell out of everyone.”

  “You say that, but as I recall, you were the master photo bomber.” She took another picture of him, then lowered the camera, holding it like a pro. “Never let me get a shot without sticking your big head in the frame.”

  “You probably have a digital one now, right? One of those fancy-ass things that does everything for you.”

  “What? No.” She lowered the camera, looking at it as if it belonged in a museum. “I haven't touched one of these since… well, I guess it was that last summer here.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Between work and school, I don't exactly have time for a photo safari.” Her eyebrows came together, her face pinched. She was a million miles away again, and Ash—as usual—didn’t know how the fuck to bring her back.

  “Well.” He tossed the dirty rag into the sink and knelt down to scoop up the old pipes. “Camera’s all yours, if you want it.”

  “Yeah?” She seemed to be considering the offer, but something changed her mind. It was like a switch flipped her brain. “Maybe next week. I… I really have to focus on that paper. I'm so past my deadline it's not even funny. Not to mention, my boss isn’t exactly thrilled that I cashed in my vacation time. He’s sending me about fifty emails a day.”

  “Soun
ds like a lot of stress.”

  “You have no idea.” She stood up on her tiptoes and set the camera on top of the fridge, tucking it in away from the edge. When she turned back around to face him, she was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It will all be worth it in the end.”

  “Yeah?” They may have been on different sides of the globe for the last decade, but Ash still knew when Deeds was full of shit. “Lizzie told me you were hospitalized last week. Fuck’s that all about?”

  The smile dropped, and Pam crossed her arms over her chest. “Lizzie should learn to keep her mouth shut.”

  “She's worried about you. Sounds like she's got a good reason.”

  “It was nothing. Just a little stress. I’ve got it under control now.” Pam chewed on her thumbnail, avoiding his eyes. “Besides, if I can’t learn to deal with a little pressure, I’m probably in the wrong business.”

  “And that’s what you want? That kind of job? The kind of pressure that puts you in the hospital?”

  “God, you sound like your sister.” Pam crossed her arms over her chest, cocking out her hip. “What I want is job security, Ash. The kind of money that means I’ll always be able to take care of myself, no matter what.”

  And there it is.

  Ash got it in a flash, and now that he’d figured it out, it seemed so obvious. Pam’s parents had divorced when they were kids, and her mom remarried faster than shit—some rich asshole she barely even knew. The guy turned out to be a lot like Pam’s Dad—real man of the house, I bring home the bacon, where’s my supper and slippers kind of guy. Pam hated the bastard.

  “You’re not like her,” Ash said now.

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “This has nothing to do with her. I made my own choices, left home as soon as I could, and I haven’t looked back.”

  “Pam.” He put his hand on her shoulder, and she nearly flinched from the contact, her arms still folded tight in front of her. In a softer tone, he said, “You can do whatever you want and kick everyone’s ass on the way there. I just think you should be happy doing it.”

  It was funny to say that to her after all these years, all that time apart. But the words were out and he’d meant them.

  “Are you happy?” Pam looked at him with those big blue eyes, and he knew she was looking for encouragement, some piece of driftwood to hold on to out on the rough seas. But in all their long history, he could never bring himself to lie to her—not when it counted.

  Even when the truth hurt like a bitch.

  “Fuck, no,” he said.

  “Then save your sage advice, Yoda.”

  “Listen. I’m a miserable bastard because I fuck up every good thing in my life.” Ash reached for her face, smoothed his thumb across her cheekbone. She didn’t flinch at that; just closed her eyes and let out a soft, warm sigh he felt against his chest.

  “Don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t be me.”

  She opened her eyes and blinked up at him, still looking to him for—what? Hope? Convincing? Another argument? Didn’t matter. Ash leaned closer, drawn in like a fish on a hook. He couldn’t resist her pull, even though he knew it was a bad idea, leaning in like this. Inhaling her scent. Wanting her all over again. Wishing that whatever hurt she was feeling, he had the magic words to make it all go away.

  But fuck. He didn’t. And in the end, he knew that getting involved again with Pam in any way—even just fooling around—would cause nothing but more pain and confusion on both sides.

  He pulled back, lowering his eyes, patting her on the shoulder like one of the guys. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  “Yeah. Exactly.” Pam looked relieved. Taking a deep breath, she unhooked the tool belt and handed it over. “You know what? I think I’ll head down to the water, see if I can catch up with Liz for a bit. Can you manage without me?”

  Doesn’t look like it.

  “I’ll try.” Ash winked, and then she was off, leaving him standing there with the tool belt in his hand, still warm from her body, wondering how—yet again—he’d managed to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, be the wrong thing, fucking it up between them every single time.

  Chapter Ten

  Between the trip down memory lane with the photos and the way her traitorous body was reacting around Ash, Pam needed to get out of that beach house. She needed some air. A good hard swim. Something to clear her head and cool her off before she did something reckless and stupid.

  She changed into her suit and a cover-up in record time, heading out the back door to avoid Ash. She jumped down the deck stairs, her bare feet hitting the warm sand with a satisfying thud.

  Don’t do that. Don’t be me…

  His words had hit their mark, and now they were swirling around in her head, poking and prodding into dark corners, threatening to unlock the memories and feelings she thought she’d dealt with long ago. Yes, she missed photography. Yes, she missed the beach, missed Liz, missed their summers together. And yes, no matter how much she hated to admit it, she missed Ash. Every hour they spent together was another reminder of the life she’d walked away from when she’d chosen New York over California.

  But that was just it. The life she was claiming to miss so badly—out here on the ocean, her friends, the man she’d once loved—it hadn’t existed when she’d left for New York. Ash was already gone nearly a month by then—without so much as a goodbye. Liz was dealing with her own struggles, trying to help out her father as best she could after Mrs. Burke’s death and Ash’s departure.

  Pam’s own parents had been divorced for years at that point, her father out in Texas with his new wife, her mom and step-dad just waiting for Pam to ship off to New York so they could move to Ireland guilt-free.

  Ten years ago, California had changed on her. Staying hadn’t been an option back then. Her reasons for leaving were logical and well-researched, and she was confident that she’d made the right move—the smart move. She’d gotten a great education, made amazing connections, landed a prime job right out of college, had a sweet apartment, and now she was this close to sealing the deal on her master’s and doubling her salary. Besides, she loved New York—the constant hum of energy, the way the skyline seemed to catch fire at sunset, the lights of downtown Manhattan’s skyscrapers glittering beyond her office windows every night. She may have been born and raised on the west coast, but New York ran in Pam’s blood now. It suited her. Worked for her.

  Each piece of her carefully constructed plan was falling into place, just as it was supposed to.

  So why was her mind trying to convince her otherwise, painting these lush, nostalgic pictures of the beautiful life she’d supposedly missed out on?

  Because that’s what brains do. Torment us with the shoulda-coulda-wouldas.

  “That way advertisers can sell us a bunch of shit we don’t need.” Pam laughed at her observation, but it was a little more honest than funny, and the smile died on her lips.

  Taking a deep breath of salty air, she tried to shake off her funk. No good living in the past. All she had was right now, and the future she was so carefully planning. Everything was going to work out. It had to.

  Besides, it was a gorgeous Southern California day, the ocean breeze caressing her skin, the cries of seagulls and the crash of the waves the perfect summer soundtrack. No sense being cooped up in that tiny house with a man who made her wish for things that had never even existed in the first place.

  Pam stretched her arms over her head, the sun’s golden touch already working its magic on her stiff body. A day off wouldn't kill her. She still had a couple of weeks here—plenty of time to write the paper.

  It didn't take her long to locate Liz—she simply looked for the crowd of lifeguards and followed the sounds of flirting and laughter floating down the shore.

  “Pam!” Lizzie was in the water with a handful of guys, a couple of which had surfboards. Her face lit up when she saw Pam, and she waved her over excitedly, bouncing on her toes like she used to do when th
ey were teenagers.

  Pam dropped her towel in the sand with Lizzie’s stuff and joined the crew in the water, reminding herself to relax. To have fun. To leave the economics back at Summerland, along with the guy she wasn't allowed to fantasize about for at least the rest of the afternoon.

  Besides, there were plenty of other guys to fantasize about.

  “I'm so glad you're here!” Liz linked her arm with Pam’s, her smile as bright as the sun. “Did you get a lot done, or is my brother driving you nuts?”

  Pam shielded her eyes from the sun, grateful for the excuse to look away. “Ash is… taking apart the kitchen sink. I just needed a break.”

  “Good. I met a new… friend.” Lizzie's eyes shifted, and Pam’s followed her gaze to the tan, muscular lifeguard who’d just emerged from the water, his wet board shorts clinging to him in a way that left very little to the imagination.

  Pam should know—imaginary sex was the only kind she’d been having for the past two years.

  “There’s two, actually,” Lizzie said, giving Pam a conspiratorial wink. “Let me introduce you.”

  The guys were off-duty lifeguards—Luke and Decker, just about the same age as Liz and Pam, maybe a year older. They were quintessential California lifeguards, blond and built and absolutely the best kind of sex-on-a-surfboard distraction a girl could ask for.

  “Luke is teaching me how to surf.” Liz winked at Pam, and Pam pressed her lips together to keep from cracking up. The two of them had learned how to surf with Ash when they were about eight years old, but if pretending otherwise meant her friend had a shot at good sex, Pam would keep Liz’s secret.

  While Luke was helping Liz balance on the board, Decker offered to show Pam a few tricks, and soon the four of them were splashing around the water like a bunch of kids, taking turns balancing on the boards, then trying to knock each other off. Luke and Decker were total showoffs, adorable in every way, and Pam and Liz giggled on cue at their antics. The sun was warm on her shoulders, the water cool and refreshing, and for a while Pam let herself get swept up in the summer fun.