by T. I. Lowe
“You always get the first read.” Even before Jack moved here, I would send him the first draft. He’s brilliant at seeing where a story has an overlooked hole and is quick to explain how to fill it.
“So that makes five stories total you now have hiding on your computer. Darlin’, you need to man up and publish them.”
“Maybe this skirt is hiding my manliness,” I sass back, deflecting the argument that has become a constant between us lately.
His hand darts over and flips the ruffle up to expose the bottoms underneath before I can stop him. “Nope.” He mutters something inappropriate under his breath.
“Jackson Calloway! Your foul mouth needs to head back to church.” I shove his lingering hand away and glance around at the crowded beach, hoping no one overheard this ridiculous conversation. “Behave or I’m going back inside and securing the deadbolt.”
“Yes, ma’am. Please forgive me,” he drawls out, his tone dripping saccharine.
We both settle down for a while and just enjoy the sun warming our skin with the breeze keeping it in check. Eventually, it lulls me into a lazy doze.
“Now that is what you call physique art.” Jack mumbles.
My eyes open and begin combing the beach for the art. “Who? Where?” I am a people-watching-holic. Weird how a recluse can be addicted to people of all things, but mainly from afar. I blame it on the writer in me, always doing character studies.
Jack points toward the water. “On the surfboard. The one on the right.”
It’s easy to tell which surfer he’s referring to. Even from a distance, the man has a striking body—broad shoulders tapering into lean hips, long legs gracefully braced on top of the board. We watch as the surfer maneuvers a wave in such a fluid motion it’s like watching art in motion. Another surfer riding a close wave staggers off his board as it peters out. But not surfer art. Nope, he executes a perfect backflip before disappearing into the ocean, totally owning the water and the board.
“Dang.” Jack glances at me briefly before going back to checking out the show. “I need to know what this guy did to get that body and start doing it myself.” His head angles to the right and then to the left while flexing his biceps.
I snort then move the sound to a lengthy snicker when Jack tightens his abs. “You are so vain.”
“You still love me.” He abandons his peacocking and reaches over to tickle me.
Howling in laughter, I push his hands away. “Knock it off!”
We calm down and return our undivided attention to the artwork owning that surfboard. This time, when the wave dies down, the surfer simply takes a languid step off the end of the board, tucks it underneath his arm, and begins walking toward the shore. As he draws closer, my lungs hold the air in them captive, causing me to gasp for more.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asks.
“That’s… Give me your towel!” I grab it off the back of his chair before Jack can move and use it to shield my body.
“You know that guy?”
“Yup.” My body scoots farther down in the chair, wishing the darn thing would swallow me up. “He’s the boot camp instructor from hades.”
“No way.” Jack gasps. “This is awesome.”
Oh brother. This man loves humiliating entertainment at my expense. “Please don’t, Jack.” I peek from the edge of the towel and catch sight of Beck walking just to the left of us. He sweeps his fingers through his wet hair, pushing it away from his forehead.
“Hey, man. That was some impressive surfing,” Jack calls out to get Beck’s attention.
“I’m gonna kill you in your sleep,” I growl under my breath.
Jack ignores the comment and lifts his hand to wave, making sure Beck notices us. I look back over and sure enough the man has deviated from walking away to walking toward us. He stops close to the end of my lounge chair. A few drips of ocean have left him and reach my toes where they are sticking out at the end of my shield.
“Nice towel, Harp,” Beck comments before looking over at Jack and giving him a nonchalant chin jerk. “Thanks man.”
“You didn’t perfect those skills with East Coast waves.” Jack’s tone deepens, as it always does when another man is around. Men…
“My old man was a Naval Commander. One perk was him being stationed at some really sweet spots around the world. We spent most of my teenage years in Hawaii,” Beck answers, intriguing me.
“Please excuse my girl’s rudeness. I’m Jack.” He sits up and offers Beck his hand.
“Nice to meet you.” Beck takes it, but moves his focus back to me. I can do nothing but stare back like a mute fool.
“Man, you have got to tell me how I can obtain that sharp V.” Jack boldly points to where Beck’s board shorts are riding low. The deep grooves beginning at his hips and veering south are remarkably defined.
“Lots of lower oblique exercises.” Beck answers like that’s the simplest thing.
“Maybe I should sign up for body boot camp. Harper, are you hiding a V underneath that top?” Jack reaches under the side of the towel and, much to my horror, tries lifting the bottom of my top.
“Err!” I try forming his name, but my frozen lips only produce a growl as I give his hand a good whack while pulling the towel back into place. I’m pretty certain my best friend’s death is going to be on my hands.
Beck wastes no time moving on after Jack fires off several more workout questions, seemingly not wanting to be bothered on his day off. Thank goodness, because I’m sweltering underneath this towel. Once he’s out of sight I push it down to my lap and can finally breathe again.
Jack releases an exaggerated snort.
My temper flares and thaws my frozen tongue. “So glad you’re amused.”
“Beyond,” he bellows out around a raucous laugh. “A guy hits on you and you act like one of those fainting goats that go all stiff and keel over at any sudden attention.” Jack stiffens out his legs, rolls to his side, and pretends to faint.
I reach over and slap him hard enough to leave a handprint on his back. I won’t kill him today, but I hope to leave a few bruises. The slap resurrects my dead friend, making him roll back over to face me.
“Beck wasn’t hitting on me. That was him trying to get under my skin.”
“Oh, I bet he’d like to be all about your skin.”
“Enough, Jackson!” The man thinks he’s a comedian.
Still snickering at his own lame joke, Jackson rolls to his stomach. “Grease me up, baby.”
“I ort not to with you making fun of me.” I carefully word it so no lame remarks can be pulled from it. I grab the bottle of sunblock and squirt out a generous glob between his shoulder blades. As soon as my hands touch his olive-toned skin he lets out a suggestive moan.
“Yeah, baby…” Moan. “Just like that. Oh yeah.”
“Stop that!” I slap his firm butt cheek, stinging my hand while glancing around and finding several eyes zeroed in on the Jackson Show.
“Yes! Spank me! I’ve been a very bad boy!” He yells out, sounding like a sleazy performer.
“You’re impossible. I should have stayed in my office.” Shaking my head, I leave thick white streaks of the sunblock on his back. No way am I touching him again on this beach. Humiliated, I settle back down in my chair. I’m dying to make a run for it, but surely everyone has their focus trained on these two lounge chairs after Jack’s little performance. The man should have been an actor.
“Come on, you know you love me.”
When I give him no more attention—he’s like a child with needing that so much—Jack goes back to sunbathing.
We grow quiet for a while with me not wanting to add any more fuel to Jack’s mouthy fire and him texting away on his phone. It’s practically attached to him. I don’t even know where my phone is at the moment and really don’t care.
I’m close to dozing back off when Jack starts squirming in the chair and grumbling under his breath. A few moments later, he sucks in a long inhale and steals
the towel back. Standing up, Jack wraps it around his waist and starts off in the direction of my cottage. “That heavy brunch is hitting my gut hard. I better get to the bathroom before I embarrass myself on this beach.”
There’s no holding back the unladylike snort as I stand to follow. “Before you embarrass yourself? You can consider that deed already done.”
He ignores me and doesn’t slow until he’s disappeared inside the house.
I don’t notice Beck sitting on his surfboard until it’s too late to act like I didn’t. Shoot. Jack has left me with no shield, so here I stand all exposed. That tongue of mine refreezes, but I acknowledge him with a forced smile before turning back toward the lounge chairs. Bracing my hands around the top edge of one, I begin a slow progress of lugging it back to the deck. I only make a few steps backwards when suddenly a giant hand reaches close to mine.
“Let me help you,” Beck says as he easily clutches one bulky chair in each fist and heads to the deck. He makes it look as effortless as carrying a sack of groceries. “You want them on the deck of that house Jack just went into?”
“Umm… Yes. That’s my house,” I stutter.
Stunned, I slowly follow behind him. Beck is one intimidating man, so normally I’m capable of handling only short spells of looking at him. Right now, I simply cannot look away. My focus is glued on an oak tree with an intricate root system that is growing along the bulging backside of his left bicep. I’m close enough to reach out and trace the black ink, but demand my hands to keep to themselves. And then there is a stunning abstract phoenix rising from vivid flames on his right shoulder. These aren’t just tattoos, but works of art that seem to hold a story within them. Oh, how I want them to whisper their secrets…
I nearly head-butt the phoenix when Beck suddenly stops.
He glances over his shoulder. “Where do you want them?”
“Over by the small table is fine.” I point to the right of the deck. “I’m surprised Jack took the time to lug those heavy things to the water.”
Beck puts them in place and heads back down the steps to where I’m standing. “Your boyfriend is a riot.” He shakes his head and gives me a wry smile.
Great. So he definitely just witnessed the ridiculous scene by the water.
“Jack is something else, but he’s not my boyfriend.” I cross my arms, but realize the action has pushed more cleavage to be on display, so I let them drop awkwardly to my side.
“Does he know that?” Beck eyes me with a good measure of interest.
“Yes, and he also knows I’m currently planning his murder.” I look at the set of French doors that lead inside.
“Now you’re worrying me.”
My focus skips back to Beck. “Why’s that?”
He nods his head in the direction to where his surfboard is sitting in the sand, and for some reason I follow him like a well-trained puppy. He sits down, but I remain standing.
“At the end of class the other day you told me you were planning my murder. Just how many murders are you planning?” His eyebrows pull together with scrutiny, but there’s tease lilting his question.
My fingers exaggerate a count, thinking Maxine’s name should be top of the list. That hussy won’t return my phone calls. “Only three.” I shrug as if it’s no big deal.
“Who’s the third?”
My shoulder shrugs again. “No one you know.” I slide my right foot in the warm sand, drawing circles. “So… You’re an army sergeant/demonic fitness trainer/surfer?”
He laughs, deep and raspy. And that rugged sounds flows over me like warm melted butter. Something is wrong with me—my heart is skipping around, my palms are growing clammy, my eye sight blurs slightly. I should be panicked, but for some reason I find pleasure from the newness of my body reacting in such a wild way.
“Ex-sergeant. I retired after four tours. Well, semiretired is a better description. I still help out with boot camp training and some special assignments. Now I’m pretty much just a demonic trainer who grew up on a surfboard.” His lips curl on one side.
I do a quick math and guess his age to be somewhere around mid to late thirties. He looks younger though.
“These waves must bore you.” My thumb hitches over my shoulder toward the docile water.
He glances at the ocean. “I make do with them.”
My curious writer sensors go off and deliver hundreds of questions I want this man to answer. “Why settle here?”
Beck brings his attention back to me. “I still help out with basic training at some of the southeast bases. It’s more convenient.”
The wind whips my hair across my face. I tuck the wayward strands behind my ear and ask, “You been here very long?”
“Just a few months.” Beck reclines onto his elbows and continues to look up at me. This reveals another tattoo etched along his right inner arm. It has a military theme, but I don’t want to get caught staring, so I quickly look away.
“Oh.”
“How about you?”
Oh no. Now he’s becoming inquisitive, too. I’m never comfortable being on this side of it. I fidget, readjusting my weight from one leg to the other and play with the ruffle resting against my thigh. “About ten years.”
“Humph. I only live a few houses up that way.” He points toward the right of my house. “I’m surprised I’ve not run into you or your boyfriend before now.”
“I don’t venture out often, and I believe I already told you Jack isn’t my boyfriend. We grew up together.”
“Oh, so you decided on a whim to venture out just to make my Tuesdays and Thursdays a living nightmare?” There’s no bite to his comment, only tease for some reason.
“Yep. You’re such a lucky man,” I sass back. “Look, I better go make sure Jack isn’t defiling my sacred throne,” I say, knowing that made no sense to Beck, but Jack will totally love it.
“So… Is Jack gay?” Beck’s voice drops in volume.
“Why? Are you interested?” I can’t help but ask.
“In him?” Beck shakes his head slowly. “No. Just trying to make sense of why he wouldn’t be playing for more than friendship with such a beautiful spitfire.”
His words have me completely flustered. Flight or fight? Like the coward I am, it’s definitely flight! I turn tail and make a break for it. “Because I’m mean,” I blurt out like an idiot before getting out of his earshot.
I’m mean? Really? I’m such a doofus.
“Harper…” Beck calls out, but I keep with the hard-of-hearing act and continue trucking it.
Once inside, I hurry over to the closed bathroom door and pound on it. “You better not be defiling my sacred throne on the Sabbath!”
From the other side, Jack’s hardy chuckle echoes like I knew it would.
We both laugh at our lameness. I leave him to take care of his business and pad back to the French doors. As soon as I peep out, my eyes land on Beck. He’s right where I left him, but is now stretched out on top of the surfboard looking like he’s floating on the sand.
A hand clamps my shoulder, sending me at least a foot off the floor. Pushing a palm against my fluttering chest, I whirl around. “Don’t creep up on me like that!”
Jack raises both hands in fake defense. “What’s so interesting outside?”
I try moving away from the door, but Jack blocks me in and peers outside. “Jack—”
“Nice view you got there, Harp. What’s up with that, anyway?”
Wanting to dodge the conversation altogether, I duck under his outstretched arm and head into the kitchen for a glass of water. “He says I remind him of his aggravating buddy named Harper.”
“Aww. Ain’t that cute.”
“Shut up.”
Jack meanders around the kitchen island and studies the clock on the microwave. “We need to get ready.”
I finish my sip of water and ask, “For what?”
“We have dinner reservations with my parents.” He swipes my glass and downs the rest.
> “Not me.”
“Come on. They want to see you.” Jack puts the glass in the half-filled dishwasher before leaning a hip against the counter.
“Nu-uh. Last time was horrid. Your mother scrutinized every blame bite I put in my mouth like she was waiting for me to flip out and start inhaling everything in sight.”
Diane Calloway has never hidden the fact that she’s not fond of me. The first time she and Jack’s dad, Jackson Senior, visited Jack after he moved here they saw me at my heaviest. I think Diane will always view me as the two-hundred-thirty-pound girl from that day. She looked at me with pure revulsion, and belittled me for ordering a potato to go with my steak that night at the restaurant.
“I’m sorry she makes you feel less than you are, darlin’.” Jack drapes his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in for a side-hug. “How about we blow them off and go somewhere else?”
“No. You should spend some time with your parents while they’re here.” I see the hesitation in his dark eyes, so I add, “Besides, I have reached my limit of public time with you for the day. Your naughty mischief has exhausted me.”
He presses his lips into a thin line, not buying my excuse for one minute, but with a long sigh, he lets it go.
Jack heads out shortly after this and I take the time to shower before going back to my office. It’s the only place I truly feel that I belong.
In my cave, alone.
Chapter Four
Monday morning, the darkness shows up and starts veining throughout my body. All because of a spiteful email reminding me of my place. The cursor blinks in the reply box while my fingers tap a severe beat against the edge of the keyboard, contemplating a response. The only thing that comes to mind begins with an uncivilized word and ends with you. I refrain from sending that and reread the email for the fifth time.
Miss Blume,
Attached is a copy of your contract with Welsh Agency. It states that you are only allowed to ghost write the Breakers Series for Roselyn Scott. Ms. Welsh also wanted you to be reminded of the fact that you are being compensated substantially for your writing, and she feels it is most disrespectful for you to become greedy at this point.
