by Liz Talley
He was a dude. Not a nerd. Or a dweeb. Or a geek.
Dude.
Gym time assured his body was similar to those guys modeling underwear and cologne in magazines. Owning a big boat and hooking big fish gave him street cred. Or was that marina cred? Drinking beer and shooting pool ensured he seemed normal … even if he kept a mental tab of pocket accuracy, which, by the way, was up to 83 percent thanks to watching YouTube videos posted by pool sharks. His collection of Mystery Science Theater 3000 and Dr. Who videos were well hidden beneath titles like Bull Durham and Rocky. Although to be honest, he’d never made it all the way through Bull Durham, probably because of the trauma he’d suffered at the hands of Morning Glory High School’s all-district catcher Bruce “The Goose” Mahoney and his all-state pitcher bud Benton Mason. Everyone loved Goose and Benton because they could crush beer cans with their heads, charm teachers with Jim Carrey impressions, and lock dorks in the storage closet. ’Cause that was cute. Except when Goose and Benton forgot to let the dweeb out of the gym storage closet. Ryan had spent five hours inside hyperventilating because he was seriously claustrophobic before he pissed on himself and passed out. Yeah. Good reason not to like baseball movies. But Rocky was okay.
Some would call him a poser, but he wasn’t. Not really. He liked his boat and fishing. Loved beer. And the women? Well, he really liked them. When he’d left his old life in the lab at Caltech, he’d slept with only one woman. The results had been disastrous, because for male virgins the amount of time actually spent in the vagina is usually infinitesimal. And Sarah, who had proposed having sex as a way to alleviate the stress of waiting for the results of the variable test group, hadn’t seemed too impressed. He’d half expected her to fetch a notebook from the pocket of her lab coat and plug in the minute amount of time it had taken Ryan to achieve orgasm. So once he’d decided to leave nerddom behind, he’d purchased every book on tantric sex he could find, along with the Kama Sutra, not to mention books that relayed what women really wanted in a man outside the bedroom—confidence, charm, and decisiveness. He had to be the whole package.
And it had worked.
Ryan pressed the button on the washer and walked toward his bathroom and the massaging shower he needed after a night on Morgan’s couch. He had no charters today and would need to run some errands. And he needed to return the freshly laundered towel and give an apology to the woman who’d rented the Dirty Heron. Since she had the Julia Roberts thing going, maybe he’d take some apology flowers. Or maybe that would be too trite. Wine? No, too forward. Maybe something clever like a bottle of sunscreen or some funny sunglasses to welcome her to the beach community. Or not. Maybe just a clean towel and a sincere apology.
Turning on the shower, Ryan stepped inside. After hydrating himself and popping some aspirin, he’d be good to go. Another day in paradise being a regular guy.
Jess was exhausted.
She struggled up the steps of the beach rental carrying her gym bag, a sack of essentials she’d need for her locker at the hospital, and a paper sack of wine she’d scored on the way home from the hospital. She’d circulated on four surgeries that morning—two gallbladders, a knee replacement, and a bowel resection. Wine, sesame chicken, and season three of House of Cards would be her reward … as long as she could find a decent Chinese takeout place. Not that Morning Glory had one. Such were the perks of living in a city for the next three months.
Shifting the bags, she dug into her purse, searching for the house key. Just as her fingers closed around the pelican key chain, she heard a snore.
Whipping around, she found a slumbering man in the hammock swing. How she’d missed him, she didn’t know. Her heart galloped in her chest as adrenaline shot through her body. But then she noticed her new beach towel folded on his chest and a pitiful planter of scraggly begonias sitting beside the hammock. Her gaze darted back to the man sound asleep on the shady porch, and she clued in fast.
Sleeping Beauty, mouth open and chuffing a snore, was her drunken stargazer. This time he wore clothes, thank Jesus, and shoes. The cutoff khakis had a frat boy/Jimmy Buffett thing going, as did the linen-blend shirt with the light-blue stripes. Those weird hiking sandal things all the high school kids wore were on his feet. He looked masculine and sexy but somehow approachable. Well, at least he did when he was asleep … which was the only way Jess had approached him to date.
Jess cleared her throat, but he didn’t stir.
“Hello,” she called in a soft voice.
Nothing.
Oh for goodness’ sake. She shifted the bag in her hand and walked over to where he lay. Lifting her foot, she nudged him in the ribs. “Ryan, wake up.”
“Mmm?” he murmured, not bothering to open his eyes. He smiled sleepily. “What?”
“Wake. Up,” Jess said.
His eyes flew open, and finally she could tell they were a beautiful golden green. Like the color of grasses along a lake or the first colors of fall. Shifting, he tried to sit up too fast, and the hammock rocked, making him lose balance. His arms shot up to steady himself, and his large body rocked back and forth. Since her hands were full, she could do nothing to help him. She watched, prepared for the worst—Ryan crumpling into a heap at her feet.
But he didn’t. Somehow he managed to steady himself and get his feet planted. Looking up at her, he grinned. “Hazards of the hammock.” But then something in his eyes flashed, making them more golden. His smile widened. “Well, I wasn’t dreaming.”
Jess didn’t know what he meant by that. Probably couldn’t remember much from last night. “What are you doing here?”
He pulled himself from the hammock, scooped up the towel and plant, and said, “I’m returning your towel.” He waved the folded towel. “And I’m bringing you a welcome-to-Del-Luna gift–slash–apology for whatever I did last night, which I don’t exactly remember but think I got a kick in the ribs for.”
“You’re a stubborn drunk who was intent on sleeping on the beach.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t regularly drink that much, but it—”
“—was your birthday,” she finished, moving toward her front door. The key still dangled in her hand.
“Yeah, let me help you with that,” he said, taking from her the pharmacy bag filled with tampons, leave-in conditioner, and a box of condoms. The condoms were only precautionary and probably not necessary. She didn’t think she was ready for that kind of intimacy yet, but having them on hand reminded her she wasn’t dead. She could meet someone at the hospital … or anywhere, for that matter. Hell, she had a guy with flowers standing on her porch waiting for her. Of course, his flowers were welcome/apology flowers, but still.
She unlocked the door, hoping she wasn’t being too trusting by letting a stranger into her rental. She’d read books about this very thing—a guy pretending to be nice and carry packages inside before locking a gal in the basement and skinning her with a knife. Her stomach clenched, but she forced herself to relax. He was Morgan’s friend. And she was too damn paranoid. “Thank you.”
He slid past her and set the bag on the counter. When he did, the damn box of condoms tumbled out. Picking them up, he turned to her. “Extra large? High expectations, huh?”
Jess blushed, something she rarely did. “Uh, those are for, uh … why don’t you just put”—she dropped the gym bag and set the bag of wine on the counter. Grabbing the box from his hand, she jabbed them back inside the plastic bag and moved it onto the counter away from him—“them back.”
“Hey, I’m kidding,” he said, taking the sad begonias to the kitchen sink and running some water in the container covered with gold foil. “These poor flowers were the last they had at the store. I started to get fresh flowers, but that seemed like something you wouldn’t appreciate. Bet you’re the kind of girl who likes something that lasts longer.”
Yeah, she was. But so much for that. “They’re … lovely.”
Ryan set the leggy plant with the coral flowers on the granite bar and sh
ook his head. “Not yet, but I bet they will be with a little care.”
Jess wondered if this was some kind of weird analogy for where she was in life. Like the universe was sending her a message. But that was silly. Ryan couldn’t know that like the sad begonia she needed water, sun, and time to renew herself so she could bloom again. He was just a guy who’d gotten drunk, tried to kiss her, and thankfully hadn’t puked on her. By the looks of him, his sensitivity meter was likely on the low end.
“Well, thank you for returning my towel and bringing me the welcome begonias. Very kind of you.” Now go away.
She’d had a long day, and though he was cute with his apology and all sexy with his smiles and teasing, she wanted to get out of her clothes … uh, alone. Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d been too busy for lunch.
“Sure,” he said, looking around the place. “So this is the Dirty Heron, huh? Always wondered what it looked like on the inside. Is there green shag carpet in the bedroom?” He peered around the hanging cabinets and into the dim hallway.
“No. It’s Berber. And the color of sand.”
His gaze returned to hers. “Want to go out to the beach? It’s not too hot, and this time of day is the best time to go.”
Jess shook her head. “Uh, actually, it’s been a long day, and I … uh, need to eat.”
“There’s a good seafood place about a mile or so toward town. Peg Leg Pete’s. Kinda touristy, but their food is good, and they make a great cocktail. I could take you there. As a sort of extended apology and welcome.”
“That’s not necessary,” Jess said, wondering why in the world the guy would ask her out. She was older than him and very obviously not like him. No, wait. Wrong attitude. This was what she was trying to change—her pragmatic nature. Her propensity to be boooooring.
“It’s because I tried to kiss you, isn’t it? I mean, I think I did. I distinctly remember the way you smelled. Which was good, by the way.” Ryan shrugged, looking sincere and friendly. Not like a guy who was asking her out out. But a friend saying, “Hey, let’s go get a drink. No big deal.”
She was deluding herself if she thought it was anything more. Better to stick to her original plan. “Look, you were drunk and—”
“It’s just I always wanted to kiss you, you know? Call it a crazy leftover adolescent fantasy or something.” He picked up the map of Pensacola she’d studied in preparation for embracing her new city for the next few months.
“I beg your pardon?” Adolescent fantasy? Wait. How old was he? Her mind flashed to that Jennifer Lopez movie in which the character slept with a high school kid before she realized she was his teacher. Was Ryan younger than she thought? Could he actually be in high school? Dear Lord. And besides, how in the world had he always wanted to kiss her? She’d moved in a mere three days ago.
Ryan froze, his pretty eyes narrowing. “Wait. You don’t remember me, do you?”
Jess shifted her gaze away, her mind reeling over how she was supposed to know him. Had she passed him when she grocery shopped? Perhaps glanced over at him when she got gas at the 7-Eleven? Perhaps he worked at the hospital? She had no clue.
Ryan started laughing.
“Why are you laughing?” she asked, crossing her arms and giving him her no-nonsense nurse stare.
“Because you really don’t know me. I mean, I know I’ve changed, but I thought you would clue in. It’s not like we didn’t sit across from each other for a whole year in lab.”
Jess looked hard at him. He hadn’t been in nursing school with her. Nor had he gone to Mississippi State. She didn’t think. Of course, her freshman year at Mississippi State was a bit of a blur. Benton had joined a frat, and they’d spent a lot of nights going to beer busts and shooting tequila. She and Ryan might have had a class together, but how would she have forgotten a guy like him?
Not only did he have a chiseled jaw and gorgeous eyes, but she’d seen his body. He was out of her league, with a broad chest sporting a sprinkling of sun-bronzed hair, abs that belonged in a workout magazine, and, uh, really toned thighs, among other well-proportioned things. Okay, so she’d sneaked a peek, and he was fairly well endowed. She wasn’t a saint. To say Ryan was the cat’s meow was like saying chocolate was delicious. True and true. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a class with you. I’d remember.”
He arched his eyebrows. “Oh, we had class together. You’re not that old, Jessica.”
“I know I’m not that old. I’m not even thirty.” Even if Benton had accused her of acting like his parents. So she liked knitting. And gardening. That didn’t make her old. It made her hippie chic.
“I know how old you are. I also know your birthday is July third, your favorite color is blue, and you have a scar on your knee from a freak diving board accident in fifth grade.”
Jess felt alarm uncoil in her stomach. She stepped back, wondering which drawer harbored the knives. Obviously this guy was a stalker or something. Was he some vague Facebook friend she’d forgotten about who studied her postings in order to track her down? Or maybe he’d seen her on Snapchat? But she would know, wouldn’t she? Oh God, she was about to be that woman. The one who let the killer inside just because he showed up with a smile and a stupid nearly dead pot of begonias. Her father was going to kill her … even if she ended up dead. “Uh, I think you should—”
“Oh no.” Ryan waved his hands, his laughter so benign for a serial killer. “I’m Ryan Reyes. We had chemistry together at Morning Glory High. Go Mavs?”
Jess froze.
Ryan Reyes?
“The Brain?”
Ryan laughed and held out his hands. “I finally went through puberty.”
Chapter Five
Ryan watched as realization unfolded in Jess’s eyes like a long-forgotten note folded up to pass in that chemistry class they’d taken together in high school. He hadn’t been dreaming last night when he saw Jess. She was here … in Pensacola … and had obviously seen him naked.
Not exactly how he’d envisioned being seen again by one of his old classmates.
Jess Culpepper had been a pretty cheerleader with tons of friends and a popular boyfriend. Ryan, on the other hand, had been a skinny nerd with exactly two friends—one of whom he’d met in an online calculus forum—and a binder full of Pokémon cards. Because he’d skipped several grades in high school, graduating when he was fourteen, and hadn’t hit puberty until he was a junior at Stanford, no doubt the memory Jess had of the Brain was vastly different than the man who stood before her today. Even so, the knowledge he’d been so secondary in her world that she didn’t recognize him in the slightest caused a tiny ping of hurt inside him.
Jess stood in her kitchen, hand hovering over the nearest drawer pull, staring at him like he was a specimen in a petri dish. Her soft mouth hung slightly open, and her amber eyes blinked as she processed that he had, in fact, been her high school chemistry lab partner. The seconds ticked by, uncomfortable as wing tips a size too small.
“Uh, could you say something?” Ryan asked.
“I’m sorry. I just—” Jess snapped her mouth closed and moved toward him. Then she actually circled him, like an appraisal. “It’s amazing. You don’t look anything like the kid who—”
“Sneezed into your chicken noodle soup?” he finished.
Jess gave up a laugh. “Lord, I had forgotten about that.”
“And you’d forgotten me,” he added.
“No, I hadn’t forgotten you. But I never expected you’d end up looking like this.” She stopped, peering up into his face, her gaze catching his. Amazement on her face. “I mean, you’re gorgeous.”
Ryan felt heat flare in his cheeks at her comment. He’d never been a blusher, but maybe something about his once-upon-a-time fantasy girl circling him the way she was and telling him he was gorgeous made him itchy, embarrassed … blushing. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I would. Don’t forget I’ve seen you naked. As a nurse who sees a lot of naked bodies, I’m an expert on wh
at goes for gorgeous, and I gotta tell you, it’s freaking me out a little. The Brain grew into a hottie.” Jess laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll be damned.”
“Yeah, well, people grow up,” he said, wanting to shift the conversation to something other than his hotness. Sure, he worked hard to be what he was on the outside—tan, fit, and somewhat slouchy. Wearing his shirt untucked nagged at him all day long.
She sobered at that thought. “I guess they do.”
“So, do you want to grab dinner? Even though seconds ago you thought I was a creeper who’d been stalking you,” he said, searching for the tried-and-true charm he’d learned to use around women. No longer was he the geek who’d crushed on Jess, stammering around her and turning the color of lithium chloride when set to flame. “I could sort of see the panic in your eyes when you were looking for a weapon.”
She tilted her head, and her curls fell forward to frame her face. Still so pretty. “I prayed there was a butcher knife in the closest drawer.”
“I could have taken it away from you,” he said. Because he could have. Thanks to gym time and training in judo, tae kwon do, and mixed martial arts, he was proficient, quick, and strong.
