by Zoe Lee
“These are the craziest animals,” Dunk said in awe.
“There’s one!” Daisy said, bouncing again, grabbing his sleeve and yanking at it in her excitement while she pointed with her other hand.
“Eew, holy shit, look, sea cucumbers,” he said a minute later, staring slack-jawed at the insane-looking worm-like creature on the bottom of the tank. “They have a super creepy thing that’s, I don’t know if it’s a tongue or what, but it looks like an eel, and it’s basically my nightmare,” he said with an exaggerated shudder, unable to tear his eyes away from it.
Daisy giggled and said, “I think squids are my nightmare, if we’re talking about deep sea nightmares. They have teeth, Dunk. Teeth.”
He shuddered and shivered and said, “Let’s go look at penguins!”
“I wish we could touch one,” she sighed as they navigated around until they found the penguins.
She sat on a bench and although Dunk was happy standing after the hours in the car, he joined her, leaning forward, his forearms draped on his thighs. Even though there were dozens of people around them, their exclamations and laughter echoing strangely in the large space, Dunk felt like he was on an island, just Daisy and him.
His chest tightened and he had to clear his throat and announce as cheerfully as possible, “I think we should do fun stuff like this the whole way.”
Daisy’s head cocked, almost peeking up at him with the way her lashes were shielding her eyes. “Okay,” she said, her voice matching the way she was looking at him, a little shy, as if maybe she was feeling how it was just the two of them, despite all of the people around them, too.
Dunk felt his muscles start to lock up, wondering if Daisy was really feeling this same… togetherness that he was, or if it was only him.
“Did you know that penguins have one hundred feathers a square inch?” he blurted out, hoping it wasn’t as awkward and loud as it felt.
“There’s a type of sea turtle that can be underwater for five hours,” Daisy responded in kind, her soft mouth quirking. “I guess maybe we both watch a little too much Animal Planet, huh?” she asked sheepishly.
Putting his hand on his heart and gasping like his life depended on it was really hard when all he wanted to do was stare into her eyes and ask her if she was having a moment too. But he pulled it off, making her giggle softly, while he cried, “Daisy Rhys, there is no such thing as too much Animal Planet! Take it back!” When she just kept giggling, shaking her head, he crossed his arms and scowled, then repeated, “Take it back!”
“Your scowl isn’t scary, you know,” she giggled, standing up and smoothing her hands down the tops of her thighs as if she were wearing one of her sexy sundresses instead of those tempting shorts.
“It would be if you were a freshman football player,” Dunk defended himself with a huff, bracing one big hand on the bench behind him and looking up at her. “You ready to go or you want to go see the sharks?”
She tugged her phone out of her pocket and checked the time. Flashing the display, which read 5:23 p.m., she said reluctantly, “We should get back on the road for at least a little bit longer.”
Dunk hopped to his feet. “Probably a smart plan,” he agreed.
They left the aquarium slowly, practically dragging their feet like little kids who didn’t want to leave the toy store. Once they were at the car, they put down the roof, turned on the GPS and studied the map.
“Oh,” Daisy said, some of the curls in her knot escaping to brush Dunk’s cheek, “we’re pretty close to Carmel. There’s a lot of amazing galleries, I’ve heard. Maybe we could spend the night there?”
“Okay,” Dunk agreed immediately, dazed by her nearness again.
She beamed and Dunk put the GPS in its stand while Daisy started driving. Dunk turned on the radio, lazily flipping through stations until he found one playing classic rock, and hung his arm over the door. He tipped his head back against the headrest, freed his sunglasses out of where they were hanging from the vee of his tee shirt, and slid them on.
The setting sun was dancing through the swaying tree branches they were passing under, heat dappling his face and his bare throat and arms.
He hummed, all of the ups and downs of his emotions subsiding beneath the simple pleasures of feeling the sun and the wind, of hearing the purr of the engine, of listening to “Have Love, Will Travel.”
Chapter 21
Daisy
Daisy’s heart pounded as she steered the Shelby into downtown Carmel and caught sight of Duncan McCoy sprawled out next to her.
He was utterly boneless and relaxed, one arm hanging outside the car, his thighs fallen wide and his knees bent so that his big body could make the most of the limited space. His seat had been pushed back and his chin was tipped to the sky, his shining blue eyes shielded by classic aviators, his strong jaw stubbled in an almost-beard, his lips parted as he dozed.
Oh God, why does he have to be so damn gorgeous and sexy?
Daisy had called herself a sucker a million times since she’d read the letter from Chase. A sucker for not smelling something fishy when Chase suggested the road trip in the first place. A sucker for not giving the keys back to Chase’s friend and leaving the second she’d finished reading the letter. A sucker for staying to see Dunk and let him dare her into this.
A sucker for wondering why in all that was holy she’d ever let this man go.
She parked with a lurch, startling him, but even that was gorgeous and sexy. His muscles shuddered as he woke and then rippled smooth again when he realized where he was, and he gave a low groan as he ran his hands through his blond hair, which was getting a touch shaggy for him.
“I, uh, found an Italian restaurant that looks good,” Daisy explained, almost dumbfounded by his sexiness in the warm California early evening light. “And there’s a motel about a mile back that way.”
“Italian, fantastic! I could eat about a hundred meatballs,” Dunk said, standing and jumping out of the car as if he were on a pommel horse.
The casual display of control and strength made Daisy shiver, and then she rolled her eyes at herself as she climbed out of the car the normal way, by opening the door. They put the roof down again and Daisy could tell she was going to get sick of this, even though driving a convertible was really fun.
“No meatballs,” Dunk mournfully told her, inspecting the menu posted outside the restaurant’s front doors a minute later.
“Well, look around you,” Daisy suggested. “This is a classy town.”
Dunk grunted and said, “It’s okay, they have chicken parmesan.”
She laughed and stepped inside, where it was exactly the way she imagined a restaurant at a real Italian winery would be. There were red linens on the tables beneath fat white candles, and the ceiling was painted like a lattice with grape vines with heavy bunches of grapes hanging down.
“Here you are,” the hostess said.
“Thank you,” Daisy said as they sat, Dunk a beat after her.
She looked around curiously at the other patrons. Most were dressed as casually as she and Dunk, which was good, since she’d been worried to walk into a nice restaurant in shorts and a tank top. Still it was clear that they were mostly well off, or tourists splurging, and she admired some of the women’s jewelry, a lot of heavy silver and big turquoise stones.
Their waiter came over and introduced himself. “What would you like to drink?” he asked.
“I would like a glass of wine, but I don’t know much about what’s good,” Daisy told him.
While the waiter made a few recommendations, summarizing where the wines were from and what flavors were in each, Daisy noticed that Dunk was trying to suppress a scowl. Could it be because the waiter was being a little flirtatious, using phrases like full-bodied? It was pretty rare for Daisy to be flirted with in Maybelle, between her overprotective brothers and her status as a sweet divorcee. But she wasn’t dense or naive and she could recognize it, feeling abstractly flattered that a stranger th
ought she was worth a little extra effort.
Once she’d settled on a wine, Dunk ordered a beer, his tone curt.
“So you thought that you were doing this whole trip with Chase,” Dunk commented abruptly while a runner set down bread that was still gently steaming from the oven. “Are you going to be okay, money-wise, getting your own motel rooms? I’m sure you planned to share with Chase.”
Daisy blinked, momentarily uncomfortable to be discussing money with him. They hadn’t ever really talked much about it during their relationship; it had been clear, she thought, from the size and quality of her apartment and possessions, that she was only doing okay.
So her answer was a little choppy when she explained, “I, um, I did an art fair over the weekend. That’s why Chase invited me to do the road trip; I was already going to be out here. I did okay at the fair, even after the cost of shipping my pieces here and renting the equipment for the booth.”
“That’s so great, Daisy,” Dunk told her. His voice was low and sounded tense in some way that she couldn’t pinpoint. “I didn’t know you were doing your art again.”
He’d never criticized her for working at the firm instead of sticking with her art full-time, but she’d always gotten the sense, from the way he talked about how much he loved coaching, that he wished she could be as happy in her work as he was.
But she didn’t want to get into that, so she kept it light, replying, “I’m only twenty-six; I can juggle my job and my pottery and be a little short on sleep, right?”
She’d expected that to get her a laugh and a smile, and she got them, but the laugh was a little short and the smile was a little tight.
Flummoxed, she had no idea what to say.
Conversation had always been so easy between them, natural banter that hadn’t always been flirtatious. She’d thought, from how much fun they’d had at the aquarium, that they could keep that up for the trip. But maybe this was a huge mistake. Thinking it through, she realized it might be a good idea to end tomorrow’s drive near L.A. That would give her a day to see if she could do this. If she couldn’t, she’d just fly home.
“Do you want to go into L.A. tomorrow?” she asked.
“Sure,” he agreed easily.
“Are you ready to order?” their waiter asked, reappearing at Daisy’s left elbow.
“I’ll have the chicken parmesan,” Dunk said.
“Can I have the grilled chicken risotto, please?”
“Excellent choice, miss,” the waiter praised, taking their menus.
“That guy was so close he could probably see your navel,” Dunk muttered.
Shock shivered through Daisy at Dunk’s uncharacteristically acidic tone. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him come even that close to criticizing someone. Not wanting to tread anywhere into that quicksand, she suggested quickly, “M-maybe there’s a Dodgers game we can go to.”
He looked up from where he was dipping his bread in olive oil, his blue eyes lighting up in pleasure and surprise, that shadow gone.
He got onto his cell and said excitedly a minute later, “There’s one at seven.”
“Let’s get tickets,” she said impulsively.
He pumped one fist and tapped around, then pulled out his wallet to input his card information. “I didn’t know you were so into baseball.”
“Oh, well, Tyler played at MHS,” Daisy said, “so I fell in love with it.”
“I thought you two didn’t date until after MHS,” he said distractedly as he finished up, setting his phone on the table and picking up his beer.
“Tyler was best friends with Levi,” Daisy said quietly.
“Oh,” Dunk said. He slid one hand through his hair and she swore his jaw ticked before he drank more of his beer. “You… liked him at MHS.”
Daisy nodded, stroking the base of her wine glass to give herself something to do, some other sensation to focus on than the weight of Dunk’s understanding gaze.
“Our whole relationship was a small-town cliche,” she said, this unusual need to explain rising up in her. “I fell for my brother’s best friend. The nerdy artsy girl who pined for the athletic boy with a broody side. He didn’t notice me until after I graduated, but we were married within a year, moved into an attic apartment on Archer Lane. I… gave him all the love and support he wasn’t getting from his mom, and he… treated me like a woman, not a little girl, not like a princess.”
Dunk’s chair screeched across the terra cotta tile floor as he pushed to his feet, his arms like corded steel from the force of it.
“Sorry,” he said, “excuse me, I need to go to the restroom.”
Daisy blinked and, although she usually hated using her phone in restaurants, called Chase quickly. When it went to voicemail, she hissed as quietly as she could, “Chase Cade. It’s Daisy Rhys, who you stranded in California with Dunk McCoy. He dared me to do the road trip, so I am. But I really hate you. What the heck were you thinking? I’m going to die.”
Hastily she gulped some of her wine, then nearly shot out of her seat when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Chase had sent her a text instead of returning her call. “Coward,” she muttered as she opened it.
You can’t bullshit me. You’re there because you want to be. If you don’t want to be there anymore, call me and I’ll fly you home no questions asked. But just get to know him for real. Example—did you know that he loves romance novels?
Almost growling in frustration, Daisy shoved her phone into her purse again and muttered, “Get to know him for real? Everyone who’s ever met him knows him. He’s an open book. Heaven help me.”
Dunk tumbled into his chair again, startling her so badly that her wine sloshed over the rim of her glass and onto her wrist. She swiped it off with her napkin and tried to refocus. She was at dinner with her ex-boyfriend, on their first night of a road trip that would probably last six days.
“How’s your job?” Daisy asked, aware it came out pretty stilted.
“I came up with a new way to torture the boys at practices,” he replied, and his smile was a softer one, the kind that made the laugh lines at his eyes deepen handsomely in his outdoorsman’s face.
“Oh yeah?” she managed to prompt.
“I hook up my iPod to the stadium speakers and put on, like, the poppiest pop music there ever was during scrimmages,” he said, using his light-hearted storytelling voice. “I’m talking ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time’ level shit. I play that song on repeat until they get the play right.”
Daisy laughed, gratified by Dunk’s ability to be so easy-going and entertaining, and relaxed enough to exclaim, “That’s exactly the kind of song I listen to when I work out. The catchier it is, the more I concentrate on that instead of the torture of the stupid climber machine or whatever.”
“I don’t understand how you hate exercise,” Dunk bemoaned.
“Uh, you’ve been brainwashed to think it’s awesome because you’ve been a jock your whole life,” Daisy retorted. “Only crazy people like working out. Everyone else just wants to look good naked.”
Dunk threw his head back and laughed so hard that he fell forward, gasping for air. “Trust me, athletes want to look good naked too.”
She glared at him, although it was completely ineffectual because she was practically purple with mortification. Stop drinking wine, Daisy.
“So this one time my friend Rash, the guy who dropped me off this morning, dared the whole team—this was in college—to swim laps naked,” Dunk said, launching into another hilarious anecdote.
His stories kept her laughing so much that there was no possibility that they’d accidentally get into something serious or have time to think.
After they’d finished their entrees and some crème brûlée, they diligently split the bill, drove to the motel, and got two rooms.
Dunk walked her to her room, and even though she knew it was about her safety, it still felt like all those nights he’d walked her home after their dates. Once she used the key card to open the door, s
he looked over her shoulder and caught him with his lips twisted in something like regret. She was sure that he was thinking about the same thing that she was.
“Should we meet at eight at the continental breakfast?” she asked before he could say anything, or move any closer to her.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded sharply. “Yeah. Have a good night, Daisy.”
“See you in the morning,” she replied, then slipped all the way into the room and let the heavy door click shut behind her.
She flopped face-first onto the twin bed, ignoring the scratchy, starched duvet under her cheek, and groaned loudly. Like she’d told Dunk at dinner, she’d pined after Tyler for years before he’d kissed her up against a tree by the lake one hot summer day. This felt like that, only so, so much worse because she already knew how much he liked her. She already knew what his hot mouth felt like against hers, how his magnificent vee felt pressed to her belly, the way he moved between her legs and held her tight and close after they’d spent their desire.
Maybe she should take a tip from guys and have a cold shower…
Chapter 22
Daisy
By the time Daisy and Dunk were less than an hour from Dodger’s Stadium, Daisy was fidgety from being in the car for five hours. As promised, Dunk had put on his Nineties playlist while he drove them from Carmel to L.A., his hands loose and competent on the wheel and the gear shift. They’d spent the whole time singing or snacking, and Daisy had snuck more long, lingering looks at Dunk than she could shake a stick at.
Getting out of the car and into the stadium, where they climbed to their truly cheap seats way, way above and behind third base, only made it worse. Dunk was in his element, a lifelong athlete at a sporting event. He bought a bratwurst and a beer from a vendor, devouring the brat in three bites, his throat working and moaning in pleasure. It was not sexy, but Daisy had to cross her legs and squeeze them tight together all the same.
