Chapter 6
Kaleb
“ F irst things first.” I hold up the four-foot-long board by its handles. “This is a sand sled.”
“So I gathered.” Brooke nods at the padded seat. “We’re doing it tandem?”
“Yeah.” Why is tandem a sexy word?
Because everything’s sexy with Brooke.
We’re standing on a hill north of Cherry Blossom Lake. Not the best spot for sand dunes, but the rain took a rare day off and it’s mild and a little bit warm. A slice of sunlight shimmers in Brooke’s hair, and I ache to touch her.
But we’re not doing that.
Not today, not ever. We agreed on that, right?
What we’re doing today is blowing off steam, which was my idea. Brooke was all for it, or as she phrased it last night, “highly in favor of non-sexual forms of release.”
We just didn’t count on whatever the hell keeps sparking between us. Maybe it’s just me?
“The rental shop only had doubles.” I stand the sled on one end and try not to notice how her heavy gaze snags on my chest. “It’s the weekend, so stock’s limited.”
“No problem,” she chirps. “Seems like a good way to learn.”
“It is.” Growing up, the Spencer-King kids had two sand sleds to share between all of us. “Our mom taught Jake and me, and we taught all the younger kids. Riding tandem is just what we did. It’s safest when you’re new to sand sledding.”
Brooke smiles, and my heart flops like a dying fish. “It’s not like I’m a complete virgin.” That’s a figure of speech, not sexy at all. “My sister and I did tons of snow sledding.”
“In Los Angeles?” I’ve never been. “I don’t see LA as a hotbed of snow sports.”
Brooke peels off her sweatshirt and I try not to stare at her breasts. “One of Grace’s first big photo gigs was for a Tahoe resort. She worked as the staff photographer for this ski hill.” She smiles at the memory, tossing her sweatshirt aside. “I’d visit when I could, and we’d go sledding on her days off.”
“That sounds fun.”
“It was.” Her expression turns wistful. “Once, our parents joined us. Mom and Dad rode one sled, and Grace and I had the other. We raced each other down the hill.”
She doesn’t talk much about her parents. “Your folks are still together?”
“Mom and Dad? Yeah.” She rubs her arms as goosebumps prickle her skin. “Losing a child rips some marriages apart, but it seemed to draw my parents closer.”
“It’s good they have each other.”
“Yeah.” She looks away, blinking a little as the sun comes out again. “I should call them.”
“Right now?” I’m not sure there’s service out here.
“Eventually,” she says, clearing her throat. “Soon.”
“Okay.” This feels like a sore subject, so I do what I can to steer us back to safer ground. “You still want to do this?”
“Yes. God, yes.” She laughs. “I desperately need more fun in my life.”
I swallow a sex-fueled joke about fun I could offer. This isn’t the time or the place. “We’ll stick with one board for now, and if you like it enough, we’ll rent two boards next time.”
“Deal.” She doesn’t look fazed at the thought that there might be a next time. She touches the sand sled, one finger trailing the side of it. “It’s pretty. What kind of wood is it?”
“No idea.” I need her to stop stroking the wood. “Maple, maybe. Birch.” I shake my head to clear the filthy thoughts. “You ready?”
“Let’s do it.”
I pull out a fresh bar of wax. “Okay, for maximum slide, you wax the sled before each ride.” I’m conscious of my words, of her eyes on my hands as I’m gripping the glossy white hunk. “Everything needs to be nice and slick.”
Brooke licks her lips as she watches my hands. “Got it.”
“It’s better for glide,” I explain, and then stop. “You want to try?”
“How hard do you rub?” She kneels in the sand, and I stare at the top of her head. “It looked like you were stroking it pretty hard.”
There’s no blood in my brain as I hand her the sticky wax block.
“Not too hard. Not too soft.” For fuck’s sake. “You start with a zig-zag pattern like this. Just rub back and forth, back and forth, nice and firm, spreading out as you—” Why am I doing this?
Why is this turning me on?
“I think I’ve got it,” she says.
“Yep.” God, she looks great on her knees. And the way her hand’s gripping that wax. I need to stop staring. My head’s getting fuzzy and she’s bound to notice if I pass out and roll down the hill.
“Now what?” Brooke asks.
I take the wax block and set it aside. “Now you’ve gotta use your hand.”
“How come?”
“Yes.”
Brooke blinks. “What?”
“Nothing.” My brain short-circuits for a second.
“Why do you use your hand?”
“Because your fingers can spread it out better.”
“Oh.” A faint hint of pink fills her cheeks. “That does seem?—”
“You know what? That’s enough waxing.” Why did I never notice before how this whole thing sounds sexual?
“What comes next?”
Me, if I don’t stop thinking like this. Clearing my throat, I force myself back to the task. “Now we buff it.”
Gripping the sides of the board, I rub the base back and forth through the sand. Brooke watches, transfixed.
“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got great arms?” She touches my bicep, and I nearly groan. “I’m not flirting. That’s just a clinical observation. I took a lot of human anatomy as an undergrad.”
Of course she did. “Thank you.” No more buffing. “All right, I think we’ve got it nice and slippery.”
“Yep.” Her voice comes out in a squeak. “Yes. We sure do.”
I’m not quite sure how to read that. “Ready to ride?”
“You bet!” She gets to her feet, and I feel my head starting to clear. I can do this. I can keep things platonic between us. I can stop picturing Brooke on her back on her sofa that night. I’ll stop remembering her face in the moonlight, her hair spread like honey as my hand cupped her breast and she tugged at my zipper?—
“Wait.” She pivots and looks down the hill. “Are we doing this with you behind me?”
I seem to be nodding. “Are you okay with that?”
“I suppose.” Her smile turns salacious. “I’ll be honest here. I find you attractive. And given our agreement that we won’t be fooling around, I’ve been feeling a little?—”
“Horny?” That was rude.
But the world’s most famous therapist just smiles. “I was going to say ‘overstimulated,’ but I like your word better.”
“Thank God.” I let go of the sled and slump to the ground at her feet. “It’s not just me.”
She laughs and sits down beside me. “What’s not just you?”
“I’m not the only one reading sex into everything.”
“Uh, no.” Her knee bumps mine as her hair skims my elbow. “All that talk about getting things slippery? And the way you kept stroking the wood?—”
“God, I thought it was just me.” Maybe we’re both filthy perverts.
“Not just you,” she confirms. “I can promise I was ogling you like any sane, red-blooded woman would have done in my position.”
“Speaking of positions—” We’re being honest here, right? “Is it okay to admit that when the rental shop only had tandems, I pictured you between my legs?”
“Funny,” she says, bumping my knee again. “I’ve pictured you between mine since way before you suggested sand sledding.”
My head starts to spin, and I force the blood back to my brain. “This is good. It’s good, right?”
“Getting it out in the open?”
“Yeah.”
“For sure.” She might just be humoring me. “We’re less likely to act on our impulses if we aren’t actively repressing them.”
“Makes sense.”
There’s a 110% chance neither of us believes that. At least we’re on the same page.
“Come on.” I stand up and reach for her hand, hoisting her to her feet. Angling the board at the top of the slope, I consider our options. “So one way or the other, one of us is between the other’s legs.”
“We maybe didn’t think this through very well.” She wipes sand off her perfect, jeans-clad ass. “Probably should have stuck with origami.”
“I doubt it would have made a difference,” I admit. “My brain could have found a way to get turned on by that.”
She laughs. “My sister taught me to fold the perfect paper penis. She called it ‘pornogami.’”
“I rest my case.”
Brooke steps to the front of the sled. “Let’s just go with you behind me. That’s probably best, right?”
“Sure.” I can be mature about this. “Makes it easier for me to steer.” I take a seat on the board, giving myself a grownup pep talk. It lasts until Brooke nestles her ass between my outstretched legs.
“How’s that?” she asks, shifting against me.
“Guh.” My dick jerks to attention. There’s no way she doesn’t feel that. “Could you, uh—stop moving around?”
“Sorry.”
“No problem.” Merciful God, her ass really is perfect. She settles against me, leaning back on my chest. Her hair smells like sugar and cinnamon. I’ve never been turned on by toast, but here we are. “All set?”
“Where do I put my hands?”
This wasn’t a question we’d ask as kids. We’d pile on the board wherever we fit, giving zero fucks where body parts settled. “Hold on to my thighs.” It’s as good a place as any.
“Is that too tight?”
“Nope. Just right.” I wrap one arm around her, feeling her breasts brush my forearm. “How’s that?”
“I mean…I’m pretty aware you’re touching my boobs.”
“I’m not.” Not on purpose, anyway.
“They’re my boobs, Kaleb.” She turns her head with a devilish grin. “The hair on your arms could graze one centimeter of the underside of my left breast and I’d get turned on.”
All the blood leaves my brain. “I’m not sure this honesty thing is working so great.”
“I suppose not,” she agrees. “If the goal is to not get hot for each other.”
As usual, she makes a good point. And a damn sexy sand sledding co-pilot.
“We can do this.” Brooke pats my knee. “I believe in us. We’re both mature, responsible adults.” Is she convincing herself or me? “Adults who happen to find each other attractive. Doesn’t it make things easier if we’re open about it?”
“Yep.” The heat of her body blends sinfully hot with what’s already brewing between us. One of us might catch fire before we’re done here. “I’m pushing off now. Hang on.”
With a whoop of excitement, Brooke sinks her nails into my thighs. I’m holding her tight, picking up speed as we sail down the hill. The wind in my hair, salt air in my teeth, the soft, lush warmth of her body—I’m on sensory overload, and we’re not even halfway down.
“Woohoo!” She laughs and I’m lost, so filled with elation I forget how badly I want her.
Not quite.
But I’m laughing, too, using one hand to slow down. To make this ride last so I can hold Brooke and pretend we’re just friends.
You can do it.
At the base of the hill, we topple. I roll to one side, coming to land half on top of her. “Hi.” I brush a thin stripe of sand off her cheek. “How was that?”
“Amazing. So fun.” She’s glowing, I swear.
“Want to go again?
“Yes, but there’s a problem.”
“What’s that?”
She spits out a thin wisp of hair. “Well, if you walk up the hill ahead of me, I’ll stare at your ass the whole time.”
I laugh and sit up so I have to stop touching her. “And if you walk in front?—”
“Ass city.” She rolls to sit beside me. “We could always walk side by side.”
“Deal.” I jump to my feet, stretching a hand down to help her.
“Thanks.” She dusts off the butt I can’t stop seeing, no matter which way we march up the hill. Brooke could walk on her hands with her whole body wrapped in a blue plastic tarp and I’d still get turned on.
“Oh,” she says as we set out walking. “I forgot to ask how Ribsy’s doing.”
“Great. Surgery went well.” Because of course that asshole didn’t spay his dog. “She’s healing up well. Anabelle said she’ll be all clear to run in a week.”
“It’s nice that you waited a bit to spay her.”
“That was the vet’s idea. Said I should let her settle in first. To trust me and get comfortable before I hauled her off for surgery.”
“You’re a good guy, Kaleb Spencer-King.” She’s breathing hard now, both of us sweating as we reach the top of the hill.
By ride number four, I’ve almost stopped seeing her naked. On our tenth trip down, Brooke rolls off to the side when we stop.
“I’m done.” She’s panting hard but smiling. “Let’s stop for now.”
“There’s water in the cooler.”
“I need food.” She sits up and brushes both hands on her jeans. “Is there any place close with ice cream?”
“Give me a sec to think.” If we’d gone south, toward Florence, I’d know five or six spots with great soft-serve.
But Brooke balked at going that way. “I’m not ready,” she said, and I heard the echo of my own words. “I know it’s silly, but I can’t bring myself to travel the road where my sister died.”
“I understand.” And I did. It meant a few extra miles, and sand dunes not quite as impressive as what we’d find elsewhere.
But keeping Brooke safe was the bigger priority.
“There’s an ice cream spot between here and Lincoln City.” In my mind I see Brooke licking a cone, her perfect pink tongue sweeping the tip. I swear I don’t moan, but she looks at me cockeyed anyway.
“Kaleb?”
“Yeah?”
She brushes some sand off my face. “You just pictured me giving a BJ to an ice cream cone, didn’t you?”
Hell. “Was it that obvious?”
“I’m learning to read you,” she says.
There’s a scary thought. “I need a real meal, not just ice cream. How do you feel about chowder?”
“Hmmm…” She gives that some thought. “Watching you lick the back of a spoon while trying not to wonder about your oral sex skills?”
“Jesus, woman.” And now I’m imagining it, too. “Are you always this blunt?”
“Job hazard, sorry.” She shrugs. “How about pasta?”
“Watching you slurp noodles?” Sign me up.
“I don’t slurp,” she says with a make-believe huff. “Sandwiches?”
“Now you’re wrapping your hands around a foot-long sub and lifting it to your lips as you?—”
“Okay, okay.” She laughs and rolls back in the sand. “Is it always going to be like this with us?”
Part of me hopes so. Part of me thinks this chemistry’s just too strong.
But if that’s true, it means Brooke and I can’t be friends. I’ve known her less than a month and already can’t picture her not in my life.
“No,” I decide. “I think the edge will wear off and we’ll settle into comfortable friendship.”
“Okay.” Brooke doesn’t look like she believes me.
That makes two of us.
“How about salad?” She grins, and the sun comes out again. “That’s not sexy.”
Sure, it’s not. Brooke could make anything sexy. “Deal,” I say, and start for the car.
One week later, I’m jogging on the beach with Ribsy and Mason. My brother hasn’t stopped yapping since we passed Spencer’s Rock, the seaside formation named for Mom’s side of the family.
“Heard you saw her.”
I don’t even ask how he heard. “Mom? Yeah.”
Ribsy’s running beside us, tongue lolling out to the side. She’s healed up from spaying and the cigarette burns Annabelle swore looked worse than they were.
It turns out my pup is the perfect running buddy, steady and calm and not inclined to chase seagulls or roll in dead jellyfish or do anything else to annoy me.
Can’t say the same for my brother.
“I heard from Jake who heard from Cass who heard from Zoe that she saw Mom heading into the garage.” Mason wipes sweat off his forehead. “How did that go?”
“Why can’t you chase seagulls?” I grumble. “Roll in dead man-o-war or something.”
“You’re fucking weird, dude.”
Guess there’s no point avoiding it. Might feel good to confide in Mason. “We talked for a few minutes. Mom wants to get together sometime.”
“Yeah?” He jogs around a huge hunk of driftwood that, on second glance, might be a decomposed sea lion. “When’s that happening?”
“Dunno.” Not anytime soon. “I’m not in a rush.”
“It’s still so nuts.” He jumps over a long strand of kelp and keeps running. “How wild is it we spent all that time thinking Mom was dead?”
“Wild.” I keep my eyes on the sand, watching the roll of a wave up ahead.
“I mean, seriously.” He’s not even winded. “You should’ve seen my face when Hazel showed up to say her dad faked the investigator’s report. Jaw on the floor, I’m not kidding.”
“Yeah.”
That’s how it happened. Mason was at Lucy’s when Cousin Hazel came by with the news. The twins were the first to meet Mom for coffee the day she rolled back into town. This was weeks ago, way before I’d wrapped my head around some happy fucking maternal reunion.
I’m still not ready.
“So,” Mason says, not one to go more than a minute without talking. “You seem pretty friendly with Brooke.”
“She’s new in town,” I mutter, lifting the hem of my shirt to swipe my forehead. “Just helping her settle in.”
“Cool.” He’s silent less than two seconds. “Guess your welcome wagon routine involves taking off your shirt at her house?”
“Fucking Frank Bundy.” That’s the cop who came to our rescue that night. I should have known he couldn’t keep his trap shut. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”
“Okay.” Mason shuts up for once in his life. It almost annoys me more. Like he’s waiting for me to just blurt out details.
“We kissed, okay?”
“Cool.” My brother keeps running, but I don’t miss the smirk on his idiot face.
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“All-righty.”
Another stretch of silence as our feet pound the sand. “She’s been going through it since her sister passed,” I continue. “She needs a friend.”
“Whatever you say, man.” Mason picks up the pace. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t usually take off my friends’ sweaters to help with the grieving process.”
“Asshole.”
Mason laughs but slows down again, knowing he’s getting to me. My brother’s a dick, but he’s not without a heart. “Hey, I think it’s cool,” he says. “I like when we’re all paired up.”
“I’m not paired.”
“Been thinking I might ask Annabelle to be exclusive.”
Thank God we’re diverting from my love life now. “Yeah?”
“Yep.” He glances at me. “She’s great, isn’t she?”
“Excellent vet.” I know that’s not what he means.
“Come on, man.” He somehow spears an elbow into my side without missing a stride. “Just because you’re not getting laid doesn’t mean you can’t be happy for people who are.”
For fuck’s sake. “Maybe I don’t want to get laid.”
“Yeah, right.” My brother trips over a rock. It doesn’t slow him down even a little.
“It’s not a good time.” I’m going to regret saying this. “There’s this chapter in Brooke’s book where she talks about avoiding romantic entanglements for the first year after a major life upheaval. Apparently, it takes most people a minimum of twelve months to process the different stages of emotion.”
“Romantic entanglements?” He leaps over a log, regaining his stride. “Major life upheaval? Hanging with Brooke makes you talk like a shrink.”
“She’s brilliant,” I argue. “She knows her stuff.”
“I don’t doubt it. Doesn’t mean I’ll take a vow of celibacy anytime soon.”
“I’m more mature than you.”
Mason snorts. “Right.”
Ribsy stops to sniff a twisted rope of seaweed, and I seize my chance. “Hang on.” I drag a bottle of water from the sling on my back and pour some in a collapsible dog bowl. Ribsy laps it gratefully, draining the bowl before she sets off running again.
So much for a break.
“Back to Mom, though.” Mason takes off, checking to see that I’m right beside him.
I’m panting and flushed and wanting to kill my kid brother. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are we talking about Mom?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” The sarcasm’s strong. “Maybe because she’s our mother? She’s gotten clean and sober and returned from the dead, and I thought you’d be a little bit happy.”
“I am happy.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” More sarcasm. “You get any giddier, you’ll start shooting streamers out your ass.”
“We all handle emotions differently.” Pretty sure that’s a quote from Brooke’s last book.
“Did you ever have a sense?” He surges ahead, so he misses my feet getting tangled on themselves. “That Mom was alive, I mean.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
I’m reading too much in the question. Lucky for me, Mason misses it. “Lucy always had a hunch. Remember we said she was nuts?”
“Yeah.”
My chest feels like he’s standing on it. I’m straining for breath, and I’ll need to stop running soon.
“I just think it’s funny.” My asshole brother who hoists kegs for a living runs harder. “All I’m saying is—hey.” He lifts a hand to point toward the stairs. “Isn’t that her?”
“Who?”
I look where he’s pointing and holy shit . It’s Brooke.
She’s stooping to roll up her jeans, a cropped orange sweater riding the ridges of her spine. Her hair falls forward, hiding her face, but I’d know the shape of her anywhere. The delicate wrists, the fall of dark hair, the tiny tattoo on her ankle.
“Yep, it’s her.” He waves before I can stop him. “Hey—hey, Brooke.”
She looks up in surprise, then gives a tentative wave. Mason jogs over, leaving me no choice but to follow.
“Hey, Mason. Kaleb.” Her eyes draw a path up my chest. Sweat makes my shirt cling like plastic wrap, and the wind’s not helping.
Tearing her eyes off my torso, she smiles at my brother. “Good to see you again.”
“Whatcha got there?” He nods at the book she’s holding.
“It’s a guide to agates and shells on the Oregon Coast.” She shuffles it back, revealing another book. “And this one’s all about crystals and stones and their various meanings.”
My mouth goes dry, and I grab for my water. I’m gulping it down as Mason starts yapping.
“Kaleb had one like that as a kid.” He elbows my ribs, sloshing water all down my chest. “He and Mom used to pore over that thing. Always looking up rocks, sharing their secret meanings.”
With a grunt, I lower my water bottle. “What brings you down here?”
Brooke smiles. “Thought I’d try a little agate hunting.” She flips through the book to a page I know by heart. “This says blue lace agate is the stone for reconciliation. That it’s meant to bring about peaceful discussions and foster honest communication. Did you know that?”
Yes. Yes, I did.
“Huh.” With the hem of my shirt, I wipe sweat from my face. When I let go, I see Brooke’s eyes linger on my abs.
Mason smirks beside me. Ribsy trots up and nuzzles Brooke’s hand.
“Look at you, Miss Thing.” She rubs my dog’s neck, and Ribsy leans on her leg. Her long tail swishes, whacking the book from her hand. “Whoops.”
“Got it.” Mason stoops down to grab it. “Oh, shit—it’s the same exact book.” He turns it over in his hand. “The one you and Mom had?”
“They sell it at the bookstore,” I mutter. “I’m sure there are thousands of them floating around.”
Brooke tucks it back in her bag. “Glad I bought it then.”
Mason chugs from his water, then wipes a hand on the back of his mouth. “How are you settling in, Brooke?”
“Great! Everyone’s friendly.”
“Some of us more than others.” He gives me a pointed look. “By the way—I meant to invite you to Lagers and Learning.”
“Loggers and—” She frowns at me. “Is this another lumberjack joke?”
Mason chuckles. “Lager like the German-style beer made with bottom-fermenting yeast and brewed at cool temperatures.” He reads the blank look on her face. “It’s this educational series I host at Big One’s.”
Brooke’s confusion shows on her face. “Big One’s?” She looks to me for translation.
“Mason’s brewery,” I supply.
“Ah.” She smiles and looks at Mason. “Named for the future earthquake set to wipe out the West Coast?”
I stare at my brother. “Is she the first person in the history of ever to get that?”
“Quite possibly,” he agrees.
Brooke cocks her head. “What do people normally think?”
“That I named it for my balls.” He gives a good-natured shrug. “To be fair, they’re massive.”
Christ. “Way to be classy, asshole.”
Mason chuckles. “If Brooke’s after classy, she’s got the wrong family.” He looks way too happy about that. “For Lagers and Learning, we bring in experts to teach about hot topics. Everything from mountain bike tips to crocheting to welding. Kaleb’s teaching the next one.”
“Oh?” Brooke regards me with interest. “What’s the subject?”
“Erika’s teaching,” I clarify. “My head mechanic.”
“The crowd loves them,” Mason says. “This is their third in a series on basic auto repairs.”
Brooke flinches. It’s the tiniest movement, one I might’ve missed if I weren’t watching her face.
She covers it quickly, looking at me with interest. “That’s great.”
Mason drones on without noticing Brooke’s odd response. “They’re talking about spark plugs this week. What they’re for, how to change your own, that sort of thing.”
“Huh.” Brooke’s eyes shift away and she blinks a few times, gazing out at the sea. “That’s really something.”
She sounds completely sincere, but I’ve heard this same tone on her podcast. It’s the one she deploys when a caller starts rambling or a guest offers off-color comments.
“The auto workshops draw a big female crowd,” I put in. Mason’s proud of the series, and he should be. “Lots of women looking to learn how to fix their own cars. Erika makes it super approachable.”
Mason grins. “Great beer doesn’t hurt.”
Am I the only one noticing Brooke’s looking paler by the minute? “I—think I have plans.”
“No problem.” Mason cocks his head. “I didn’t say which night it was.”
“Thursday,” I say, not taking my eyes off her face. “You don’t have to come.”
“I—I’ll think about it.” Her gaze locks with mine and she swallows. “Actually, no—I should do it.”
“Yeah?” Something going on here. I can read it in her eyes, even if I don’t know all the words.
“Lucy and Hazel plan to go,” I offer. “You can meet up with them if you want.”
“Zoe’s joining them, too.” Mason wipes sweat off his brow. “She registered this morning. I can save a big table just for you guys.”
I watch Brooke’s face, not sure why she looks tormented. She draws a deep breath, her eyes holding mine as she nods.
“Okay,” she says, steeling herself like she’s agreed to climb Mt. Hood in high heels. “I’ll be there.”