Eric
We dine on a terrace at a restaurant just a couple of miles down the beach from our hotel. I order the freshest sushi I’ve ever had in my life. Alex orders seared salmon because pregnant women aren’t allowed to eat raw fish. But she seems happy, anyway.
Especially when Gunnar texts us both to say that the gift from Tatum is clean. It’s just a fitness band. It doesn’t have evil superpowers.
“I feel like celebrating. What if we walked back?” she asks as I sign the check. “It’s such a nice night, and I spent the day holed up in conference rooms.”
“Sure. Let’s do it.” I don’t think my knee will complain. Much. And I love the beach.
Alex cancels the car that’s waiting for us, and we head down to the shore. The sun is setting, and the tide is going out, so the beach looks like a photo in a travel magazine.
And, fine, it’s the most romantic place I’ve ever been. I’m not the kind of guy who thinks much about romance, but I’d have to be dead not to notice the rosy pink sky and the way the breeze ruffles Alex’s skirt around her bare knees.
She bends down and removes her sandals, dangling them off one finger so she can walk barefoot in the sand. I stop to remove my shoes, as well, and just when I’ve got the first one off, she says: “Last one to that funny palm tree is a stink monster.”
Then she takes off running.
Aw, hell. I haven’t lost a race to Alex in twenty-one years, and I don’t plan to start now.
I take off after her with one shoe on and one off.
My knee complains immediately, but I’m a very competitive man.
And, let’s face it, a hell of an athlete.
I can outrun a girl even while taking it easy on my knee.
Alex squeaks as I gain on her. The leaning palm tree is within reach, so I dive for it like I’m sliding into home plate. “Yes!” I shout from the still-warm sand. “Guess who’s a stink monster?”
With a grumpy noise, Alex kicks some sand onto my bare foot. “Maybe this wasn’t the tree I was referring to.”
“Maybe you should be a better loser.” I remove my other shoe and then climb to my feet. “You still cheat, huh?”
She gives me a cheeky smile. “You’re still smug, huh?”
It’s the smile that does me in, I think.
I step close and, dropping my shoes into the sand, I take her chin.
My kiss is aggressive, but she’s ready for me.
As my lips find her softer ones, she doesn’t hesitate.
She wraps a smooth hand around the back of my neck, tugging me down, giving as good as she gets.
“Fair warning,” I say, pulling away. “When the joking is done and the races are run, we are going to end up naked on one of the many surfaces of our hotel suite.”
“Do I get to pick which one?” she asks, lifting the chin that’s still trapped by my hand.
“Only if you don’t give me any more of your sass,” I whisper.
“Probably not, then,” she says with a shrug.
Yeah. It’s her attitude that makes me so crazy. “I might need two surfaces.”
“Smack talker.” She takes my hand in hers, and we start down the beach.
“Hey, I can deliver. I’m very competent. You don’t know.”
“Uh huh.” Her eyes dart to mine. “You’re so competent you just left your shoes behind in the sand.”
“Aw, shit!” I say, dropping her hand. “Be right back.”
She laughs the entire time it takes me to collect them.
It’s all fun and games until we encounter a fence that partitions the beach. It’s well camouflaged as a rock wall, so we don’t even realize the problem until we’re upon it.
“Uh oh,” Alex says. “Private property?”
I stand up on my toes and peer over the top. “Yup. Someone’s mansion.”
“I guess we’ll have to go around?” she asks, peering toward the road. We can’t even see it from here, though.
“No way. Seriously? What would eleven-year-old Alex have done?”
She laughs. “I don’t know. Scale the wall?”
“Duh.”
Alex looks dubious. “Trespassing is cute when you’re eleven. I don’t know if it’s a good look on me now.”
“We’re not going to break into the actual mansion, Allie. We’re just going to walk on their sand.”
“There could be guards. Or a big, slobbery dog.”
“Slobbery dogs aren’t so bad.” Maybe it’s all this talk of our youth, but my inner thirteen-year-old leans over and licks the side of Alex’s face.
She shrieks and pushes me away.
Ouch, my ears. “Climb the rocks, wild one. Here, I’ll start.” I find a toe hold and lift myself up to peer over the wall. “This mansion is dark. Nobody will notice if we run across.”
“Can’t we just go around?” she asks. “The tide is out.”
“You would say that. You’re not the one wearing long pants.” I jump back down, taking care with my knee. But I follow Alex to the water’s edge, anyway. She’s right—the water is only a foot deep in between waves. She hikes her skirt up a little and wades around the rocks.
I roll up my khakis as best I can, then wade in. A wave soaks my shins immediately. “Shit.”
“Thirteen-year-old Eric wouldn’t care about some wet cuffs,” Alex scoffs. “And since you threw me into the pool earlier, I don’t see how you can complain.”
She’s right, damn it. We wade onto the shore on the other side of the wall. By silent, mutual agreement, we don’t speak as we trespass across somebody’s private stretch of sand. The waves break with a soft rhythm, sending foamy water across our toes.
Alex is on the ocean side, so the next wave hits her first, and she checks her balance for a wobbly second. I grab her hand, even though there’s no danger. When a dog barks in the distance, our eyes meet. “I think he sounds extra slobbery, don’t you?”
“Shut up,” she retorts. Still, she picks up the pace.
I chuckle, wet but giddy. It’s been years since we snuck around on the beach, trespassing without a second thought.
Back then, Alex hadn’t cared what anyone else thought.
In fact, the first time we ditched the tennis instructor to dig up clams and sell them for ice cream money, I was the worrier. “Are we going to get in trouble?”
“No way,” she’d said. “The nanny isn’t paying attention, and the tennis pro already got paid. As long as I turn up for dinner in a clean shirt, no one will ask any questions.”
Nobody is paying attention now, either. We reach the barrier on the far side of the private beach without incident, and this time it’s a low wall of flat stones. “It’s like they’re not even trying to keep us out,” Alex says.
“Right?” We climb over then hop down onto the sand at the same moment. Our hotel is now in view. “Should we get a drink at the outdoor bar?”
“Yes!” she says. “Unless…”
She doesn’t have to finish—I know that she’s worried about running into Jared. “Let me ask Gunnar where he is.”
I have an answer thirty seconds later. “Jared is at a cabaret show in Honolulu. We’re free to go to the bar.”
“Sweet! I wonder if they’ll make me a virgin strawberry margarita.”
“But that’s just…a cup of strawberries and some lime juice?”
“Don’t judge. Look, there’s two open barstools. Oh, heck.” Alex takes off like a shot because another couple is heading for the bar from the opposite direction.
Lord, never get between this woman and a fruity drink. She gets there faster than Usain Bolt, and I jog up a few seconds later.
“Hang on, are you limping?” she asks, patting the stool beside her.
“No,” I lie. “My knee is a little tender, but it’s nothing.”
“Eric.” Her face falls. “Is this my fault?”
“What?” I sit down. “Why would you even think that?”
“Because of…” She looks over both shoulders to make sure nobody is listening. “The door.”
“What?” I’m not following.
“The door. To the suite. Last night, when we came in, you picked me up and…”
I burst out laughing.
“What? I’m a good girl. We don’t finish our sentences when we’re talking about…” She clears her throat.
I die.
“Oh, stop.” She waves down the bartender. “Could you please make me a virgin strawberry margarita?”
“Sure, but…” He frowns. “That’s just, like, a strawberry smoothie.”
“I’ll take it. And he’ll have whatever arrogant people who lose footraces drink.”
I wipe my eyes. “A Big Swell IPA, please.”
“Coming right up.” The bartender grabs his blender and gets busy making Alex’s drink.
“Listen, Engels. You’re not the cause of my knee pain. I’ve been squatting three-fifteen this week because the hotel doesn’t have enough plates for me to go heavier.”
“Three hundred and fifteen? Pounds?” She gapes.
“You know it. So unless you weigh more than that, a little sex up against the hotel room door isn’t going to hurt me.”
“Omigod, lower your voice,” she hisses.
I laugh.
“Excuse me, Ms. Engels?”
We look up to find a tall man in an expensive suit standing beside Alex. He’s about thirty, I guess. East Asian by heritage, or at least partly. He’s a good looking guy, and well dressed. But there’s something slick about him that puts me on my guard. “Can we help you?”
“I’m Xian Smith.” His tone says I should know who that is.
“Hello, Mr. Smith,” Alex says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Although I know her well enough by now to know from her tone that it isn’t, actually, much of a pleasure.
“You’re a busy woman,” he says with a smile. “But I’m still hoping to sit down with you before you leave Hawaii. I only require twenty minutes of your time.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Twice. And something about the timing makes me pull it out and check the message. Take the meeting, it says.
I glance up and spot Gunnar at the end of the bar. He nods once.
“Mr. Smith,” Alex says. “I’m sure you understand my time constraints. There are only so many hours in the day.”
Naturally, the bartender picks that moment to set down our drinks. Alex’s is a red confection that screams leisure time!
She scowls.
“Um, Alex?” I say, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You do have a free half-hour on Saturday.”
Alex’s chin whips in my direction. “Excuse me?”
“We had that cancellation,” I hint. And I casually move my phone where she can see it but Mr. Xian Smith cannot. “See?”
Her eyes dart to the screen and then widen. Then her scowl deepens. “Well, I suppose I could make the time. If I shuffle a couple of things.”