Summer Staycation (Summer Lovin’ collection #5)

Chapter 1

One

Beck

When it comes down to it, I just really hate summer.

Everything about it is too much. Too much sun.

Too much heat. Too many tourists. Where others dream of beach days, sunshine, and hours spent lounging in the pool, all I see is sand, sunburns, and wet bathing suits sure to give me a yeast infection.

In other words, if you need me anytime between June and September—don’t.

All that probably makes me sound like a party pooper. To be fair, that is one hundred percent true. Give me a choice between a quiet night in and an exciting night out, and I’ll choose the quiet night in every time.

What can I say? I know who I am, and I, Beck Penrose, am a boring person.

Take, for instance, my coffee order. Every morning when I arrive for work at the marine life center, I stop in at the Tortuga Café on the way to my office and drink the same thing—iced coffee, black.

Every workday for the last two years it’s iced coffee, black, for Beck.

The one time I woke up and told myself I’d branch out and try the coconut coffee frappé, I stepped up to the counter only to find that the barista had already made my usual drink.

It was so sweet of her to think of me that I just didn’t have the heart to tell her that, actually, I wanted to try something different.

Which is how I ended up here: standing in line at the Tortuga Café nearly a year later, mentally preparing to drink yet another iced coffee, black, for Beck, coconut coffee frappé virginity intact.

And then . . . it happens. The man in line ahead of me turns around and asks what I want.

At first, I don’t register the question. For a moment, all I can take in is his appearance. Blue-green eyes. Tousled golden curls that just spill over the tips of his ears. Full lips, a hint of golden stubble on his cheeks. Each individual piece is attractive in its own way.

“I’m not hitting on you,” he adds quickly, probably in response to whatever look I have on my face. “It’s one of those pay-it-forward things.” He nods to the woman paying at the register. “I don’t want to look like a jerk.”

“Oh.” Even though I didn’t think he was hitting on me in the first place, a part of me feels a bit deflated at the clarification. I can’t blame him, though. My blue work polo and khaki shorts and glasses don’t exactly ooze sex appeal. “Really, don’t worry about it,” I tell him.

The woman at the cash register wraps up her transaction, and a look of urgency comes across the man’s face.

“Don’t make me be the person to break the chain,” he pleads. “You have a free out.”

I follow his gaze behind me, and he’s right. I’m the last person in line, and with no one else in sight, it’s unlikely the pay-it-forward burden will be deposited onto my shoulders.

“Please?” he says.

I’m not sure if he really cares that much about buying my coffee, but he clearly wants an answer regardless.

I think about the iced coffee, black, for Beck that is likely already waiting for me behind the cash register, then eye the larger-than-life photo of the coconut coffee frappé on the menu board.

This is my chance to try something new and not risk looking like the bad guy to do it.

“Fine,” I say. “Can I get a coconut coffee frappé, please?”

“You got it.” The man grins at me, then turns around to thank the woman who paid for his drink before placing an order for mine.

When I step out of line, I catch sight of my iced coffee, black, for Beck sweating behind the register. I shuffle over to where the more elaborate drinks come out and, shockingly, only feel a teeny, tiny twinge of guilt.

Take that, boring Beck.