CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“When’s the last time you were out here?”
I have to think hard on that question as I climb out of Jake’s very large, very shiny truck. It’s refreshing—the fact that he doesn’t drive some low-slung, sleek sports car.
Not that I have anything personal against sports cars or anything like that, but sometimes, a girl wants to stretch her legs a little. I’m not very tall, so for me to complain about legroom is saying something.
The sea breeze hits me right in the face, and instantly, all my worries drift away. There’s nothing like a day at the beach to put life back into perspective.
“I wish I could remember,” I admit, pulling a beach tote from the backseat. “It’s been too long.”
“It’s the same for me,” he admits. “I hope the boys can forgive me for not bringing them along, but I wanted to be able to focus on you today.”
I know he’s talking about the dogs, and it warms my heart to know he misses them and feels bad for leaving them at home.
“Next time,” I suggest with a smile, which seems to perk him up.
The boardwalk is packed with people on a beautiful Sunday. No big surprise there, no more of a surprise than the sight of a rainbow of towels and umbrellas on the sand. It’s not even officially summer yet, but the warm weather has everybody wishing it were.
Including me.
Cotton candy, French fries, pizza. So many intoxicating aromas hit me all at once, mixing with the salty sea breeze and the smell of sunscreen.
There’s nothing like the Jersey Shore. It’s like a world of its own.
Kids chase each other around, squealing and screaming.
Teenagers try desperately to look cool as they wander from one store to another—they all sell the same T-shirts, so I don’t get why there are so many versions of the same place.
Older people walk slowly, strolling along and soaking it all in.
I identify most with them, I guess. It’s enough to be out here, to be away from the computer for a little while.
“What do you think?” Jake asks as we step from the boardwalk to the warm sand. “Will this be enough to help clear your head?”
He suggested this excursion when I confessed to being stuck halfway through the book.
I have more than enough scenes plotted out in my head and on the page.
It’s just that I can’t figure out how to get from one point to another.
What do they say, these characters of mine?
How do they feel? What are they trying to get through together?
Sexy times are fine and wonderful, but there has to be a little more meat to make a compelling story.
“I hope so,” I sigh with a weary smile.
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“What, write?” I ask while stumbling around behind him. I never did get the hang of walking gracefully through the sand, and it seems like I keep stepping on little bits of shells.
Jake, on the other hand, strolls along like he owns the entire stretch of beach. What would it be like to have that sort of confidence? And coordination, for that matter? “Yeah. It’s a mystery to me.”
“It’s a mystery to me how you do what you do,” I point out. “I mean, somebody comes into the ER, and you have to diagnose them. What do you do? Type their symptoms into a search bar and look at the results?”
“It’s a little more than that.” He laughs. I’m glad he didn’t take it personally. “But I see what you mean.”
“It takes all types of people to make the world. If we were all good at the same thing, life would be pretty boring, I guess.”
He throws me a grin over his shoulder. “Have I ever told you how interesting you are?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.” He comes to a stop. “This looks like a good spot.”
And it is—with enough space for us to stretch out, close enough to the water that we won’t lose sight of our things if we go in.
I don’t know if the people around us are going to be able to handle themselves once Jake takes off his shirt, however. Already, there are a handful of women—all ages, all sorts—eyeing us from their towels and chairs.
He’s so completely unaffected by it. If there’s anything I’ve learned from him, it’s that devastatingly gorgeous people sometimes don’t know how gorgeous they are.
I’ve always figured in the back of my mind that they were aware and liked to pretend they weren’t.
Even Hayley, as long as I’m being honest. If I were as beautiful as she is, I’d never stop looking in a mirror, but she claims to have no idea why people look at her.
“You wanna go in?” he asks, nodding to the water.
The surf is fairly calm today, no dramatic crashing of waves. Instead of drawing people in though, there are only a smattering of swimmers out there.
“It might be a little too cold still.” I grimace and then giggle. “I have my book. I’m good.”
“Oh, come on.” Darned if he doesn’t pout for good measure. “Don’t let me down. I was hoping I could get you out into the water.”
“Why? Planning on drowning me?”
“No.” He strips off his T-shirt, revealing the body of a living, breathing god.
The sight of him slams into me like a speeding train, leaving me about as wrecked as I would be after getting hit for real. I can’t even think for a second. My brain shuts down.
“N-no?” I whisper. The inside of my mouth is like sandpaper, which is funny since I could swear I’m salivating like one of Jake’s dogs.
“No! Come on. Don’t be a chicken.” He wears a playful smirk as he turns away, trotting down to the water.
Now that his back is turned, the women around me can react openly to the sight of him. I’m pretty sure one of them faints, and another announces to her husband that she wants a divorce.
What am I supposed to do? Let him think I’m a chicken?
“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” I mutter to myself as I take off my flowy cover-up to reveal a simple one-piece.
“Come on!” Jake calls out, already waist deep.
The instant the water hits my toes, I shriek and jump back. “It’s freezing!” I scream.
“Not once you get used to it! Just jump in and let it hit you, and you’ll get over it!” A wave hits him from behind, but he stands there like nothing happened. He’s a brick wall, this guy.
Jump right in. Let it hit me. I’d say it was easy for him to say, but he’s out there. He actually did it. And I wouldn’t mind the excuse to get close to him with practically no clothes on.
Yes, Kitty. Do it for the muscles. You can grab his arms and shoulders and pretend you’re doing it to keep from getting knocked over by the waves. Do it for the muscles.
The water hits me almost as hard as the sight of Jake without his shirt on. It’s much less pleasurable than the sight of him, I can say that much.
Though the shock wears off pretty fast, and after that, the feeling of the water is exhilarating. Just as exhilarating as the feeling of Jake’s arm as he grabs me by the waist and pulls me closer.
“See? Told you! I take an ice-cold shower every day, and I’m still alive.”
“You plunge yourself into icy water every day?” I mean, adventure is one thing, but that seems to border on masochism.
“Yeah!” He dunks himself, leaning his head back so his hair slicks away from his face.
When he straightens up, I could swear he’s moving in slow motion.
Or maybe that’s a sign of my brain breaking down out of sheer overload.
“It’s like the first achievement of my day.
Doing something I really, really don’t wanna do. Living through it.”
“Wait.” I laugh, bobbing up and down in the salty water. “You don’t want to do it, but you do?”
“It’s a way of proving to myself that nothing’s that bad. I can get through anything. Mind over matter, all that stuff.”
He dunks himself again, and this time, he brings me with him. I pop out of the water, sputtering, which makes him laugh.
By the time we stumble out of the water, holding on to each other, my fingers and toes have pruned. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. When was the last time I played? When was the last time I dropped everything in favor of having fun?
I flop back onto the blanket with an ear-to-ear smile. “That was incredible.”
He settles in next to me with a wry grin. “Hmm. You think that was incredible, you oughta see what I’m capable of.”
Yes, I would like to see what he’s capable of. I could’ve seen it before now, if it wasn’t for a certain ex-girlfriend who couldn’t leave well enough alone. The thought of her is like a cloud passing over the sun—it darkens my mood.
And he sees it right away. “I know I screwed up. I’m trying to make it up to you.”
“I know.” And I do. “So, what do you wanna do next? Do you like arcade games?”
“What do you think?” he asks, and that playful smile is back. “I think we should make it a competition. Whoever loses has to do something for the winner.”
“Like what?” Something tells me I know what. He doesn’t need to know I once spent an entire summer doing nothing but playing at the arcade or that my name was at the top of the leaderboard for Skee-Ball three weeks running.
“I’m sure we can come up with something,” he growls, and all of a sudden, I don’t care about playing games.
We could find a nice, cozy truck, and he could bang my brains out inside. The fact that his truck is parked in the lot near the boardwalk just happens to fit my plan nicely.
Though public sex has never been on my list of to-dos, I’m sure Maggie would be delighted if she knew I was even considering this.
We pack things up and leave them in the truck, where Jake is enough of a gentleman to wait outside with his back turned while I change out of my suit and into a sundress. He does the same when I’m finished. Nobody wants to walk around in a damp bathing suit.
“We’ll have to get a room next time,” he announces on climbing out, combing his fingers through his hair. It’s wild and wavy now that he’s been in the ocean, a lion’s mane I’d love to get tangled up in.
Next time. Yes, I can see there being a next time.
We’re halfway down the boardwalk, strolling hand in hand and discussing pizza versus seafood when a scream cuts through the air.
I freeze, my hand tightening around Jake’s. He’s looking around, trying to figure out who’s screaming. Before I know it, he drops my hand and takes off at full speed.
“Help me!” a woman screams while a teenage boy collapses on the boards.
There are a handful of concerned people crowding around now. Jake pushes his way through them while I bring up the rear.
“What happened?” he barks, kneeling by the boy.
“I think he’s choking. I thought he was playing around,” his mother wails, shaking the boy by the shoulders. “Wake up! Come on!”
“Let me,” Jake insists, gently moving her out of the way.
The boy’s skin is turning blue.
My heart’s in my throat. Is he dead?
Jake pulls him up, sitting him upright, and then hauls him to his feet. “Come on. Cough it up,” he mutters while linking his arms around the kid’s waist and jamming his clenched fists against his midsection. Again. Again. “Come on, kid,” Jake grunts.
Finally, the kid coughs, and roughly half a hot dog comes flying out onto the boards. His mom weeps, throwing her arms around both of them while the crowd cheers.
And I faint.