1. Prologue #2
Breakers Bar and Grill, set right on the beach in Beachside, is perfect as always tonight. My brothers and I fell in love with the place from the moment we stepped foot in this town, and we've been Mack Rogers' best customers ever since.
From here, I can see the whole bar in all it's glory.
The massive garage doors open right onto the beach, letting in the sunset and the constant, soothing roar of the crashing waves. String lights are already glowing, and the smell of grilled burgers and fries mixes with coconut sunscreen and salt.
This is the whole fucking point that corporate assholes like Colin Holden don't understand.
I came to Beachside for this.
Mack slides another bottle my way, his tattooed arms moving with the economy of a man who’s poured a million drinks. “So he really thinks the team will fold if you don't start winning?”
"Yep." Mason sinks his last dart, winning the round, and turns back to the bar. “League’s talking about options for the franchise if we don’t make some improvements.”
A beat of silence hangs, filled only by the distant shriek of a gull on the boardwalk.
“Shit.” Mack looks out at the beach, then back at us, his gaze settling on me.
“You know… I wasn’t sure about the whole hockey thing in this town.
But since you gorillas started drinking here?
” He gestures around the bustling bar. “My revenue’s tripled.
The town’s different now, you know. It's alive again. Like the good ol' days.”
“See?” Beck spreads his arms, nearly knocking over his beer. “We’re a public service. A cultural enrichment. They should be giving us a tax break, not a lecture.”
“A public service,” Mack grumbles, grabbing the next glass to polish with a roll of his eyes. “Right. And that beachfront McMansion you’re squatting in? That’s just community outreach.”
“We pay rent,” Mason points out, ever the reasonable one. "Sort of."
Beck nods and clicks his fingers at Mason, “and we keep Diego employed. Man’s the best housekeeper south of the border.”
I shoot him a blank look. “Diego’s from Florida, you idiot.”
“Even better! We've imported talent to the region.” Beck’s smile is pure chaos. “Point is, we’re an economic stimulus for this town. A very handsome, very talented economic stimulus.”
Mack chuckles. “You Morrison boys. Never a dull moment when you're around.”
He moves off to serve a group of surfers dripping saltwater onto his floor, and I let his words sit as Mason sets up a new game on the dartboard.
Mack’s not wrong.
Beachside has its own pulse, and right now, mine is synced to it.
The easy lifestyle. The lack of pressure. The knowledge that my biggest concern today is whether to order the fish tacos or the burger.
I can't lose what I've got here.
But maybe that’s the problem.
A restless energy hums under my skin, left over from that goddamn meeting.
I hate being told what to do. Ever since I was younger, and me and my older sister would keep the house running while my parents walked around pretending to be happy, all while being so fucking miserable they could barely keep our family functioning.
Fuck.
I haven't felt like this in a long time.
I need to burn it off.
I need—
My train of thought derails because the woman who just walked in has pulled the attention of every man in the whole fucking bar.
"Whoa," Beck whispers a little too loudly, eyes popping from his skull as he stares across the room.
She’s standing just inside the doorway, blinking down at her phone like her GPS led her into a dragon’s den instead of a beach bar.
She’s all wrong for this place, and that’s what makes her so fucking right for how I'm feeling right now.
She's wearing a short, flirty skirt that shows off miles of smooth, pale leg. Legs that clearly haven’t seen a Beachside sunset, yet are still somehow irresistibly sexy.
My body goes taut, every instinct zeroing in at her yellow top with a neckline that dips just enough to hint at the perfect swell of her breasts. She has honey-brown hair dancing around her shoulders, catching the breeze like she’s standing in her own personal spotlight.
She’s gorgeous. And not in the trying-too-hard way of the women who usually hover around the team.
Fuck, I need to release tonight. I need her.
I need to pin those smooth legs over my shoulders. I need the sweat, the friction, the desperate, mindless fuck that blots out Colin Holden’s sweating face and the pressure of leading a failing franchise.
She looks like she could take it. She looks like she might even beg for it.
“Dude, you seeing this girl?” Beck breathes beside me, following my gaze. “Hello, welcome distraction.”
Mason turns, and I see the same assessment flash in his eyes. “Think she's a tourist?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Beck says, sliding off his stool and straightening his shirt. “I call dibs. It’s my turn. You got the blonde last week, Mase.”
“Fuck off. You had sex last night,” Mason argues, puffing his chest out.
“I. Said. Dibs.” Beck stamps his foot.
Mason shoves his chest. “You lost your privileges.”
I watch them like the proud father we never really had. My brothers always fight and I never get involved.
Why? Because I get my way anyway.
“Both of you shut the fuck up and sit down.” I take a long pull of my beer, my eyes never leaving her.
Beck freezes. “What?”
Mason looks at me, then back at the woman, understanding dawning. “Oh, come on, Dec… Not again.”
“Eldest brother privilege,” I say, the corner of my mouth lifting. It’s a bullshit rule we made up when we were teenagers, and it only applies when I decide it does.
“You’re not even the eldest! Zoey’s the eldest!” Beck scoffs.
“Eldest brother,” I clarify, my gaze still locked on the woman as she finally tucks her phone away and looks around, those bright green eyes scanning the room.
“And I’m the captain. So shut up. She’s mine.”
I don’t wait for their bickering response as I push off the bar, my body moving with a purpose I haven’t felt all day.
The energy and frustration of that goddamn meeting has a target now.
And that target has a tight little body ready to devour.
I cut through the crowd, my size making a path without me having to try. She’s still standing near the door, looking a little lost, and when I stop in front of her, she has to tilt her head up to meet my eyes.
“You look lost,” I say, swallowing hard.
She blinks up at me, and fuck. Up close, she’s even hotter.
Freckles dust her nose and her lips are so full and glossy I can practically see myself staring.
“Is it that obvious?” she says, her voice soft and sweet.
“The phone stare is a dead giveaway. That, and you’re the only person in here without a tan.”
She laughs, and the sound does things to me. “Guilty. Just got into town. My… directions from the hotel were a little optimistic about how ‘right on the beach’ this place is.”
Hotel? Perfect. A tourist.
“It’s Beachside. Everything’s optimistic here.” I nod toward the bar. “First drink’s on me. Consider it a welcome to paradise.”
She studies me, her gaze traveling over my face, my shoulders, down my chest and back up. There’s no shyness in it. Just the same interest I'm used to getting from women at the bar.
“That’s a very forward welcome,” she says, but she takes a step toward the bar anyway, leading the way.
I fall into step beside her, leaning my forearms on the bar and waving Mack down. “What’s your poison?”
"Surprise me," she says confidently, but her fingers are twisting the hem of her skirt.
A grin spreads across my face. “I can do that.”
Mack ambles over, slinging a towel over his shoulder and raising a brow at the new girl at my side. "What'll it be, Cap?"
I don't take my eyes off her. "Two Sex on the Beach cocktails, Mack."
Her cheeks flush a shade of pink I want to put my mouth on.
"Christ." Mack groans, reaching for the vodka. "You couldn't just order the poor girl a beer like a normal person?"
He serves our drinks, and soon, time becomes a blur of cold drinks, her flirty laughter, and the way she keeps brushing her knee against mine under the high-top table.
"So," she says, swirling the little paper umbrella through her drink. "What does a forward guy do when he's not buying drinks for lost women at bars?"
I take a slow sip of my own cocktail, watching the way her tongue darts out to catch a drop of peach schnapps from her lip. "Depends. What does a lost tourist do when she's not getting bad directions?"