No Strings Attached (Barefoot William Be)

Two


The doorknob clicked and sunlight lit the hallway. Dune Cates was so stunned he was slow to react. Sophie leaving? What the hell?

She had both feet out the door by the time he made his move. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back against him. He had big hands, even for a man. One hand could fully clutch a volleyball. His fingers were long; his palms were wide. His grip tightened as her body twisted and she lost her footing. He set her upright, but not before his fingertips grazed the outer softness of her right breast. She inhaled sharply. Stilled.

He sucked air as well when she slowly turned to face him. She was short and touched him low. Her shoulder brushed his upper abdomen and her hip swiped his thigh, just south of his balls. Her scent made his entire body flex. Vanilla, a hint of baby powder, and inexperienced woman blended with her body heat. Their tight space got very warm, very fast.

His cock stirred. He released her so quickly she hit her funny bone on an aluminum ladder standing nearby. She winced and rubbed her elbow. She frowned at him.

“Sorry,” he muttered. He stared at a bottle of bleach on a high shelf, which took his mind off his erection. Big Word, Little Words. Clorox, he read the label on the bottle. Or, ox, lox, loco. He slowly got his body under control.

Sophie looked up just as he gazed down. Her eyes were wide; her full pink lips were slightly parted. Her expression was shy and unsure. Hopeful and wistful.

He grew uneasy. He’d been around enough women to know that look. Hers was the look of expectation. Expectation often came with a crush. A crush would make Sophie vulnerable.

He couldn’t be absolutely certain she was into him, but he planned to be cautious. She was too sweet, too shy, to get caught up in his chaos. His life was unsettled and he needed to concentrate on his career and not another person.

He had the urge to take a giant step back. To give them both some breathing room. Unfortunately the hallway was cramped and the space was limited. He wore leather sandals and his bare toes now bumped the white rubber tips on her blue-and-green striped Keds. He jammed his hands in his jeans pockets, put on his game face, and forced a calm tone he didn’t feel.

“You agreed to lunch,” he said, watching her closely.

“I thought you’d changed your mind,” she quietly returned.

“Why would you think that?”

“Those women.”

“Which women?” he asked.

“The ones you were talking to.”

“When?”

She looked as confused as he felt. “A few minutes ago.”

“Where?”

“By the magazine rack.”

He finally understood. He’d smiled at the sexy six, then tuned them out. He’d kept one eye on the hallway, on the lookout for Sophie. She was his priority.

The girls had come on strong, but Dune hadn’t weakened. They had extra tickets for an afternoon booze cruise and were looking for hook-up buddies. They wanted to get down and dirty and drink.

Dune was familiar with Tide One On, the luxury ship docked north of Barefoot William. On sunny days the cruiser dropped anchor ten miles off the coast. Those onboard enjoyed food, drink, and music. A small swimming pool on the lower deck cooled and soothed sunburns. A hot tub bubbled and steamed on the upper deck. Swimsuits were optional.

What happened on the Gulf stayed on the Gulf.

It was a wild time.

Mac had shown some interest in the cruise but, in the end, he’d kept his word to Sophie. Mac could always take Dune’s speedboat out to the party yacht later in the day.

He held her gaze now. “What about the women?” he asked.

“They’re tan, beautiful, and”—her voice lowered a little—“fun.”

“You’re not fun?” he asked.

“Not that fun.”

“There’s something to be said for cute and shy,” he said, right before he ruffled her hair.

Sophie blinked. Her face fell and her disappointment showed. His friendly gesture had somehow hurt her feelings. He wasn’t certain what he’d done wrong. Neither did he know how to fix it.

She blew her bangs out of her eyes, then led him down the hallway. She dragged her feet. The rubber on her Keds scuffed the wooden floorboards.

He followed her, his gaze focused on her backside. Her brown hair brushed her shoulder blades, shiny and loose. Her spine was straight. Her ass was shapely. He liked her walk; he found the roll of her hips appealing.

He was slow to look up once they reached Mac. Mac cocked an eyebrow and Dune locked his jaw. Damn, his partner had caught him eyeing Sophie’s butt. Mac’s grin was knowingly evil.

Don’t go there, Dune glared at him.

Mac’s smile only got bigger.

Dune’s neck grew warm.

Mac let him off the hook. He took Sophie by the hand. “I’m starving. Let’s feed me.” He led her down the aisle toward the front door.

The aisle was narrow and the two bumped against each other with each step. Their contact was minimal, yet Dune found it irritating and way too intimate.

Mac continued to hold her hand as they made their way to Molly Malone’s. Dune frowned. They looked like a couple. Sunbathers came off the beach, ready for lunch, and jammed the boardwalk. The crowd forced Dune to fall in step behind Mac and Sophie when he would’ve preferred to walk by her side.

Mac loved women, that was a given. There were three of them going to lunch, yet Mac was turning it into a twosome. His interest in Sophie frustrated Dune, even if it was no more than friendly flirting. Dune couldn’t hear their conversation, but Mac’s easy grin and occasional wink drew Sophie’s soft smile. She relaxed in his company.

A dozen people stopped Dune on his way to the diner, all requesting autographs. He never refused a fan. Sophie and Mac had disappeared by the time he signed baseball caps, volleyballs, and Frisbees.

He looked around when the crowd cleared. Where the hell was Mac? Dune wondered. Mac was a crowd-pleaser, yet today he’d split with Sophie instead of entertaining his fans. Dune didn’t like him sneaking off.

He jogged the rest of the way to the diner. Customers clustered at the door, patiently waiting to be seated. The tables were filled, but three counter stools stood open. Dune watched as Mac guided Sophie to the counter. His hand pressed low on her spine as they wound around the four-tops.

Mac nudged Sophie to the far end, where she took the stool against the wall and he scooted in beside her. Dune crossed the diner and dropped down next to Mac.

“Hey, Dune, welcome home,” his cousin Violet said as she filled water glasses and grabbed napkin-wrapped silverware for her customers. “Give me a sec. I’ll be right with you.”

Dune swiveled his stool and looked about. His Aunt Molly had remodeled. The colors reflected the beach, aqua and sand tones. Blue leather booths replaced the cracked and torn black seats. The light brown tiles were an improvement over the scuffed gray linoleum.

One wall was decorated with restored vintage photographs, each one depicting the growth of Barefoot William. One black-and-white photo showed the original fishing pier under construction. Another pictured the boardwalk with only three shops. In the largest of the photographs, ten big boats were scattered offshore. Commercial fishing had supported the town for fifty years.

Dune’s favorite photo was one of his great-great-great grandfather William Cates, taken on the beach at twilight. A breeze lifted his gray hair off his face and fluttered his white shirt. His pant legs were rolled up as he stood ankle deep in the waves, fishing from the shoreline.

Dune’s ancestors had kept a tight hold on the growth of the town. Family and relatives owned and operated every business and entertainment along the boardwalk and pier. Their roots ran deep.

Only Nicole Archer, owner of The Jewelry Box, wasn’t immediate family. She was involved with his second cousin, Kai. Everyone figured she was close to being a Cates. They would eventually marry.

A busboy cleared off a table near the counter and the clatter of dishes drew Dune back to Sophie and Mac. He noticed Mac leaned into her, conversing quietly so Dune couldn’t quite hear.

Sophie listened, but said very little. Her responses came in a nod or small smile. Mac was charming, and she was being charmed. Son of a bitch.

Dune set his back teeth. It was time to break them up. She was his friend, too. He wanted some time with her. He nudged Mac with his elbow, kept his voice low. “Put Sophie in the middle.”

Mac had the balls to smile. “Like a sandwich?”

Dune ignored him. “Just make the switch.”

Mac shrugged. “She’s not saying much.”

“Maybe she’d rather talk to me.”

“Feeling confident?” his partner challenged.

Not necessarily so. Sophie hadn’t spoken to him since he’d ruffled her hair. “Talk to the wall for a while,” he said.

Mac stood. “Musical stools,” he said to Sophie. “It’s time to switch.”

Her eyes went wide. “You want me in the middle?”

“Kinky, babe.” Mac took hold of her shoulders and slid her next to Dune. “If he bores you, we’ll change back,” he said.

Sophie swiveled toward Dune. One of her knees bumped his thigh. Her color rose. “You’re frowning,” she said, concerned. “Is something wrong?”

“Everything’s fine now,” said Mac as he settled on his stool. “That’s his happy face.”

Dune glared at Mac. For whatever reason, Mac was riding his ass. He held himself in check, not wanting to give himself away. He liked having Sophie next to him. The counter stools were close together and with each sideways shift of their bodies, his denim thigh brushed her silk slacks. They seemed almost attached in the small space.

He made the mistake of shifting too sharply just as she changed positions. It was a moment neither of them could’ve expected or predicted. Her short legs were parted and his knee pushed in. He accidentally kneed her.

Kneed her in the crotch.

The moment was imprinted in time. Jarred toward him, she shivered. Naïve awareness pressed her thighs together which only drew him deeper into her. Her softness held him tight.

His muscles flexed, bunched, knotted. His dick stiffened. He hadn’t bothered with his boxer briefs that morning. The bulge in his jeans stretched long and hard. Zipper tracks now marked his cock.

He winced, and she panicked, nearly falling off her stool. He reached out and steadied her. Her skin felt hot beneath her silk blouse. He saw her nipples pucker.

She dipped her head, looking guilty, unsure, flushed. A woman turned on.

He released her and pulled back. He forced himself to breathe evenly.

They both swiveled their stools to face the counter.

He caught Mac’s odd look over the top of Sophie’s head before his smile broke.

“What are you smiling about?” Dune sharply asked.

“You know what I’m smiling about,” said Mac.

“Wipe it off your face.”

Mac’s smile only got bigger. “Come talk to me and the wall,” he said to Sophie. “We’re more interesting than Dune’s knee.”

Her conversation with Mac didn’t go well. Dune watched as she nervously played with her paper napkin. Her palms were moist and the napkin shredded. She was having a hard time holding it together. Their contact had left her anxious and edgy. Her color was high. She was damn cute when she blushed.

He needed to calm her, as soon as he calmed himself. He ran one hand down his face, went on to stare at the Welcome sign that hung above the cook’s station. Me, we, meow, come, he decoded smaller words from the bigger one.

He finally caught his breath and said, “Shaye mentioned you’re playing volleyball.”

Sophie managed a nod. “Your sister encouraged me to join an indoor league,” she said. “I play for Serve-ivors, a six-woman team. We all have nicknames. Shaye’s known as ‘Spike.’ Your cousin Jenna from the T-shirt shop is ‘Threat.’ Violet is ‘Thumper.’ Eden, who does the old-time photography, is ‘Bam.’ Nicole, the jewelry designer, is ‘Glitz.’ ” She paused, sighed, added, “And I’m known as ‘Knee pads.’ ”

Knee pads. She needed protection when diving for the ball. Dune had played alongside her. She had more heart than coordination.

Mac patted her shoulder. “A nickname shows you’ve arrived, Soph,” he said. “Dune’s been Beach Heat since he first set foot on the pro circuit. It’s tough being so good-looking,” he ribbed his partner.

“You’re Ace-hole.” The corners of her mouth curved slightly. “You have your own promotional T-shirts designed with Kiss My Ace.”

“Love me or hate me, I play to win,” said Mac.

“So do I,” she said with conviction. “I don’t have much to offer my team, but Shaye said I’m improving. We play in the high school gym.”

Dune understood. “No sunburn, no swimsuits.” He’d hate to see her flawless complexion weathered by the sun. She was self-conscious about her body. She preferred clothes to skin.

“I wear a team T-shirt and sweatpants,” she said as she reached for the list of daily specials clipped to the counter-mounted menu holder. “We have a cheering section made up of family and close friends. Everyone offers encouragement no matter how poorly I play.”

“How’s your serve?” asked Mac.

She ran her finger along the laminated edge of the specials, pulled a face. “The ball goes into the net.”

Mac coughed into his hand. “Same as Dune.”

Dune leaned his elbows on the counter, cut Mac a sharp look. “You’re to blame for my two bad serves at Hermosa Beach,” he ground out. “You changed hand signals at the last second. I didn’t have time to make the correction.”

“Slow reaction time, old man.”

“You flipped me the bird with the second signal,” Dune said. “We were lucky to win the set.”

“Won it in overtime,” said Mac. “I hate overtime.”

Violet arrived a moment later, her order pad in hand. “The diner’s been packed all morning,” she said. “Customers are chatty and slow to leave. Molly’s still running the breakfast specials if you’re interested.”

“Go ahead, Sophie.” Dune let her go first.

She glanced at the specials and was quick to decide. “Belgian waffle and apple juice,” she said.

“Double cheese-bacon-chili burger,” Mac said, preferring lunch. “Onion rings, slaw, macaroni salad, and a vanilla milk shake.”

Violet wrote quickly. “You eat your weight in food.”

“Be nice to me, Vi, and Dune will leave you a big tip.”

Dune rolled his eyes. He always tipped big. His aunt owned the diner and Violet was his cousin. He’d tip the price of the meal, maybe more.

Dune went with his favorite. “Turkey sub, sweet potato fries, and a root beer.”

Violet left to turn in their order. Dune searched for something to say. He needed a topic to draw Sophie out. “How’s the job fair going?” he finally asked her. “Shaye mentioned you’re working your way down our boardwalk.”

She clasped her hands in her lap, then looked at him over the rim of her reading glasses. “I started out at Old Tyme Portraits,” she said. “Photography wasn’t my niche. Eden kept me around longer than I deserved. The job wasn’t tough. I just didn’t do well.”

“What happened?” Dune wanted to know.

She released a soft breath. “Customers would stand behind life-size cardboard cutouts with only their faces showing above vintage swimwear and I’d take their picture. None of my photos were in focus. I cut off their heads.”

“Better than cutting off their—” Mac began.

Dune glared and Mac swallowed his last word.

Sophie paused, thoughtful, “I’ve been at Crabby Abby’s for two weeks and I’m ready to move on. Abby’s been great, but—“

“You want to do more than wipe down shelves and ring up sales,” Dune said, reading her mind. Shaye had revealed that Sophie was book smart, but had little life experience. She would excel in the right position.

“The boardwalk offers a lot of career choices.” Sophie sounded hopeful. “Some are serious and others fun.”

“What’s next for you?” asked Mac.

“Either stilt walker, unicyclist, or pogo stick jumper.”

Mac had no tact. He laughed so hard he choked. “You’re kidding us, right?” He gasped for breath.

“Not a joke.” She looked worried. “Should I pat him on the back?” she asked Dune.

Dune shook his head. “Let him choke.”

“Sorry, Soph,” Mac wheezed. “You surprised me, that’s all. I didn’t take you for a daredevil. Be sure to wear wrist and shin guards and knee and elbow pads.”

“Already purchased,” she assured him. “I may be clumsy, but I’m seeking adventure. While I don’t plan to go near the ocean, I want the full boardwalk experience.”

Mac patted his butt cheek, said, “The seat on a unicycle is really narrow and small. It will split your—”

Dune stopped him with a hard look.

Sophie dipped her head. “I’ll manage.”

“Stilts will make you taller than Dune,” Mac added.

A whole lot taller, Dune thought. His palms began to sweat. Bold and daring would cause her a lot of bruises and possibly a broken bone.

“All three skills take a lot of practice,” he said from experience.

The tourists enjoyed watching the stilt walkers, unicyclists, and pogo stick jumpers. The novelty performances drew big tips. He’d attempted and adapted quickly to all three skills as a teenager. Each talent required perfect timing and balance. Sophie had neither. Put her on a pogo stick and she’d be spring-loaded. Who knew where she’d bounce? Dune hated the thought of her taking chances.

“You could be a mime,” Mac suggested. “You’re shy and wouldn’t have to talk.”

“I want out of the box,” said Sophie.

Dune rubbed his brow. He felt protective toward her. He needed to discourage her without hurting her feelings. “A Beach Branch of the Chamber of Commerce recently opened next to Goody Gumdrops,” he said. “You could work Reception.”

Stick her behind a desk. His suggestion didn’t sit well with Sophie Saunders. She appreciated his concern, but refused to be discouraged. Pigeonholed in an office sharing travel tips and passing out promotional flyers wasn’t as exciting as trying to unicycle, jump on a pogo stick, or walk on stilts.

This was her summer to step outside her shadow.

She hadn’t told anyone that she had a training session scheduled with Rick Cates that very afternoon. He was the best unicyclist on the boardwalk. Rick was Dune’s third cousin. They were to meet at a reserved employee parking lot south of the boardwalk for her first lesson.

Rick belonged to a uni-troupe of ten performers. He rode a six-foot high “giraffe.” He knew numerous tricks and stunts. He was a crowd-pleaser. Sophie had watched him spin in circles, juggle orange tennis balls, and bounce the single tire three feet off the ground. He had circus talent.

She, on the other hand, would be lucky to ride a straight line on a much shorter cycle. She was tentative, yet up for the challenge. It would be new, exciting, fun.

Their lunches arrived a moment later. Violet set Sophie’s plate down first. “Enjoy.” Vi winked at her.

Dune and Mac both eyed her food.

Mac couldn’t contain his grin.

“What are you smiling about?” asked Dune.

“You know what I’m smiling about,” said Mac. “Our Sophie’s into whipped cream.”

She loved whipped cream. The homemade topping was her downfall. Vi had been generous. The sliced strawberries and bananas were special little extras. Violet took good care of her volleyball teammates.

Mac curved his arm about Sophie’s shoulders, then said, “That’s foreplay on your plate.”

A magazine article she’d recently read agreed with Mac. According to “Finger Food for the Bedroom,” whipped cream scored high for teasing and tasting. The thought of licking the topping off a lover made her blush.

Her cheeks grew as heated as Dune’s gaze. She watched him watching her. She swore he could read her mind. She self-consciously licked her lips.

He lowered his voice, then asked, “Taste good?”

She hadn’t taken a bite.

Mac saved her from herself. “Want to make out?” he whispered near her ear. He dipped the tip of his finger in the whipped cream and traced her lips. He leaned in for a kiss, but she held him off with a hand to his chest. He laughed, snuck a strawberry, then eased back.

“Such a sweet mouth,” he said ruefully. “If I tasted you, I’d like you. Way too much.”

She didn’t believe him for a second. Mac’s relationships were short, hot, unemotional. He’d kiss her and walk away. She quickly wiped her mouth with a napkin.

Dune shifted beside her. He appeared tense. His gaze was dark and his frown deepened. He sprinkled sea salt on his sweet potato fries, then proceeded to eat in silence.

Sophie went still. What had just happened? Dune was ticked and Mac was trying not to smile. She shook her head. She didn’t understand. Mac was incorrigible and she knew never to take him seriously. So why had Dune? She didn’t know what to say to make things better, so she picked up her knife and fork and cut into her waffle.

“Back to the wall.” Mac swiveled right. A short time later, he flagged down Violet and ordered a second burger with extra chili.

“Chew your food,” Sophie told him as he polished off the last of his onion rings. “Your stomach doesn’t have teeth.”

“Parental advice,” said Mac. “You don’t look like my mother. You’re more of a—“

“A friend,” Dune said from the corner of his mouth.

“Could go further,” said Mac.

“Not on my watch,” said Dune.

Mac’s grin was easy, as if he was quite pleased with himself. He let the conversation go.

Sophie was halfway through her waffle when Dune turned her way. She’d taken a bite of strawberry and whipped cream when his gaze settled on her lips. She slowly chewed, biting her tongue twice. She could barely swallow. The food settled like a lump in her stomach.

She went to wipe her mouth, only to have her napkin slip off her lap. Dune passed her another from the napkin holder. Their arms brushed; a reminder of his solidness and strength and her need to firm up. She didn’t get much exercise beyond volleyball.

“What are you plans for the afternoon?” he asked her.

She didn’t want to worry him or have him think poorly of her. He’d shot down her ideas, which she still planned to explore. “I’m going to visit store owners,” she said, and meant it. She’d check out the shops after her session with Rick. “I need to invest my time wisely. I’m thinking Goody Gumdrops.” Shaye’s penny candy store. “Or Three Shirts to the Wind.” A popular T-shirt shop.

“Don’t forget the Chamber of Commerce,” Dune added.

Last on her list. “I’ll stop by.” She would poke her head in the door. That way she could honestly say she’d been there. She gave him a small smile, then asked, “How about you, lots to do?”

“I need to stop at Pet Outfitters and buy some dog toys for Ghost.”

She blinked. “Ghost?”

“My Weimaraner,” he explained. “I have a beach house in Malibu, but I’ve yet to buy a home in Barefoot William. My mother’s allergic to fur, so we stay with my grandfather when I’m in town. Mac snuck in the back door and claimed a guest room, too.”

“Where does your grandfather live?” Sophie asked, curious.

“Frank lives in a stilt house on lots of acreage,” Dune said. He grinned. “He has a long list of repairs lined up for me to do. Today I’ll replace the broken boards on the porch.”

Mac sucked the last of his vanilla shake through the straw. Sucked it loudly. “Beware of the nail gun, dude,” he said. “I remember—”

“No, you don’t.” Dune stopped him short. “He has a lousy memory.”

“I’ve got total recall,” said Mac. “You shot yourself in the foot and required twelve stitches.”

Dune shrugged. “Small scar.”

“Should anyone care about my whereabouts,” Mac continued, “I’m headed to Three Shirts to buy a change of clothes. Then I’ll be borrowing Dune’s speedboat to locate Tide One On. I’m going to play.”

“You’ve got six willing playmates,” said Dune.

Mac nodded. “Odds are good.”

Violet brought his second burger. Mac dug in. Sophie nudged him, making sure he chewed. She was fond of Mac. She admired the way he lived life, always self-assured and at a dead run. His humor and arrogance would appeal to many women. Just not to her.

She preferred all that was Dune. He was mature, stable, and evaluated his next move. He had both feet on the ground. Levelheaded worked for her.

“Do you have room for dessert?” Violet offered once Mac finished his burger and she cleared away their dishes.

Mac stood up, stretched, rubbed his stomach, then dropped back on his stool. He went with Key Lime pie.

“One slice or two?” Vi knew him well.

“I’ll start with one.”

Dune and Sophie passed on dessert. They were both full. Sophie didn’t want to weigh herself down. She was about to unicycle.

“You’ll sink like an anchor if you swim this afternoon,” she warned Mac.

“There’ll be all kinds of floaties in the pool,” he assured her.

She understood. Mac would never drown. The buoy-breasted women from Crabby Abby’s would keep him afloat.

Mac finished his pie and the busboy removed his empty plate. The boy was young and in a hurry. He backed into Violet just as she set down a large glass of tomato juice before the customer seated on Dune’s left. Vi jerked and the glass tipped. Tomato juice spilled on the counter.

Dune was quick. He leaned back, avoiding the spill. He made a grab for Sophie’s arm, but he was a second too late.

She, unfortunately, bore the stain. Her forearms rested on the Formica and one sleeve of her silk blouse absorbed every last bit of the tomato juice.

“Ah, crap.” The boy looked horrified.

Violet peeled off a handful of napkins from the holder, then went to the soda fountain and pressed club soda. Dampening the napkins, she dabbed the seltzer on Sophie’s sleeve. The stain began to fade.

“We’ll pay for the cleaning bill,” Vi was quick to say. “Chuck is my older sister’s son. Lisa is a single mom. I’m watching him while Lisa looks for work. Molly agreed to let him help out today. He’s twelve, always in a rush, and needs to slow down.”

Violet glanced toward the kitchen, kept her voice low. “Chuck started out in the back this morning, washing dishes. He broke so many plates that Molly was forced to order a new case. He got moved to the fryers and burned batches of french fries. Now in the dining room, he bumps into me and a glass of tomato juice spills, soaking your sleeve. He figures the faster he works, the quicker the day will pass. He plays Sandlot Softball and has a big tournament this weekend. He plays shortstop and is coordinated on the diamond, but in the diner, not so much.”

“I’m clumsy, too,” Sophie said softly. She shook her sleeve. The material was damp, but no real damage was done. Accidents happened. She’d had more than her fair share.

Chuck’s shoulders slumped. “Here comes Molly,” he said as the owner of the diner pushed through the kitchen door.

“Dune, Sophie, Mac,” Molly greeted them warmly. “I heard you were here.” Her short hair was frizzy and her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the stove. She was plump; a true testament to her home cooking and generous portions.

Molly glanced from the red-streaked counter to the pile of soggy napkins, then to Sophie’s wet sleeve. “Do I dare ask?” she groaned.

Chuck shifted behind the counter, uneasy and expecting to be fired. Sophie couldn’t allow that to happen. She felt bad for the boy. “I distracted Chuck,” she said.

Dune eyed her with as much surprise as now showed on Violet’s face. Mac’s lips twitched. He was amused.

Molly looked skeptical. “How’d you distract him?” she asked.

“She was flirting with the boy,” said Mac.

Sophie elbowed him in the side. “He’s twelve.”

“Sophie mentioned a job,” Dune said casually.

“A job away from the diner?” Molly looked hopeful.

Sophie touched Dune lightly on his arm, appreciative of his thought. She ran with his idea. “My gardener could use an assistant for a week or two. Lawn maintenance is hard work. It’s hot outside and I’d pay Chuck well.”

“Pay me?” The boy’s jaw dropped. “How much?”

She had no knowledge of pay scales. She took a guess. “Twenty dollars an hour.”

Conversations stilled around them. Customers looked her way. She blushed. “Too low?” she asked, afraid she’d insulted Chuck.

“Too high by at least ten dollars,” said Dune.

“When can I start?” Chuck sounded excited.

Sophie would discuss the boy with her gardener later in the day. “Tomorrow,” she said, “nine to two.”

“Do I get weekends off?” Chuck hesitantly asked.

“I wouldn’t want you to miss your tournament,” she said.

“I’ll buy you a bag of popcorn anytime you attend a game,” the boy told her.

Sophie liked popcorn. “We’ve got a deal then.”

“Why don’t you take the remainder of the day off,” Molly suggested, “and rest up for work tomorrow?”

Violet glanced at her watch. “Your mom should be home in an hour. Clear the remainder of the tables; then you can cut out.” She reached in her apron pocket, slipped him three dollars. “Stop for ice cream, two scoops max.”

The boy turned to Molly. “Can I use you for a job reference?” he boldly asked.

“You’ve only been here five hours.”

Chuck shrugged, then took off to bus the dirty tables.

“Thank you, Sophie.” Molly patted her on the shoulder. “I owe you a free piece of pie.”

“Way to go,” Dune said to her when the counter area cleared. “You made both Chuck and Molly very happy.”

She warmed to his compliment.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

She was ready for her unicycle lesson.

Dune paid the bill and left a sizeable tip. Violet walked them to the door. She went on tiptoe and kissed Dune on the cheek, then pushed Mac out the door. “I appreciate what you’re doing for Chuck,” she whispered to Sophie. “See you at volleyball practice.”

Back on the boardwalk, Mac was quick to part ways. “I’m off.” He dropped a kiss on Sophie’s forehead. “I’ll be at the Blue Coconut later tonight if you want to catch up,” he told Dune. He left for the T-shirt shop; a change of clothes was his top priority.

Sophie wondered if Dune would show, and if so, who he would take home. With his looks and popularity, he would draw a lot of attention from the women. The thought depressed her just enough for him to notice.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m gathering my courage to meet with the shop owners,” she said. Rick didn’t own a store. He was considered boardwalk entertainment.

“You’ll do fine,” he encouraged her. “Don’t be shy. Speak up for what you want.”

She’d like Dune in her life. Even for a little while. She wanted to get to know him personally, not learn about him through his sister Shaye. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him so. Maybe someday.

“Take care, Sophie,” he said.

She waited for him to ruffle her hair, but he didn’t this time. Instead he gave her a friendly pat on the back and sent her on her way. She’d taken six steps before she turned slightly, in hopes of catching him walk away. She wanted to check out his backside. She squinted against the sun.

To her surprise she found him leaning against the bright blue pipe railing, his gaze on her. There was an intensity and thoroughness to his stare. Unnerved, she tripped and stumbled into the cinnamon churro cart. She’d never felt more awkward.

Collecting herself, she apologized for the mishap, then bought a bag of churros from the cart owner. She had no intention of eating the sugary fried dough sticks. She was full from lunch. Instead she’d give them to Rick. He was a teenager who burned a lot of calories.

She was afraid to look back a second time, so she took off for the employee parking lot. The boardwalk was long and crowded. She didn’t do well around a lot of people. Crowds made her nervous. She stuck close to the multicolored storefronts. Her heart was pounding by the time she reached Rick.

She found him lounging on a beach chair at the base of a queen palm. A unicycle lay on the grass beside him. The lot was shaded and almost empty. She planned to avoid the three vehicles and the vintage Harley.

Rick rose and greeted her with a high five. He accepted the churros with a smile. He was younger than Sophie, but with the start of his beard, he looked her age easily. He wore a Tampa Bay Rays baseball cap, white T-shirt, sweatpants, and high-top sneakers. “You showed,” he said.

“Did you doubt me?”

He shook his head. “You look delicate, but determined.”

“I plan to go the distance.”

“Let’s do it,” Rick said. He pulled a black nylon athletic bag from behind his chair and unzipped it. He shoved the churros in a side pocket, then passed Sophie the protective gear she’d purchased several days ago and left with him.

She dropped her purse by his athletic bag and he assisted her with her wrist and shin guards, then her knee and elbow pads. A pair of short leather gloves, too. Rick placed a small helmet on her head, then hefted the unicycle off the ground.

“This isn’t hard,” Rick assured her. “Don’t be nervous and tense up on me. Exhale, Sophie.”

She could barely breathe.

He started her lesson. Riding a unicycle was more complicated than she’d imagined. Once he finished his instructions, he held the cycle upright. She stood on tiptoe, gave a little hop, and scooted onto the seat. Only to slide right off.

The mounting took a good twenty minutes. Balance was not her friend. Her feet slipped on and off the platform pedals. She fell twice. The cement had no bounce. She’d be bruised tomorrow.

She finally settled on the very narrow, very uncomfortable seat and Rick moved to stand before her. He straddled the tire and she gripped his shoulders. Her fingers curled into his T-shirt in a death grip.

“A little hip action,” he encouraged her. “Slowly rock back and forth. Think sex, Sophie. Feel the motion.”

Sex was not a good reference for her. Her hips felt stiff and rusty. Like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz.

Rick gave her plenty of time. “Looking good, girl,” he praised her. “You can let go of my shirt now.”

She shook her head. She wasn’t ready to release him.

He made the decision for her by rolling his shoulders. “Extend your arms to the side,” he instructed.

Her arms went straight as airplane wings, while her knees knocked against the frame. Her body was shaking from the inside out.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Remember what I’ve taught you. Lean your upper body toward me and pedal.”

She bit down on her bottom lip as Rick eased back a step, just beyond her reach. “I can’t do this.” Her voice sounded shrill, even to her own ears.

“Yes, you can,” Rick said. “Breathe, Sophie.”

She inhaled so sharply that the sudden rise of her chest threw her shoulders back. The unicycle began to roll—

Backward.

“Whoa, wrong direction, babe,” he called after her.

Panic seized her. She was pedaling away from him and she couldn’t stop herself. Her legs were on automatic pilot. She was picking up speed, wobbly and swerving. Her reading glasses slipped down her nose.

“Hit the brakes,” shouted Rick as he jogged after her.

She was afraid to stop pedaling. A sudden stop and she’d wipe out. Falling was not to her liking. She had no idea what was behind her. Or what she was about to hit.

“What the hell?” Dune’s deep angry voice rose from the sidewalk.

Sophie caught both the man and the motorcycle from the corner of her eye. She was circling toward them. The look on Dune’s face could’ve flattened the tire on her unicycle. He was that mad.

Dune dropped the bag he was carrying and sprinted toward her. His long legs ate up the distance. He had almost reached her when Sophie tipped left. The pavement rose to meet her.

Dune grabbed her before she kissed the cement. He wrapped his arm about her waist and lifted her off the seat. The cycle rolled several feet and fell over.

Rick caught up to the two of them. “Riding backward is twice as hard as going forward.” He applauded her. “You’re a natural, Sophie.”

Her talent was the last thing on her mind. What struck her first was how tight Dune held her. He was squeezing the life out of her. Her breasts pressed against his chest and their hip bones bumped. Her feet dangled six inches off the ground.

She flattened her hand over his heart and felt it race against her palm. The beat was far too fast for the short distance he’d run. She wiggled her toes, wanting to stand. He released her so quickly she staggered backward. Rick steadied her.

Anger narrowed Dune’s eyes and his nostrils flared. “This isn’t the Chamber of Commerce,” he stated.

No, it was not, Sophie silently agreed.

“What were you thinking?” he asked her, only to turn on Rick before she could answer. “You put her in danger,” he accused.

Sophie removed her helmet. Her hands shook as she slid her glasses up her nose. Her legs barely supported her. “Unicycling was my idea,” she managed. “I asked Rick to teach me. It’s all part of my boardwalk experience.”

“The sport is safe if you take it slow,” said Rick.

“Slow?” Dune crossed his arms over his chest, then looked down on them both. “She was riding a runaway unicycle in reverse.”

“She didn’t fall,” Rick said, making his case.

“Because I got to her first.”

Rick shot Dune an odd look. “What are you, her keeper?” he asked. “I would’ve caught her before she hit your Harley.”

His motorcycle. Sophie now understood Dune’s anger. His concern lay with his bike and not with her. She’d come within five feet of hitting his prized possession. She doubted Rick would’ve reached her in time, no matter his assurance.

“The lesson’s over,” Dune said to his cousin.

Rick was about to object, but the look in Dune’s eyes moved him along. Rick retrieved the package Dune had dropped and tossed it to him. He then picked up the unicycle and walked Sophie back to his beach chair. She removed her protective pads and he packed it all up along with her helmet. She grabbed her shoulder bag.

“Later,” Rick said as he set the chair, unicycle, and gear in the back of his pickup truck. He waved as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Sophie wasn’t sure what to do or say next. The moment was awkward. Her shyness tied her stomach in knots. She hadn’t meant to deceive Dune. She’d merely cut the corners off the truth. He was looking at her now as if she’d lost her mind.

“Don’t be mad at me,” she said softly.

His jaw worked. “I’m not mad, merely concerned. You made my heart race.”

“You were afraid for me?” That surprised her. “I thought you were worried about your motorcycle.”

“Harleys don’t bleed when they fall over.”

She hadn’t meant to cause him alarm, but she liked the fact he’d agonized over her, even a little.

“I’m klutzy and chances are always good that I’ll scrape a knee or twist my ankle.” She gathered a breath. “Tomorrow I walk on stilts.”

He frowned. “It’s safer to join a corner street band and shake a tambourine. Maybe drive a pedal cab or draw caricature portraits.”

“I don’t want safe,” she said, speaking from her heart. “I’ve always been quiet, fearful, invisible Sophie. This is my summer. I want adventure. It’s time to discover me.”

He turned introspective. His brow creased, then eventually smoothed. He stared at her for a full minute before asking, “Ever ridden a Harley?”

Excitement gripped her. “Never.”

“It’s a rush.”

“Adrenaline is my middle name.”

Dune smiled. “I have an extra helmet,” he told her. “Hop on and I’ll give you a ride home.”

She went for it. “Twelve-thirteen Saunders Way.”





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