All Summer Long (Fool's Gold #9)

She glared at him. “Have you been taking yoga? Is this crazy yoga talk?”


“Trust me. You’ll like it. All of it. That’s the point. To get you to where you can relax and enjoy. It’s not going to happen in an afternoon.”

Words to make her chest feel tight and maybe a little tingly.

She glanced behind her. No one was in the bay, but that didn’t mean her friends weren’t paying attention to Charlie and her visitor.

“We probably shouldn’t discuss this here,” she said.

“No problem. You’re off tomorrow?”

She nodded.

“I’ll come by in the morning. We can work on your schedule then.”

She had a brief impression of notations on her calendar. September 3, 3:00 p.m. Clay gets to first base.

“Shift change is at seven.” She thought about telling him that sometimes she stopped for coffee or breakfast and didn’t get to her house until eight, but that seemed like too much information.

“See you tomorrow, then,” he said.

He gave her a wave, then walked away. She allowed herself a couple of minutes to appreciate the view, taking in his very fine butt. She’d seen it plenty in pictures and in movies, but it was better in person. Just think, one day she would see it naked. Maybe even touch it. Having sex meant—

She came up against a mental wall and slammed right into it as reality took an unexpected turn. She and Clay were going to have sex. She’d asked him to do that with her. But what she hadn’t considered was his part in all that. As in he would take his clothes off.

She was about to have the world’s best-looking male model naked in her bed. What on earth had she been thinking? She wasn’t beautiful or even pretty. She was too tall and too strong and not the least bit girlie. She didn’t own any hair products or know how to do makeup. She’d never owned a curling iron. There were exactly two dresses in her closet and she would rather be gut-shot than wear a thong.

Talk about a disaster.

She couldn’t do it, she realized. She couldn’t go through with it. She needed a different type of man. One who was a few degrees closer to normal, and possibly desperate enough to be grateful. Now she was going to have to figure out how to tell Clay that he’d just been fired.

* * *

CLAY SAT ON Charlie’s front porch steps and checked his watch. With shift change at seven, and Fool’s Gold’s nonexistent rush hour, she should be home any minute.

He’d stopped by Ambrosia’s Bakery on his way over. He’d picked up an assortment of Danish, along with the coffee. He was comfortable bribing her with sugar as well as caffeine.

He’d been doing some reading on what rape victims went through as they recovered and the road to what Charlie would call normal wasn’t always easy or straight. Partners were advised to be patient and pay attention to signals. He was willing to do both.

Right on time, her truck came into view. She drove into her small garage, then closed the door and stepped out the side door. She walked across the lawn and paused at the bottom of the steps.

She looked a little tired. He wondered if there had been a lot of calls in the night. Other than the dark circles, she was her usual slightly wary self. Her short hair stuck up at a couple of odd angles, as if she hadn’t combed it since getting out of bed. Her face was bare, the skin smooth. She still wore her dark blue uniform and steel-toed boots.

But he saw past that to the feminine curves she hid behind shapeless clothes. He was sure she no longer thought about consciously being androgynous. That her style had evolved, first out of fear and then because it was what she did. Comfort mattered more than fashion to Charlie.

But beneath the baggy and shapeless attire was an impressively honed body. He’d seen her in shorts and a T-shirt during the volunteer workouts and he’d been impressed.

“You’re here early,” she said.

“I brought coffee.” He held out the covered container. “And Danish.”

She smiled. “Wanted to make sure I invited you in?”

“Something like that.”

“Smart man.” Her mouth twisted. “But I can’t accept them.”

“They’re pastries, Charlie. Not an engagement ring.”

Her shoulders squared and her chin came up. He recognized the body language. She was getting ready to do something unpleasant. He was a little surprised. He hadn’t thought she’d get scared so fast.

“I can’t do this,” she told him.

“Have coffee and Danish?”

She drew in a breath. “No. The sex thing.” She glanced to the side, then at the ground, before returning her gaze to his. “With you.”

That was an unexpected kick in the gut. “Want to tell me why?”

“Because of who you are.”

He checked the words for hidden meaning and couldn’t find any. “I’m not a felon or married. What are you objecting to?”