The massive console screen with directions announced we were only thirty minutes away. We’d only been in the car for about an hour as the roads were unsurprisingly quiet, given the miserable weather. Rain had splattered against the windscreen intermittently throughout the journey, so we would probably be the only idiots at the beach. Luca hadn’t said anything about postponing due to the weather, so neither hadI.
The drive gave me time to reflect on how much had changed since our argument. It had become easy talking to Luca over the last week because, like with Lily, I felt I could speak freely. Words tumbled out without hesitation because I never found a trace of judgment in his eyes. The longer we spent together, the more the tight knot of anxiety I carried loosened. I found myself less and less obsessively worrying about whether my opinion was the right one. I felt likemyself.
And I thought Luca enjoyed talking to me, too. The one-word answers had disappeared, replaced by full sentences and even theoccasional laugh. Sometimes, when he told me a story, I’d even catch this tiny spark in his eye, one that had never been there in the first few weeks of training.
We arrived at the beach; as I’d predicted, only a few surfers and two cars were in the car park.
“Are we crazy to be at the beach in the rain?” I turned in my seat to look at Luca across the console.
“We’re already going to be wet from the sea,” he pointedout.
“I guess you’re right.”
We made our way out of the car and toward the toilets and changing rooms to the left of the car park. There was a small shop that rented surfboards and served hot drinks. The smell of fresh coffee and sea salt floated through the air, wrapping around me like a tight hug after a long day at work.
Which was ruined by a big sign on the toilet door—Out of Order.
My head snapped to Luca and he just shrugged, flopped his wet suit and swim shorts over the wooden fence, and removed his T-shirt in one smooth movement.
Oh my god, the abs on thisman.
I hadn’t seen anyone sculpted quite as beautifully as Luca before.
He turned, his fingers sliding underneath the waistband of his jeans, and I squealed.
“What?” Luca’s head flicked over his shoulder, brow furrowing as his movements paused.
My eyes widened as I looked around the empty beach and whispered, “You can’t get changed here!”
“Why? There’s no one around.” His gaze searched the beach, revealing no paparazzi or crowds of fans.
“I’m here!” I whisper-shouted again as he moved to the front of his jeans and unbuttoned them. His back was equally as deliciousas his front, all broad and muscular. His jeans were already hanging dangerously low, and I was struggling to drag my eyes away.
He smirked over his shoulder, a small dimple creasing his face boyishly. “No one’s forcing you to watch, Stevens.”
Caught red-handed.
I spun around on a small squeak, but despite my best efforts, I caught a flash of his bare, sculpted cheeks.
Heat crawled up my neck as I stared at the wall of the toilets.
After a minute or two, a pair of hands landed on my shoulders and slowly turned me around.
I glanced up and warmth spread through my core.
Luca looked sorelaxed.
He was still smirking, one eyebrow raised as he searched my face. I ignored the heat spreading from his hands on my shoulders as a grin crept onto my face, unbidden but unstoppable.
He released my shoulders and grabbed the towel that hung over the fence. Turning back to me, he held it up horizontally across my body.
“What’s that for?”
“For you to get changed behind.”
I laughed. “Ha! Good one, buddy. No chance.”
“I’m surprised you’re such a prude, given that you waltz around the studio all day in those things you call shorts.”
