Natalia kills the engine but doesn’t move. Just sits there staring past the beach house toward the ocean, her hands still on the wheel.
“Not even a little.”
Mostly because if we go inside right now, with her in those leggings and the taste of that conversation still hanging in the air, I’m going to do something that requires a lot less clothing.
Beach it is.
She smiles, and we drop our shoes on the deck and head for the water.
The sun is finally out, and it’s warmer than I expected for late fall. The wind died somewhere between the gym and here, and the sunlight on my skin almost makes me forget what month it is.
We stroll past the house, past the dunes, down to where the public stretch of beach opens up. It isn’t exactly crowded, but the warm day pulled a handful of people out of wherever they hibernate this time of year. A family walking a dog, some kids chasing each other near the waterline, and a group running a volleyball net about fifty yards down.
Natalia tugs my arm toward an open stretch of sand. She ditched her zip-up in the car, so she’s just in her tank top and leggings from class, hair still up in a high ponytail, and I’m trying very hard not to stare at the strip of bare skin above her waistband.
Trying, not succeeding, which at this point is basically my permanent state around this woman.
We’re maybe ten minutes down the waterline when a volleyball lands at my feet.
A guy jogs over to grab it, tanned and grinning, hands up in apology. “My bad, man.”
“No worries.” I toss the ball back to him.
He catches it one-handed, glances up at me, then up a little more. “Hey, we’re short a player. You want in?”
I look over at Natalia, ready to wave him off, but she’s already shoving my shoulder.
“Go. I want to watch.”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“Johnny. Go hit something. You’ve been twitchy since this morning.”
She’s not wrong.
I have no idea if I’ve ever touched a volleyball in my life, but my body’s been full of surprises lately.
I pull my shirt off, toss it to Natalia, and jog over to the net.
Turns out I can play volleyball, too. After a few shaky rallies I’m reading sets before they happen and putting balls where people aren’t.
One of the guys slaps my back after a block. “Dude, where have you been hiding?”
“Wish I knew, man.”
I score a point on a hard spike and flex like an idiot because I can hear Natalia cheering from the sand, and making her laugh is rapidly becoming my favorite thing on the planet.
The game wraps up after a while, and I shake hands with the guys, loose and sweating and grinning like an idiot for no reason I can name. I’m heading back toward Natalia when a voice catches me from behind.
“That was impressive.”
I turn to find a redhead in a string bikini, the kind of woman who walks up to a stranger with a smile that comes preloaded with an agenda. She steps into my space, hip cocked, eyes doing a slow tour of my bare chest like I’m a car she’s thinking about test-driving.
By all accounts she’s attractive. By all accounts I could not be less interested.
“We’re heading to the seafood spot up the beach. You should come.”
I give her a polite smile. “That’s nice, but?—”
