He snorts into his cup. “I’d like to see that.”
“Maybe if you’re lucky.”
He hums contemplatively, eyes searing through me, but doesn’t respond.
“Okay...” Penelope drawls. “Anyway, Wes, tell me how work is going.”
His eyes narrow as he takes another sip, swallowing slowly with his gaze on mine, before he finally turns to his foster mother. A warm smile that I’ve yet to see him offer me spreads over his mouth before he begins telling her about his new life in Pacific Shores.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and when I pull it out I find a message:
Chelsea:
Going to be in your area next month. Can we meet up?
CHAPTER 11
WESTON
Ireach the bottom step of the cliffside stairs, finding Willow’s ass right in front of me, high in the air as she pedals her heels in downward dog, the sky dotted with candy-colored clouds beyond her.
She’s wearing a lavender bikini this morning, and as she hikes her hips higher, crawling her hands up the mat, her bottoms ride farther between her cheeks, and I’m blushing more deeply than I thought could be possible before this moment.
In what feels like an act of mercy, she stands straight, bringing her arms above her head before dropping into a warrior one pose.
I know I should say something—anything—to make my presence known, but I’m completely fucking frozen. She’s no longer bent over, but the memory of her ass and her bare back covered only by the thinnest strap tied at the center of her spine remains vivid—planting itself firmly at the forefront of my mind. All words and language and sound are stuck behind my teeth. I can’t decide if my body is refusing to let them out so I can continue watching her, or if I’ve just forgotten how to open my mouth at all.
A throat clears behind me, and my stomach drops to my ass.
“Sugar, you have company, it appears.”
Willow doesn’t startle, she simply sinks into warrior two, extending her knee over her ankle and spreading her arms out wide as she turns to face the south end of the beach. She cranes her neck in our direction, smiling. “I know.”
Leo takes an exasperated breath, clapping my back as he passes me. “Gonna assume your eyes were on the horizon out there, measuring the swell period.”
“Absolutely.” I nod.
He steps into the sand, pressing a kiss to his daughter's head as she continues her flow, then drops his board to the ground before pulling up the sleeves of his wetsuit.
“How many seconds?” he asks, facing me, blue eyes narrowed.
“Oh. Um . . .” I stammer. “Six.”
Willow snorts, finishing what appears to be a sunrise salutation. My eyes flick to her as she steps off her mat and bends over again to roll it up.Goddamn. It’s a challenge to pull my gaze from her, but when I do, it unfortunately lands on her dad who’s studying me with an unconvinced and unrestrained expression.
I gulp like a fucking cartoon character.
Why the hell is she down here, and why is she so goddamn distracting?
“Well, we’d better get started,” Leo says nonchalantly. “See if you’re right about that measurement.”
I definitely wasn’t counting the swell period. I was counting the number of freckles that dot Willow’s spine, and the answer is infinite.
“I’m going to join you today,” Willow chimes.
“You sure you’re up for that?” Leo asks, and I find the question odd, but I’m not about to question him.
“Water’s pretty calm today, and I’m only going to take one swell.” Willow shrugs, pulling a wetsuit from the bag at her feet and tugging it up her legs and around her muscular thighs and ample hips. “Weston said he wanted to see me surf.”
