Page 21 of Cross Check Daddies
We grab burgers from a food truck parked on the sand, the paper bags hot in our hands as we walk down to a quieter part of the shore. The sun is low, the sky streaked pink and amber. Waves lap gently nearby.
“This is really nice,” I say, kicking off my sandals. The sand is warm under my feet.
“Miami’s finest,” he says, sitting down and patting the spot beside him. I join him, knees tucked under, and we eat without speaking for a moment.
The burger is greasy and messy in the best way. Tanner’s lips glisten, and I try not to watch the way he wipes his thumb along the corner of his mouth. Unfair. All of it.
“How’s Jackson?” he asks, licking ketchup from his fingers.
“Good. Still excited about you being his hero.”
He laughs. “That dog of his is a menace.”
“Buddy’s a misunderstood genius,” I say. “He just has bad PR.”
We finish eating, and he leans back on his hands, staring out at the waves. “So. Did you mean to call me?”
I glance sideways. “Maybe.”
He shifts slightly, turning toward me. “No regrets?”
“Not yet.”
That earns a laugh. He nods toward the water. “Want to walk?”
We stroll barefoot near the tide, waves brushing our ankles. He’s taller than I remember. Broader. His hand brushes mine, then moves away. He doesn’t push it.
“So, this is just dinner,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual.
“Sure,” he says. Then grins. “Unless you want it to be more.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m charming.”
“Debatable.”
He bends and picks up a flat stone, skips it once, twice. “You know what’s not debatable?”
“What?”
“That you’re too pretty for me to pretend I don’t remember the first time I saw you. In high school. You were walking with Cam, laughing, and I remember thinking, ‘damn, she’s out of his league.’”
I blink at him. “You were sixteen.”
“Still accurate.”
The silence that follows is heavier now, slower. Not uncomfortable, just thick with something we’re both aware of but not naming. He exhales and reaches for my hand. “Dessert?”
CHAPTER NINE
Ace
I sitacross from Daisy at the burger shack she insisted on dragging me to, her elbows propped on the table, her tablet open between us.
She’s talking fast, her eyes bright behind those red-rimmed glasses, tapping through images and articles. Something about a political exposé, tech corruption, and how she might have to go to London to follow the lead.
I nod, pretending I’m not watching the kid at the next table sneak pieces of burger to a saggy-faced bulldog whose jowls are soaked in drool. The kid catches me looking, lifts a hand, and waves like we’re old friends. I wave back before turning my attention to Daisy, who’s now chewing a fry and glaring at me like I haven’t heard a word.
