Page 51 of Cross Check Daddies
But then— Movement. The sound of footsteps over the boardwalk, light but certain. I turn slowly, like I might be seeing things.
She’s walking toward me, every bit real and stupidly gorgeous in the moonlight.
She’s wearing a slouchy, cream-colored sweater that hits mid-thigh, sleeves bunched at the elbows. Her legs are bare, smooth and endless, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs like it was designed to tease. Flip-flops slap against her heels as she comes closer, hair loose and messy, lips slightly parted like she ran the last block and hasn’t decided whether to speak or just collapse.
I say nothing at first. Just stare. Because, dang.
“You’re late,” I say.
“I almost didn’t come.”
“But you did.”
She stops a few feet from me. Her eyes scan the beach, the water. Then me.
“It’s too late.”
“Exactly why we should surf.”
She raises a brow, skeptical but curious. “You’re insane.”
I gesture toward the ocean. “I’m here. Nothing will hurt you. Not while I’m in the water too.”
She looks at the waves, biting her lip, weighing the risk. Then nods once, still unsure. It’s enough.
“I know what’s going on with Cam is complicated,” I say, stepping closer. “I’m not asking you to ignore that. I’m asking for a fair chance. One that isn’t measured against him.”
She lets out a short, stunned laugh. “And do what? Date brothers?”
“So thisisa date,” I shoot back, grinning.
“Tanner,” she says my name like it’s a warning, exasperated but soft, dragged through a sigh.
I take her hand, lift it, and kiss her palm. Her breath stalls. I hold it there, just long enough to make the point.
“This is already messy,” I say, eyes on hers.
“I’m supposed to have dinner with someone else soon.”
“And I’m not walking away just because it’s inconvenient. You’re a progressive woman, right? You can make your choice when you’re ready.”
Her eyes narrow, amused. “Oh, you’re smug.”
“No. I’m certain.”
“I don’t even have a bathing suit,” she says, pulling her hand away but not moving otherwise.
I crouch beside my duffel, unzip it, and pull out a small mesh bag. “You do now.”
She reaches for it, lifting the flap, eyes widening as she pulls out a delicate coral bikini with gold ring accents, followed by a black one with a strappy crisscross back, and then a teal number that looks like it belongs in a catalog for the world’s most sinful vacation. Her face goes a little pink.
“These are gorgeous,” she says, running her fingers over the fabric.
“Pick one. Change in the tent.” I nod toward the pop-up I set up earlier near the dunes. “Then meet me by the water. We’ll surf. Laugh. Maybe forget what a dumpster fire the rest of the week has been.”
She runs a hand through her hair, pausing like she’s about to say no. Then she exhales and nods.
“Okay.”
