Page 168 of Better When Shared
The drive into Friday Harbor took me along winding roads that cut across the island, curving through beautiful farmland and winding coastal forest, offering glimpses of the water between stands of madrone trees, their red bark peeling like sunburned skin.
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, thinking about the week ahead. A full schedule of bookings with the same client could be a blessing or a curse. It meant I could skip out on hustling for customers, setting up the booth at the marina, maybe offering discounted sunset tours to keep cash flowing. But this Hamish guy had booked—and paid for—an entire week of premium adventures.
As I navigated the steep streets of Friday Harbor, morning fog still clinging to the harbor below, I wondered what kind of man this Hamish was.
I parked in the hotel’s circular drive, killing the engine and taking a moment to check my reflection in the rearview mirror. Satisfied with my messy hair, I grabbed my phone, checked the room number Skylar had texted me—I had no idea how she’d gotten it, but I hoped it had involved asking the client. Time to meet the nervous Englishman.
My friend Leah was at the front desk, but I bypassed the temptation to flirt and went straight to the elevator, heading forthe client’s room, and checking my watch as I knocked. Exactly on time. Skylar didn’t know what she was talking about.
The door swung open, revealing a sleep-rumpled vision of a man that made my morning significantly more interesting. Skylar was right. This guy was fucking beautiful.
“Yes?” The man stood there shirtless, dark hair mussed from sleep, eyes narrowed against the hallway light as if it had offended him. His chest was muscular and defined, not gym-sculpted, but fit, with a light dusting of hair trailing down to disappear into gray sweatpants, hanging low on his hips.
Who needs to flirt with front desk clerks when you can flirt with your dead sexy clients?
“Morning.” I tried not to stare, but it was a losing battle. He had the brightest blue eyes, and soft pink lips that were made to be wrapped around a dick. “I’m Makai Yamamoto from Salish Sea Adventure Tours. Your surf instructor. You requested a ride to the beach?”
He blinked, confusion washing over his face.
“Apologies, I’m a bit jet-lagged. What day is it?” His accent was even posher in person than I’d imagined, each word precisely formed despite his obvious grogginess.
“It’s Sunday.” I leaned against the doorframe, amused. “Surf lesson day.”
Recognition flickered in his eyes, followed immediately by panic. “Oh God. I must have overslept.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. “Look, about the surfing, I tried to call last night. I think I’ve made a terrible mistake. I didn’t realize how cold it would be. I’d like to cancel.”
“It’s not too cold.” I pushed off the doorframe. “The water’s perfect today. Light offshore breeze, small rolling waves. I couldn’t ask for better conditions for a beginner.”
“Yes, well, I’m not exactly...” He trailed off, glancing over his shoulder into the room as if searching for an escape route. “I don’t think I’m cut out for surfing. Perhaps we could reschedule for something less... cold and wet?”
Before he could close the door, I stepped forward and into the room. He backed up, startled, and I caught a whiff of expensive cologne mingled with sleep-warm skin.
“You’ve already paid for the full package.” I let the door swing shut behind me. “All week, if I’m not mistaken. And it’s non-refundable.” I was pretty sure he’d try to find a loophole in our policy if I didn’t give him some kind of value for his money, so I pushed on. “You have me all week, you might as well make use of me.”
“I’m perfectly fine with forfeiting the money.” He crossed his arms over his chest, muscles flexing in a way that made my mouth water. “My assistant booked these activities. I’m not entirely sure what he was thinking.”
“I’m guessing he was thinking you wanted to have some fun.” I moved further into the room, pretending to admire the view. “How about a compromise, since you already paid?”
“A compromise.”
“Yep. We go down to the beach. No pressure to surf. We’ll check out the conditions, enjoy the scenery, and maybe wade in if you feel like it. If you hate it, I’ll drive you back and you can cross ‘awkward morning with annoying surf instructor’ off your tourist bingo card.”
He hesitated, eyes searching mine like he was trying to find the trap.
“Just the beach?” he asked finally.
“Just the beach,” I confirmed, stepping back to give him space. “Although I brought a wetsuit that would fit you perfectly, if you want to try surfing once we get there.” I let my gaze drift deliberately down his body, not bothering to hide my appreciation. “I’d guess you’re a size large, given your height and broad shoulders.”
A flush crept up his neck, and for a moment he stood there, studying me. He sighed, shoulders dropping in resignation.
“Fine. The beach. But I’m not promising anything more.”
“Wouldn’t dream of asking.” I grinned, victorious. “I’ll wait while you change. Put on swim trunks under your clothes. Because you never know.”
Huffing, he grabbed a few items from his suitcase and disappeared into the bathroom without another word. I heard water running, the sound of teeth being brushed, and wandered to the window, impatient.
The bathroom door opened, and Hamish emerged wearing khaki shorts and a polo shirt that somehow managed to look expensive, even though they were basic. He’d tamed his hair and splashed water on his face, looking significantly more awake and significantly less rumpled. Shame.
“I suppose I should grab a jumper?” he asked, glancing toward the window.
