Page 19 of 7 Miles High
Chapter 7
Parker
My thoughts don’t move much without bumping into her. But the visual has my attention now.
Seeing Natalie coming out of the ocean is eye candy. The white bikini against honey-colored skin, her dripping long blonde hair slicked back showcasing her face. She’s the whole package.
Jenna has said something to make her laugh and those dimples are on display.
Noticing my stare, she holds back a smile and dips her head in embarrassment. I don’t hate that one bit.
How am I going to keep this thing going? She said she’s not looking for boyfriend material. A good time. That’s been the goal.
Why is that? Was she hurt by some stupid man who didn’t see her worth? Possibly. I know lots of guys who’d fit the description. But I’m not one of them.
Walking up, she stands shielding the bright sun from my face. Even in silhouette she impresses.
“Want to take a walk?” she says. “Maybe a swim?”
“Hell yeah.”
I stand and brush the sand from my palms. Taking ahold of her hand, I’m testing the waters, hoping she hangs on. A look passes between us, but she doesn’t pull away.
As we head for the shoreline, I’m conscious of men watching. She doesn’t seem to be affected. Maybe it’s such a common occurrence it’s become invisible to her.
“Are you a beach guy?” she says.
“Oh yeah. I was raised in Santa Monica. My parents still live there. What about you? Looks like you’re comfortable in the ocean.”
She picks up a little shell and examines it. Then it gets discarded and she goes back to holding my hand as we walk.
“I grew up in Newport Beach. My father was a diving champion, so being around water was a given.”
“Siblings?”
“I’ve got two brothers, Jake and Michael, and a sister, Gigi. They all live in Southern California.”
“How did you end up in Santa Barbara?”
“College. Then marriage. That’s where my husband was from and where I built my real estate business.”
This would be a perfect time for a spit take. She surprised me with that one.
“Husband?”
“Well, ex-husband.”
It strikes me how little we know each other.
“How long were you married?”
“Five years.”
She’s smiling at my telling expression and I can’t blame her.
“Surprised?” she asks, already knowing the answer.
“Uh, no. Well, I guess a little. Don’t know why though,” I say.
