Page 135 of Pucking Wild

“Never know until you try,” she replies. Turning away, she disappears inside her office.

47

“Right, well, I think everyone’s here, duchess,” Joey calls over at me, checking the names on his phone.

All the volunteers are chatting around the picnic table, cups of coffee and reusable water bottles in hand. It’s a warm day for January, and half of us are in our T-shirts and sunglasses. We put out a small spread of fresh fruit and donuts, and it’s all pretty much gone.

Nancy and Cheryl are here, though they’re already certified. Cheryl chats with the Scoutmaster from Ponte Vedra who brought over five Boy Scouts. The boys are all sitting at the table on their phones looking bored. Aside from the Scout troop, there’s an older couple who are friends of the Lemmings and also live at the beach, two college girls looking for summer volunteer hours, and an adorable mother-son duo wearing shirts that say, ‘What the shell?’

I hurry over to where Nancy is helping our rep from the FWC get set up under the picnic pavilion. “We about ready to get started?”

“Absolutely,” Nancy chimes, tucking some loose strands of her dark hair behind her ear. “John says everyone gets a packet to take home, and we’ll just talk through some of the ground rules here before we hit the beach.”

John, the Florida Wildlife Commission rep, towers over tiny Nancy. He looks like an ex-football player with his massive chest and shoulders tucked inside his park ranger shirt. There’s not a single hair on his shiny, bald head. “Everyone signed their release forms?”

“Yep,” I say, holding out the stack of papers in my hands.

He takes them, stuffing them in a folder. “Then we’re good to go.”

I spin around clapping my hands. “Alright, everyone! John says we’re ready to get started.”

As one, the group starts to move. I hurry back over to the picnic table, helping Cheryl collect the trash from the donuts and fruit.

“Whoa, cool car,” the freckle-faced Boy Scout next to me says.

I glance over my shoulder, and my heart freaking stops. I know that little red sports car. Ryan pulls up and parks right next to the picnic pavilion. What the hell is he doing here? He slips out of the car, his mess of blond curls getting tousled by the wind. He looks like he came straight from the gym. He’s still in his Rays tech shirt and shorts. Seeing me, he gives me a wave, that All-American smile melting me.

Goddamn it, girl. Get yourself together.

I huff, dropping the biodegradable plates I’m holding into the trash can, and march over to him. “Are you lost?” I call.

He glances around, shrugging himself into a grey half-zip fleece. “Mickler’s Landing, right? You’re here, which must be a pretty good sign.” He slips on his Ray-Bans, and the kitty is officially purring at the image of this sexy Ken doll smiling at me like I’m where his world stops.

Oh, I am in so much trouble.

“Ryan, what are you doing here?” I press.

“I’m getting certified,” he says with a shrug. “Shit, is it too late to sign up?”

“Yes,” I say, as behind me Joey says, “No.”

Ryan turns to him, flashing him that winning smile. “Hey, I’m Ryan. Nice to meet you.”

“Joey Ford, Volunteer Coordinator.” Joey shakes his hand. Two blond beach boys with curls and charm for days.

Goddamn it.

“You’re just in time,” Joey says. “All you gotta do is fill out the release for the FWC, and then we’re cookin’ with avocado oil.”

“Perfect,” Ryan replies, glancing down at the form. He screws up his eyes like he needs reading glasses. “Whoa, that’s a lot of fine print. Where do I sign, chief?”

“Just put your name here, phone number here, and address here,” says Joey, pointing at the blank spots on the form. “And then the John Hancock goes right here,” he adds, tapping the bottom of the form.

Ryan flashes me a smile and then starts filling out the form, dramatically turning his back as if it’s private information. “Don’t want you knowing where I live,” he teases.

I huff, turning away too. I don’t know why I’m so annoyed. It’s not like I wasn’t talking it up to him. We fell asleep last night with me walking through my to-do list for the day.

The truth is that I don’t think I am annoyed. In fact, I’m annoyed at myself fornotbeing annoyed. I like that he’s here. I like that he’s smiling at me and flirting with me and following me like the sweet puppy that he is.

---