One
Justice
I sauntered into Uncle Seth’s office at the Blue Tide Surf Shop and propped my surfboard against the wall, seawater dripping onto the wooden floor.
Damn. Surfing the La Fortuna waves brought back all kinds of memories, but the circumstances that brought me back home were far from the happy reunion I’d envisioned.
I stripped off my rash guard and chucked it on the floor, toweling off my hair, shook it out and glanced out the window. The half-finished handles that Uncle Seth had been installing caught my gaze and a sharp pain seared through my heart.
An electric drill sat forlornly on the window sill along with a smattering of sawdust. My uncle would never finish this or any other project. Get a grip, Justice.
But I couldn’t get a grip.
I stared at the wall-mounted photograph someone had snapped the day Uncle Seth opened the Blue Tide Surf Shop. A huge grin spread across his face as he motioned toward the lettering on the display window in the photo. My grandfather stood next to him. And there I was, just a punk kid with shaggy hair and skin so brown it looked like I’d spent my entire life surfing.
I trailed my finger along the frame of another photo. This one captured Seth next to one of his motorcycles; his athletic frame leaning casually against the seat, legs crossed at the ankle.
I let out a heavy exhale and ran both hands through my hair. Uncle Seth had taught me everything I knew about being a motorcycle mechanic, and I couldn’t believe he was really gone. One innocent surfing trip to Costa Rica had ended with Uncle Seth lying on a coroner’s table.
Poisonous snake, my ass. The reptile had struck a fatal blow, and my uncle was dead a few hours after that. I hadn’t even gotten the news until later because my phone was out of range. Lesson learned. Stay out of the freaking rainforest.
I hugged myself tightly to stop the involuntary shudder and tried to ease the tightness gripping my chest.
I fell into the chair behind Uncle Seth’s desk and propped my feet up, glancing around the room. Papers stacked messily on his desk, empty water bottles on the floor next to a few darts that hadn’t quite made it to the dart board, the trashcan overflowing. My uncle could’ve used a housekeeper.
Gazing out the window to the Pacific Ocean, a glittering display of diamonds, I allowed myself the first real smile of the day as I basked in the scent of the briny sea air.
A sultry voice interrupted my thoughts. “Knock knock! Anyone home? Mind if I come in?”
Ears perked, I sat ramrod straight.
Jeez. I hadn’t heard her voice in years. It still held a childlike tinkle but now it mixed with a delicious huskiness. My brain flashed on what she was like when we’d first met, a blond beauty in the making with her torn jeans, Converse high tops and the skateboard she loved to cover with stickers tucked under her arm.
Lola!
I cleared my throat. “Door’s unlocked. Come on in.”
A happy flush of adrenaline tingled through my body.
Lola stood in the doorway.
Lola’s mother was American, but Lola and her dad were straight from Brazil including all the fiery passion and romance that goes along with the culture. I’d always loved how the combination of blond bombshell and Brazilian sensuality gave her the supermodel looks of a high-class runway model mixed with an irresistible Latina sex appeal.
But her skateboard was gone. In its place was a leather briefcase.
I quickly composed myself forcing a bravado I didn’t feel and tried on one of my most dazzling smiles. “Well, well. Will you look at what the cat dragged in.”
Her enchanting copper eyes met mine, and when I looked into them, all I wanted to do was hop out of my chair and throw my arms around her. I forced myself to play it cool.
She placed a hand on her hip and cocked her head. “Hello, Justice.”
She stood motionless for a moment—a moment where time stood still and the memories overtook me. I had actually asked Lola to marry me when we were twelve-year-olds. I almost laughed out loud when I thought about all the times we’d played tag and how my goal had been to tackle her to the ground and make her kiss me.
Damn. Lola had filled out and turned into one helluva sexy lady. Long blond hair spilled over her trendy business suit, the buttons of her white blouse unbuttoned just enough that I saw those luscious tits that I’d licked and kissed so many times. My body reacted, and my hard-on sprung to life.
My Brazilian beauty.
A slow smile spread across my lips. “Well, hello, Miss Cortes. It’s still Miss, isn’t it?”
Her high heels clipped across the wood floor and she flung her briefcase on an empty chair. “Mind if I sit?” Her gaze made a slow tour of my chest, my abs, and my legs, stopping on my bare feet.
“Make yourself comfortable.”
She sat across the desk from me and our eyes locked.
Her smile was tight. “Yes, it’s still Miss. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Here we go. Lola still had that fire I loved so much.
I tilted my head sideways. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
She reached for her leather briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers. She slapped the paperwork on the desk with a thunk. “I need to review all the shop’s financial records.”
I sat forward and steepled my fingers. “Financial records?”
No time for a happy trip down memory lane with my ex-girlfriend. Lola was all business.
She reached into the pocket of her satchel and handed me a business card. “I work for the bank now.” When our fingers touched, the heat from her hand nearly scorched mine. Jesus, Justice.
I held the expensive card stock between my fingers and let out a low whistle. “Well, lookie here. Lola Cortes. Account Representative. United Bank of La Fortuna.” I looked her up and down, taking in the designer suit and her tastefully done makeup. I twirled the calling card with a sharp snap and it flew through the air, landing on top of a heap of files. “What’s this about?”
Lola looked at her lap for a second; then her large brown eyes met mine. How many times had I gazed into those magnetic eyes? She’d been my lover. But more than that, Lola had been my best friend.
She seemed to stammer when she spoke. “I am sorry about your uncle.”
Nausea filled my stomach at the mention of Uncle Seth. The aching in my chest threatened again, and I forced myself to sound bold. “Yeah, well, life sucks sometimes, doesn’t it?”
She was silent a few beats and finally cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of more bad news.” She let out a long sigh. “But the Blue Tide Surf Shop is in foreclosure.”
I sucked in my breath through clenched teeth and sat bolt upright, my blood pressure ticking up a notch. “Foreclosure?”
She raised a defensive hand. “I’m sorry, Justice.”
My mind swirled, and I felt dizzy. I stood up fast, raked a hand through my hair and confronted Lola. How dare she come in here with her paperwork and her fancy suit. My uncle was dead. Did Lola not have a heart? My voice was sharper than intended. “What the hell’s this all about?”
Her eyes flicked down and stayed a bit too long in the direction of my abs and her cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink. She snapped her gaze back up to my face. “Listen. I know this is a tough time and you probably didn’t plan on coming back to town.”
I covered my face with my hands. Uncle Seth was gone. My voice sounded weary. “What do you know?”
She stood up, and I inhaled the delicious aroma of Lola—sunshine mixed with the ocean. She pointed a finger at me. “What I know is you left town six years ago, and I haven’t heard a word from you.” She crossed her arms tightly. “Ever heard of Facebook?”
“Facebook?” I laughed in her face. “Who the fuck cares about social media? Bunch of losers sitting around pretending they have a life. ‘I like your stuff, you like mine,’” I said mockingly, and I actually made air quotes.
My breathing sped up. Damn it. I didn’t want Lola to see me lose my cool. First time I’d seen her in years, and she wants to talk about Facebook? Six years and this was our happy reunion? Take control, Justice. I stood and picked up the mass of paperwork and ruffled it in her face. “What the fuck is this about?”
“Why don’t we sit down?”
I dropped into the chair next to hers and motioned for her to do the same. “I cannot wait to hear what you’ve got to say, Ms. Cortes.”
She sat down and crossed her gorgeously toned legs. A few seconds passed and I caught her staring at my bare chest. She tapped the paperwork with one pink fingernail. The rest of her nails were painted turquoise. I loved Lola’s unique style. “I handle the foreclosures at United Bank.” Her eyes were slits. “Not that you would know anything about me anymore.”
So, this is how it was going to go? Lola wanted a fight; I could play her game. “Cut the bull and give me the details.”
She pressed her luscious lips together and then she spoke. “The surf shop is in foreclosure. You’ve got thirty days to come up with fifty thousand dollars.”
I sucked in my breath. “Fifty grand?”
She tapped one high-heeled sandal against the floor and my gaze strayed to her pretty toenails. “Did you not hear me the first time?”
My mouth went slack. “Are you joking? My uncle built this shop.” Fear gripped my stomach. This couldn’t be happening. As a kid, I’d helped Uncle Seth start the shop. I’d worked inventory, sales, the window display. We’d plugged away together and he paid me in surfboards and surf wax. “Fifty grand in thirty days? You gotta be joking.”
She leafed through the paperwork, a mass of numbers and gibberish, her voice droning on as she discussed profit and loss, default payments and a bunch of other bullshit. What the hell did I know about finance? I was a motorcycle mechanic. Took care of myself, didn’t need anyone. The lone fucking ranger. Just me and my Triumph 650.
Lola stared at me, and for the first time since I’d seen her in six years, I saw a glimmer of the old Lola, the girl I’d fallen in love with when I was a kid. I remembered the first time we’d met—two twelve-year-old kids who learned how to play doctor and seven minutes in heaven together. “When did we grow up?” I said.
She jerked her head back. “This has nothing to do with us!” Her stormy eyes met mine. “I grew up a long time ago. And if you want to save the shop, I suggest you do the same.”
I stared at Lola’s smooth olive skin, her kissable lips, her full breasts straining against the silky top. I didn’t want to think about my uncle, the bank or losing the shop.
I wanted Lola. Wanted to take her in my arms, kiss her and make the world go away.
But the way Lola looked at me with contempt made me realize I had two chances of that—slim and none.
My body tensed as the unreality of everything that had happened over the past few weeks filled my mouth with a sour taste. First the news of Uncle Seth’s death, the memorial, and now the shop was in foreclosure? Whatever this finance thing was, I would figure it out. Later.
I stood up fast and pointed to the door. “Get the hell out of my office. Now.”
She stared at me for long seconds, her eyes challenging. “Fine. But I’ll be back.”
A pounding filled my ears. I had no right to do this, but I grabbed Lola’s arm. Damn if I didn’t want to hug her to me, feel the swell of her breasts against my chest and lose myself in a passionate kiss with my lovely ex. “Don’t bother.”
Her fiery eyes narrowed. “Get your hands off me. Now.”
I loosened my grip.
Lola stood up, gathered her briefcase, and sashayed her way to the door, her high heels clipping rapidly. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the shapely view. Lola had grown into one hell of a sexy, voluptuous female.
Foreclosure? The anger that burned through me at the thought of losing Uncle Seth’s shop raged like a fire. How dare she come into his office without so much as a phone call or a “Hi, how are you.” I should’ve held my temper, but I didn’t. I know it was wrong. Lola was just doing her job. I didn’t think, I just spoke.
“Hey, Lola,” I called. She stopped midstride and glared at me over her shoulder. I stood up and placed both hands flat on the desk. “How’s it feel to sell your soul to the man?”
She shot me the bird and slammed the door after her.
I collapsed on the chair, head in hands, trying to slow my breathing.
In a panic, I rifled through my uncle’s desk.
And there they were.
Stacks of unopened letters addressed to Uncle Seth at the Blue Tide Surf Shop, return address, United Bank of La Fortuna. I ripped the envelopes open and stared at the angry words. “Notice of default.” “Election to Sell.” “Hearing Notice.”
Thirty days?
Welcome back to La Fortuna.