“Mm-hmm,” I said, rolling onto my side to give him a better view. I smiled when his gaze drifted for the shortest second.
Slapping his cheeks, he spun around and grabbed his jeans. “Why don’t you go shopping or something while I’m at practice?” he said, pulling his wallet out. “There’s a shitload of stores around that would be eager to cater to the soon-to-be wife of an NFL quarterback.” Sliding that black shiny card free, he held it out.
I pulled the sheet back over me.
He scowled.
“Were you here for the conversation we just had?” I asked, glaring at the black card.
His scowl went another shade darker before it ironed out. “Yeah, I was.” Putting the card back into his wallet, he stood there, looking helpless.
I didn’t want him to feel this way. I knew Jude wanted to take care of me; that was at the forefront of his mind with everything he did. I just didn’t need or want to be taken care of with a shiny black card.
“Do you think I could borrow your truck?” I asked, hoping this would ease his need-to-do-something-for-Lucy-itis. “I was thinking about going to the beach and vegging all day long.”
“Of course,” he said, digging into his pocket again. As predicted, he looked relieved to be able to do something for me that I was willing to go along with. “It’s got a full tank, so take that baby for a spin.” He held out the keys to his new truck. They were shiny, too.
Everything was so damn shiny now. I never thought I’d be so anti-shine.
“Come on, I couldn’t see over the steering wheel of that thing, Jude,” I said, winking to make the blow easier. “That is, if I was actually able to climb into it without your help. I’d need a step stool or a ladder.”
“Do you want me to call you a driver or something?” he asked, and then his face lit up. “Or why don’t you go buy yourself that new sports car I’ve been wanting to get you. This way you can pick out your own color.”
I raised my hand and bit my tongue. “Thank you. On all offers,” I said, “but I was thinking I could just take your old rust bucket.”
Jude’s forehead wrinkled.
“Then if I’m snoozing on the beach all day, I won’t have to worry about some punk-ass kids ripping your brand-new truck off.” This was partially the reason I wanted to take the old truck, but certainly not the main reason.
A flash of annoyance lined his face, but it passed. “The keys are in the ignition,” he said, sliding into his jeans. “And I just changed the oil and gave it a tune-up, so you shouldn’t have any problems with the old piecer.”
I glared at the shirt he was reaching for. I knew clothes were the requirement, but they should have been the exception in Jude Ryder’s case.
“Oil change? Tune-up?” I said as he pulled the shirt over his head. “Is this the truck you were adamant about scrapping yesterday?”
He rolled his eyes as he slid into his Cons. At least those were the same ratty old ones I was used to. “You are busting my balls, woman.”
“I’m your soon-to-be wife,” I said. “That’s in the job description.”
He froze mid–fly buttoning. “Soon-to-be?” he repeated, his eyes flashing.
Uh-oh. Not as in tomorrow or next week. “As soon-to-be as I am capable of it,” I said, my heart fluttering a little from the way he was looking at me. With one look, Jude was able to melt every muscle right before they tightened in anticipation.
Jude beamed. “I’ll take it,” he said, and now, instead of up, his fly was going the opposite direction.
My pulse was already quickening. “What are you doing?”
Crossing the room, he leaped onto the bed. “I’m gonna be late,” he said, before his mouth and body covered mine.
If there was one thing I could get used to in Southern California? The beaches and the sun. A good eight hours had ticked off when I’d done nothing more physical than turning from one side to the other. That, and unscrewing the lid from my bottle of water.
I could see myself here.
Now, if South Cali was only known as one of the premier dance places in the world, I would have been golden. The sun was starting to fall in the sky, but there was at least another good hour of UV rays to soak up, and I didn’t want to miss out thanks to a severe case of hunger pangs.
To sway the leave-or-stay vote, my stomach rumbled again.
“Fine,” I grumbled, making a mental note that the next time I came to the beach, I’d need to bring more than a granola bar.
Before I could start packing up my beach-day essentials, my phone chimed. I grabbed it and read the text. ALL THE GUYS WERE ASKING ME WHY I HAD THIS STUPID GRIN ON MY FACE ALL DAY. Followed by a smiley face. I BLAMED YOU.
I’LL GLADLY TAKE THE BLAME FOR THAT STUPID SMILE, I typed, wearing my own stupid grin as a few memories jumped to mind. HOPE YOU DON’T MIND WEARING ANOTHER ONE TOMORROW. Followed by a winky face.
His reply was instant. HELL, NO.
I laughed and, before I could type a response, my phone beeped again. WHERE ARE YOU? NEVER TOO EARLY TO START WORKING ON MAKING THAT STUPID SMILE AGAIN.
I’d never heard a truer statement. I typed in, STILL AT THE BEACH. AND I’M ALREADY SMILING JUST THINKING ABOUT MAKING YOU SMILE.
I sat up and tossed my sunscreen into my bag when his reply came. I’LL MEET YOU THERE AND PICK UP DINNER ON THE WAY. His message ended with a dot, dot, dot, and then my phone chimed with another message.