Crush

AND I’M SMILING ABOUT YOU SMILING THINKING ABOUT MAKING ME SMILE.

I laughed, imagining him with the smile on his face, punching the accelerator, and adjusting his pants. ENOUGH SMILING ALREADY, I typed. HURRY UP, BECAUSE I WANT YOU TO MAKE ME MOAN.

Like I was in danger of being caught passing notes in class, I looked from side to side.

When his reply came, I almost jumped. PLANNING ON IT, LUCE.

I shifted in my seat, feeling warmth trickle into all the right places.

A few whistles sounded in front of me. I looked up as a couple of guys carrying surfboards sauntered by, gawking at a certain spot Jude wouldn’t have been down with.

“Yep,” I called out, giving the surfers a really? look, “they’re boobs!”

One of them had the decency to look away. The other one just grinned bigger. That was the Jude of the two. “No, babe,” the smug one called back, “those are ni**les.”

I glanced down. Shit. Yeah, those were most definitely ni**les popping through for all of La Jolla beach to see. Darn Jude and all his sexting straight to high-beam hell.

I didn’t have a snappy reply, but I couldn’t let surfer boy have the last word. Wrapping my arm around my chest, I flipped him off with the other hand.

Tilting his chin in reply, he winked and kept walking.

Men were infuriating creatures. In all walks of life. Even while you were keeping to yourself, resting on the beach.

Needless to say, I spent the next half hour lounging on my stomach.

At least until I caught sight of a familiar form swaggering his way toward me. I hopped up and jogged over to him like I hadn’t seen him in months. He had a paper sack and a sweatshirt tucked under his arm and looked freshly showered. However, the way he was looking at me was the opposite of clean.

“Where’s that stupid smile you were texting me about?” I said as I approached.

“It took a vacation when I saw what you were wearing,” he answered tightly. “Or what you’re not wearing.” He ran his eyes down my body, looking like he couldn’t decide if he disapproved or approved.

I knew the way to make up his mind.

Winding my arms around his neck, I lifted up on my toes and planted a kiss on his mouth that started soft but didn’t end up that way.

“Here,” Jude said, cutting our kiss short, “put this on.” He held out his old Syracuse sweatshirt and waited.

“Why?” I asked, playing dumb. On any other occasion, I would have happily slid into Jude’s ginormous ’Cuse sweatshirt, but not when I was being ordered into it.

“Because you made me hard from a hundred yards back in that thing.” He gestured at my swimsuit. “I don’t like the idea of a bunch of other guys getting off looking at my girl.” He shook the sweatshirt at me.

Nope. Not gonna happen.

“Who cares?” I lowered his outstretched arm and grinned up at him. “It’s only your hard-on that gets to go to bed with me.”

Jude snorted and crossed his arms. “Tell that to the jerk-offs who will be jerking off to you between their sheets tonight.”

The overbearing act got old fast. I crossed my arms and held my ground. “I don’t know what’s got your boxers in a bunch. This isn’t even my skimpy bikini.” It wasn’t. When it came to bikinis, this one was relatively tame.

He frowned as he inspected my swimsuit again. “All I’m seeing is a few tiny triangles and a whole lotta string, Luce,” he said, looking tortured all over again. “And you’re trying to tell me this isn’t skimpy?”

I answered with a noncommittal shrug.

“Only one way to settle the skimpy debate . . .” Jude’s eyes swept up and down the boardwalk, narrowing a few times along the way. “I win,” he said at last. “Every single bastard within seeing distance is checking you out, Luce.”

I glanced around the beach. “We’ll have to agree to disagree,” I said. “Because I’m positive it’s not me but you they’re staring at.”

He made a face.

He’d arrived at a different conclusion.

“No, not for that reason,” I said, giving him a gentle shove. “Do you think that maybe, just maybe, they’re looking at you because you happen to be the newest Chargers quarterback?”

“It wouldn’t matter if I was Peyton Manning,” Jude said, pursing his lips. “With you running around in that more-string-than-swimsuit thing”—his hands gestured up and down me again—“no eyes would be turned in my direction.”

I tried to hold it in, but I couldn’t help the laugh that sneaked out. It was kind of cute when he was mildly upset. It wasn’t as cute when he was full-blown pissed.

Jude’s eyes latched onto something behind me. “Hey, jerk-off!” he hollered, narrowing his eyes. “Unless you want to be reading your monthly issue of Playboy in braille the rest of your life, you’d better turn your eyes now!”

I rested my hand on his side and ran my thumb in slow circles. Slow, calming circles. “Could you get any more territorial?” I teased.

“Ever heard of the Middle East, Luce?” he said, smirking. “Covered head to toe in layers upon layers of material.” He tickled my sides. The worst was over.

“Ever heard of Europe?” I shot back in between fits of laughter. “Topless sunbathing? I thought you’d once said you were a fan of it.”

“Ballbuster,” he mumbled, before holding the sweatshirt back up. “Come on. Put this on?” he asked. He asked. He didn’t order, demand, or command. He asked. Well, he almost pleaded.