Page 46 of Badd Daddy

“Relax, Lucas,” I said. “Remember, the worst that can happen is you go for a swim.”

“Relax, she says,” Lucas snarled. “Easy for you to say. I feel like a walrus balancing on a toothpick.”

“A-hem,” I coughed.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He closed his eyes briefly, and let out a breath. “I can do this.”

“That’s better,” I said. “Try it again, this time with feeling.”

He loosened, and his balance improved. “I can do this.” This time he sounded like he almost believed it.

Kyle was just drifting, paddle blade resting on his board, watching the two of us. He grinned at me, and paddled back to the dock.

Once Lucas got the hang of things we paddled for a while, staying fairly close to the shore. The more he did it, the better he got and by the time two hours had passed Lucas had established an easy style and was paddling easily, keeping his balance effortlessly. He was even grinning.

Eventually we returned to the dock, returned his board and paddle, and headed for my truck—Lucas insisted on carrying mine for me, which only made me the tiniest bit melty.

Sitting in my truck, engine idling, I looked over at Lucas. “So. Paddleboarding.”

He leaned his head back against the headrest and groaned. “I’m sore in places I didn’t know could be sore.” He swiveled his head to grin at me. “I had a lot of fun, though. A little weird and scary at first, but it ended up being fun.”

I shouldn’t be this giddy; we were just friends. “So…you’d go with me again?”

He smirked. “If you’ll be there, yeah.”

“But not by yourself?”

He snorted. “Not by a long shot, Liv.”

I laughed while sighing. “Baby steps, huh?”

He glanced at me, one eyebrow brow arched. “Getting a three-hundred-andsome pound, six-foot-four, sixty-two-year-old redneck out on a paddleboard? That there is a hell of a big step, sweetheart.”

“I suppose when you put it that way…” I said.

He glanced at his palms, which had the beginnings of blisters. “You want to get some lunch with me?”

I smiled, heart thumping hard. “Yes, I do.”

“Know where Badd’s Bar and Grill is?”

I shrugged. “I’ve heard of it. Pretty popular local hangout, from what I hear.”

“My nephews own it. My dad opened it a few years after I left Alaska, and my brother bought it a couple years after that, and then took over when Dad’s health started failing.” He sighed, as if something in that statement was painful.

“What aren’t you saying?” I asked.

He shrugged. “A lot, probably.”

“Start with something small?”

He groaned, rubbing his temple. “I wasn’t there when Dad passed. Or Gramps. Or Liam.”

I wasn’t sure what to say that—he wasn’t so much mourning their loss or expressing sadness over it, but that he hadn’t been there; condolences didn’t seem appropriate right now.

“Why not?”

“Some grudges are impossible to get over.”