Page 19 of Love at First Sighting

El

“You’re like a fast-food connoisseur now, aren’t you?” Carter laughs. We find a spot on the beach and spread out the blanket I received from a sponsor from the back of my car. There are two burgers and a well-done serving of fries between us as we sit.

“Treason calls for a little treat.”

More than that, I couldn’t bear the idea of going home yet after our close call. Back to Bex and Lea and their bullshit and no Carter. He doesn’t seem to mind that I’ve asked him to hang around a little longer and didn’t object when I told him I knew a place we could go.

“Right.” He laughs. Carter ditched his suspenders, jacket, and hat in the back of my car. Now he’s loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt.

Aside from peeks at his forearms when he rolls up his sleeves, I’m almost convinced he doesn’t have real skin and only has a suit for a body.

I have to guess through the fabric. I have to imagine the curves of his biceps or the toned muscles of his stomach, the sharp angles of his collarbones.

He reaches down, yanks the bottom of his button-down from his pants, and tosses the shirt aside, leaving him in a white undershirt.

I eye the jagged scars crawling up his right arm.

There’s a gnarly one along the inside of his elbow, clear signs of surgery.

He catches me looking. “Pretty brutal, I know.”

I shrug. “I don’t care. I mean, I care . I just…don’t mind.”

Carter nods slowly and focuses back on his French fries.

The waves crash onto the shore yards from us.

I drove us to my favorite quiet beach. It’s out of the way most of the time, but it’s where I come when I want to be alone or want to tan in peace instead of shoot content.

It’s a little north of LA, and in this quiet coastal town, there’s a faint hum of life, but it feels like the world’s gone to sleep here.

I wanted Carter to see this small slice of peace I’ve found for myself.

Carter bites into his burger with a satisfied groan.

I ordered mine pretty plain and straightforward, but I have a feeling Carter would have been fine with me going either Animal Style or in a lettuce wrap.

I feel like he might want me to get whatever makes me happiest, much like the way he asked me about my comfort level in my clothes.

If I’m happy, he’s happy.

We eat in silence for a few minutes, but silence with Carter doesn’t feel like it has to be filled. It’s comfortable.

“So, no info on your dad.”

He shakes his head. “Something’s missing. I know my dad was working right up until he died. He was working more than usual. That much I remember. It’d make no sense for his files to be empty for that long. The question is where they went and who has them.”

Those are big questions I’m not sure I know how to respond to yet, so I take another bite as I consider. The easy answer is one I don’t think Carter wants to hear, but if I had to start digging, the first place I’d look is to the partner who is still alive.

“The best clue we have is Terra. Ian Forte. You know, since Howard’s dead.”

Carter ponders and chews. “We could get a Ouija board.”

“Absolutely not.”

“So, how are we supposed to get within ten feet of Ian Forte?”

“I probably could.”

Carter points at me like I’ve hit the jackpot.

“Great point. But me? No way. I think my proximity tanks anyone’s net worth.

You know he’s launching a vodka brand now?

What a visionary. So visionary that the bottles are supposed to be submarines, but they just look like dicks. Like, alarmingly phallic.”

Then it hits me like a torpedo striking a Terra submarine. I shoot up and rest the scraps of my burger on the paper bag in front of me. “Wait a minute.”

I pass him my phone, where I’ve opened it to Alaka-Sam’s Instagram.

The post in front of him has Sam, in his signature tight pants and sequined sapphire shirt, abracadabra-ing a bottle of Terra Vodka into existence.

There’s a swirl of magic dust photoshopped around the bottle and Sam’s got one single eyebrow raised.

He’s still struggling with his branding.

He’s trying to be a serious and enticing magician, but he’s coming across more as David Blaine Street Magic .

Despite this, he is working his way up the fame ladder if he’s collaborating with Ian Forte.

“This. This could be our in with Ian. Sam is doing a show at the vodka launch party at Houdini House. I can get us into that party.”

Carter huffs and looks part annoyed and part disgusted. “Your ex is really going to want to help us out?”

“How did you know he’s my ex?” I ask, but then realize it’s not annoyance or disgust in his tone. It’s jealousy.

“Government-sanctioned stalking, remember?”

I frown. “Right. Your creeper era.”

Secretly, I might like the idea of Carter looking through my pictures, trying to figure out everything about me.

Carter raises his hands in surrender. “Just doing my job.”

“He dumped me,” I pivot.

Carter responds with actual disgust this time. “Idiot.”

“We’re not exactly on bad terms,” I continue. “It wasn’t going to work out. I think if I tell him I can provide a bunch of guests for his show, he would be inclined to get us on the list. Even if I’m damaged goods to him, I still have some sway.”

“I mean, he looks like he does kids’ parties and wears a lot of Lycra.”

“He does. I can work on buttering him up. But not now,” I say, looking at the time. “It’s ‘conjuring hour’ before his second show.”

“What’s he conjuring?”

I legitimately do not know and I don’t wish to know, honestly. “It’s better not to ask. He doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

“…Right. Well, we have our next steps, I guess.”

“I think this mission will be a bit less high risk than tonight’s.

Hopefully.” I liked the thrill of action, but we did cut it a little too close for comfort.

Carter almost got arrested. Leonard assured us he deleted all footage of our time at the archive, so unless that guard has a photographic memory, it’s not likely we can be identified.

“Thank god. You held your own pretty well, but…I don’t like the idea of you being in danger.”

The blue of his eyes is so bright underneath the moonlight, but there’s a look of dire seriousness in his expression.

“I would have been okay,” I assure him. “I mean, maybe I’m no pro at throwing punches, but I’m crafty.”

“I could teach you.”

“ You know how to fight?” I ask.

“I had to take some basic hand-to-hand combat courses when I trained to be an agent.”

As much as I like the rush of adrenaline our adventures are giving me, I’m becoming more aware we are dancing closer to danger than I ever expected.

It’s probably smart to take him up on his lessons, and I can imagine worse things than combat lessons from a very sexy Man in Black. I climb to my feet.

“Okay, Mr. Miyagi, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Carter stands and shoves our trash into the bag before pulling me onto the sand with him. I raise my brows at him and step into my fighting stance.

Carter clears his throat. “You’re right-handed?”

I nod. Carter’s hands rest on my hips and he carefully tilts me in the opposite direction. The touch sets my skin on fire. He holds me like I’m both delicate and formidable at the same time. He knows what I’m capable of, but he still treats me with care.

“Dominant side away from your opponent. You’ll throw stronger punches that way.” He takes his time moving up my body until he finds my elbows. His fingers press softly to the backs of my arms as he raises them in front of my face.

“What are you?”

“Ambidextrous,” he teases.

Well, that’s weirdly hot. “Oh?”

“After the accident, I had to learn to write with my other hand while the one was in a sling. I couldn’t fall too behind on homework.”

The thought should make me sad, and it does, but it’s another example of the ways Carter takes his heartbreak and makes something out of it. For someone who has lived through so much pain, he knows how to carve weapons from it, ensuring he survives.

Smiling, he finishes positioning my hands in front of my face. “Protect that pretty face of yours. You want to be able to strike but also keep yourself from getting hit at the same time.”

As he reaches my fists, he repositions my thumbs.

“Now,” he instructs, “find the vulnerable areas.”

“I can think of at least one.”

“I’m sure you can.” His grip over my fingers tightens, like he doesn’t want to let go of me.

“However, not just the balls. The face and neck will also do a lot of damage and cause a lot of pain. You might be small, but a good heel of the hand to the nose will make even the toughest people flinch. Now throw your first punch with the arm farthest from your opponent. Try it.”

“Punch you?”

“You’re not going to punch me.”

“Wanna bet?”

He sighs. “Just do it.” This makes me oddly nervous.

I know I’m not going to be great at this, but I also don’t want to hit him.

I garner some momentum and throw my fist forward, calculating when to stop before I hit Carter.

His palm flies up between us, catching my fist. Our skin meets with a harsh smack , then his fingers curl softly around my fist. He nods and releases. “Good girl. Again.”

Good girl. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but now his words send pleasure ratcheting up my spine and make my heart race.

I try to channel that energy into fistfighting instead of thinking about how badly I want to pull him into the back seat of my car.

I throw another punch, and then another, and another.

He catches each one, carefully releasing my hand with a gentle stroke of my wrist, like he’s casting me back out to sea.

Each punch grows stronger, and as I find more confidence, his smile widens, becoming more playful before he backs away.