Page 10 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)

Rip

C rouched over the fire, I peel back the foil and catch a rush of steam that smells like lemon, herbs, and deliciousness. My stomach growls. I test the baked potatoes with a knife. Smooth glide. Perfect.

“That smells amazing.”

I glance up to see Charley heading over from the house, barefoot and radiant in the golden hour glow, balancing a bowl of salad on her arm, and plates and utensils in her hands.

She sets everything down on the rickety table I rescued from the shed, then pops open two lawn chairs like this is exactly where she belongs.

“Drink?” I ask, flipping open the cooler.

She brushes a leaf off her seat and drops into it with a sigh. “Yes, please.”

“I’ve got soda, beer, and sparkling water. I didn’t know what you liked. Goldilocks didn’t raid my beverage stash.”

She sticks her tongue out at me, and I grin. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

I crack open a beer and hand it to her, then crack one for myself. We clink cans before I sink into the chair across from her.

“Thanks,” she says, taking a sip. Her shoulders relax, her eyes scan the ocean. “This is... really nice.”

“Yeah.” I nod, staring at the glittering water as the sun dips low. “I might never want to go back to reality.”

“When is that?” she asks softly.

I glance down, play with my can. “Couple more weeks.”

She doesn’t ask what comes after. She doesn’t need to. Just like I don’t ask what she’s running from. It’s an unspoken deal—we’re not here to dissect the damage. We’re just… here.

I stand, check the fish and potatoes again. “Dinner is served.”

She passes me a plate. I grab the foil with my bare hands like a genius, trying to do it fast and smooth.

“Ow. Ow. Ow.” I hiss, juggling the hot foil while attempting not to look like a complete idiot.

“We have these things called tongs, or a spatula,” she says, biting back a smile.

“Okay Mom ,” I shoot back, then grin as she shakes her head. “But hey, admit it, that was extremely manly.”

She lifts a brow. “Oh yes. My ovaries are in full revolt.”

That gets a real laugh out of me, deep and uncontrollable. “Was it the ‘ow, ow, ow’ part that did it for you?” I tease.

She leans forward just a little, her eyes sparkling. “That and the interpretive fire dance. Truly primal.”

I laugh again, and damn if it doesn’t feel like something’s shifting between us. Not a big moment. Just a little spark. A warm, flirty, dangerously tempting one.

I set the plate in the center of the table, steam curling upward as I peel open the foil. “Glad I could deliver, Charley.”

She leans in, eyes lighting up. “That looks so good.”

“Let’s hope it tastes as good as it smells.” I spear a generous piece of fish and slide it onto her plate, followed by a potato. She bends low and inhales, closing her eyes like she’s at a five-star restaurant instead of sitting barefoot in a folding chair.

“Speaking of Mom,” she says as I slice into my own potato, “Does your family still live in California? Are you guys close?”

“Yes and yes.” I scoop a solid dollop of butter. “As close as we can be, considering I’m in Boston.”

She grabs the salad tongs and helps herself before passing them my way. “Do they visit much?”

“Just once so far. I’ve only been there about a year. When I get a bigger place, I think they’ll come more often.”

A look flickers across her face, something wistful.

Soft. It guts me a little. She’s not close with her family.

Doesn’t have a real crew of friends, either.

Damn. If she lived in Boston, the WAGs would adopt her on sight.

But she doesn’t. And she’s not dating or engaged to any of the guys who would bring her into the circle.

Weird how the thought of her withanyof them makes me want to snap a hockey stick in half.

“You said Easton was older?”

“Yeah, I’m the baby.”

She smirks. “Biggest baby I’ve ever seen.”

“Damn, girl. All these compliments,” I say. “My ego just can’t handle it.”

She laughs, and the sound ripples right through me. “I mean that in the nicest possible way, of course.”

She takes a bite of the fish and moans—actually moans—and I forget how to breathe.

Fuck.

“Rip, this is so good.”

Fuck me again.

I clear my throat, trying to will away every X-rated image that just ambushed my brain.

“Glad you approve.” My voice is a little rough. “Want seconds or a cigarette?” I tease.

She chokes on a laugh, cheeks turning pink. “Wow. Look at you. One perfectly grilled fish and you think you’re Gordon Ramsay in a romance novel.”

I grin. “Hey, I didn’t hear a no.”

“You’re right.” She licks her shiny lips. “I’ll probably have second. I haven’t tasted anything this good in ages.”

I focus on the tomato in my salad, needing something— anything —to distract me from the way she just licked her lips. I stab the tomato a little too hard. It explodes. Juice hits me right on the cheek.

Perfect.

A groan escapes me before I can stop it. Thankfully, I can blame it on the damn produce instead of the image currently playing on loop in my head—Charley, licking her lips while I have my mouth on her body.

“You’ve got tomato juice on your face,” she says, laughing as she grabs a napkin and leans in. Her hand reaches for me. I catch it. Her skin is soft. Too soft. And the contact short-circuits every reasonable thought in my brain. Especially the one trying to keep blood flow above the belt.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend as I take the napkin. She sinks back into her chair, and I quickly wipe my face, then toss the napkin into the fire like it’s evidence of a crime.

When I glance back at her, she’s smiling.

“Let’s try this again.” I pop a tomato into my mouth, this time gently. It bursts with flavor. “Salad’s great, Char.”

She blinks. “Char?”

“You don’t like that?”

“No, it’s fine. No one really calls me that.” Her lips twitch. “It’s nice, Dripley. ”

I groan. “Can we not?”

She grins. “Does Easton play hockey too?” she asks.

“Nope. He’s a lawyer. Like our dad. Academic type.”

“And you didn’t want to follow in their footsteps?”

I shake my head as she scoops a scandalous amount of butter onto her plate. Now that’s my kind of girl.

“Maybe that’s why we get along so well,” she says. “You’re a rebel like me.”

I chuckle. “Graduated with a poli-sci degree, but my heart was never in it.” It was just a backup in case hockey didn’t work out.

She grows quiet for a beat. “Do you regret not going to college?”

“I was a daydreamer, not a desk kind of girl.”

Her gaze softens. “The world needs daydreamers too.”

She swallows, like my words hit her right in the chest. “Thanks for saying that, Rip. I think I needed to hear it. But if you really want to know the truth, there are times I do regret it. College. Isn’t for everyone, I know that.

My parents pushed it so hard, I think that’s why I chose not to.

” Under her breath she adds, “Probably not my smartest move.”

“It’s never too late. If that’s what you want.”

She nods, and we eat in a comfortable rhythm, birds chattering above us. A breeze ruffles her hair. I swear she glows in this light.

After a few quiet minutes, she speaks again. “You never did tell me what you do for fun. Besides fishing and open-fire barbecues.” She slides her fork into another piece of fish, eyes locked on mine as she brings it to her lips. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

Or maybe she does.

I take a long swig of beer before I say something stupid. When I set it down, I deadpan, “I marry people.”

Her brows lift. “You what ? ”

“Yep. Reverend Rip at your service.”

Her laugh bursts out so fast she nearly chokes.

I lean back in my chair, grinning. “Certified. Online. Comes with a PDF and everything.”

“Wait… you’ve actually officiated weddings?”

“Surprised?”

“Very.” She cocks her head. “Wait are you being serious? You actually…marry people.”

“Yup, and weddings, backyard barbecues.

Her head tilts. Suspicion is thick in her eyes. “You really have a license.”

“I know, it’s kind of hard to believe. But when my brother got married, I got certified so I could officiate. Figured it was a one-time thing, but turns out I enjoyed it. So now I’ve done a few more.”

She blinks, processing. Then blurts, “That’s what you do for fun?”

I laugh. “That’s what I do for fun.”

“You’re really not messing with me.”

“I’m really not.” I give her a playful wink. “If I was messing with you, you’d know it.” Her cheeks turn pink and I clear my throat. “I have the license on my phone.” I pat my pocket. “Actually, my phone’s inside. Want me to grab it?”

She waves me off, eyes still narrowed. “No. I believe you. I mean, who lies about something like that?” She shakes her head, clearly baffled. “It’s just… I think that might be the last thing I ever expected you to say.”

“Why?” I ask, even though I already know.

“Because,” she says, motioning toward me. “You’re… you. You fish and light fires, like a feral man.”

I grin. “Thank you?”

“Does this mean you’re, like, a closet romantic? That you believe intrue love?” She says it like the words taste bad. Can’t blame her, not after her ex dragged her through hell.

I jab my fork into a cucumber slice harder than necessary, imagining her ex’s smug face on the other end. Then memories of my own messed up relationship claws its way into my brain.

“I don’t know,” I say after a moment. “I guess… yeah. For other people, sure. Just not for me.”

She lets out a short laugh. “We really do have a lot in common.”

“Yup.” I glance at her. “Sucks to be us.”

She smirks. “I actually think that’s a pretty cool hobby, Rip.”

“Speaking of hobbies…” I wipe my mouth and stand, tucking the napkin under my plate as the breeze kicks up. “I have a surprise for you.”

Her eyes narrow. “Oh God. I hate surprises.”

I pause, caught off guard by how much those words sting. “Yeah,” I say softly. “Me too.”

She doesn’t ask why, but I see the question in her eyes, the same way I see the echo of betrayal in hers. I clear my throat and gesture toward the side of the cottage. “I found something while I was out earlier. Thought you might like it.”

“You foundsomething?” she echoes warily.

“It’s a good surprise. I swear. I also swear it will be the last one. No surprises for either of us.”

“Fine and I guess you owe me a surprise after I surprised you by breaking in.”

“That wasn’t’ a bad surprise, Char,” I say quietly as I disappear around the corner and return with her surprise cradled in my arms. Her jaw drops.

“Rip…no . ”

“You don’t like it?”

She shakes her head, blinking like she’s not quite sure she’s seeing this right. “I don’t understand. You founda guitar? Like… it was just lying on the beach or something?”

Her eyes widen. “Rip. It must belong to someone. We have to return it.”

I laugh, holding up a hand to stop her before she goes full rescue mission. “Relax. It doesn’t belong to anyone. I found it in a store.”

Her jaw drops again. “Rip, no. I can’t. That’s too much.”

I shift the guitar in my hands. “Okay, here’s the truth, Char.

This gift? It’s not really for you.” I let out a long-suffering sigh.

Her brow arches like she’s about to call me on my bullshit.

“It’s for me,” I say solemnly before she gets the chance.

“I’ve been doing some thinking. It’s incredibly selfish of me to keep this voice…

” I pause and with both hands gesture to myself.

“…confined to the shower. It’s time the world experienced the magic.

” I nod toward the firepit. “Bonfire. S’mores. Guitar. This voice.”

She snorts. “Wow. That’s awfully generous of you, Rip.”

“I know. It’s a burden being this talented, but I persevere. So if you play… I’ll sing.”

Her grin hits me square in the chest and does dangerous things to my insides.

“Will there be moves?” she teases.

I gasp. “Charley, there will always be moves. So what do you say.”

She laughs, but her gaze softens as her fingers brush the guitar’s neck. “You kind of had me at magical,” she says. “But moves? That was like an overtime goal. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Hockey metaphor.” I cock my head and take in the warmth on her cheeks. “Thought you weren’t into hockey.”

“I’m not…” Her words fall off as she blinks at me, like she could actually be into me.

Dammit.

I might actually be into her, too.

But I’m off bunnies and bridesmaids, as I try to work through whatever it is I have with Lyra.

Ah, but she’s not either of those things dude.