Page 4 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)

Rip

D o not think about Charly sunbathing in the nude.

Too late.

Thinking about it.

Which is crazy, and going to make this weeklong and painful in so many ways.

“Ready?” she asks as I pluck the key from the starfish bowl on the counter.

“Yup.”

She struggles with the big blanket in her arms and I take it from her. She frowns. “I didn’t pack my yoga mat.”

“Do I need a blanket too?” Jesus, I can’t believe I’m about to do yoga.

But the doctor did say I needed to follow the ‘rice’ method.

Rest, ice compression and elevation, which I’ve been doing.

Yoga with gentle stretching by a certified instructor would definitely help.

I just didn’t want to seek out a yoga studio.

Didn’t want to draw any attention to myself.

But not that Charly and her skills fell into my lap, so to speak, I should take advantage of her…

it…I mean it. The yoga. I’m not, and never have, taken advantage of anyone.

“You don’t really, uh, sunbathe in the nude do you?” I ask.

She cocks her head in challenge. “Is it on the list of ‘can’t do’ rules?”

“No. Actually, I just don’t want you drawing any attention to yourself.”

Or me.

I node toward the back of the cottage. “There’s a quiet spot on the back deck. It’s fenced back there. Private. Probably a good spot.”

“Sound perfect.”

We step outside and a warm breeze washes over us as I lock up making a mental note to get her a key so she can come and go as she pleases.

I’m not about to keep her captive inside.

We walk down the small walkway, cross the street, and step onto the beach.

Warm sand squishes between my toes and I pull my hat down low as we walk toward the water.

The beach is pretty quiet this time of morning, and usually later in the evening, when I do my nightly walking.

“Have you even been to Haven beach before?” I ask.

“No.” she looks around. “it’s beautiful here, though. You live in Boston, right?”

I stiffen and she holds her hands up. “Just making conversational and for some reason I assumed you lived there because that’s where Paisley and Gunter live and you know them.”

“Right. I do live in Boston. I’m from California though.”

She smiles, some warm memory drifting across her face. “Do you miss it?” she asks.

“My family is still there, so yeah, I miss it. I was actually living in Chicago before moving to Boston last year.” Shit, why am I telling her so much.

“Do you like Boston?”

“I do. I have friends there. You ever been?”

“No.”

“I think you’d like it. Maybe not the cold winters though.”

She chuckles. “Probably not.”

We make our way toward the water and a soft strumming sound reaches our ears.

She instantly turns, like she’s seen a ghost but then her body relaxes when her gaze lands on a man sitting alone, strumming on his guitar.

She watches for a moment, and my throat tightens at the longing, and then hurt that moves across her pretty face.

“You play?”

She snorts out a laugh. “Feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Do you want to move further down the beach, so we don’t hear it while we stretch.”

Actually, it is kind of soothing. I’m okay with it if you are.”

I am.” I glance around. “This looks like as good a spot as any.” She nods and I spread out the blanket. “How did you get into yoga?”

“I used to do dance lessons as a kid, and stretching was a big part.” She grins. “That’s how I knew you had good moves.”

“Well then, if you’ve seen me dance, then it’s only fair that I see you dance.”

She huffs out a laugh, as she widens her feet and lifts her hands above her head. “I’m not sure that’s the rule at all.”

“My cottage, my rules, Goldie.”

Rolling her eyes, she puts her hands on my arms and then instantly pulls them back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to touch. I was just trying to position you.”

“You can touch me, Charly.” She hesitates for a second like she’s not too sure about that so I add, “You just caught me off guard. I was here for a week by myself.”

“And in one week, I will be out of your hair.”

I resist the urge to ask her where she’ll go. If she broke into a place she thought was abandoned, it means she has no one, and that breaks my fucking heart. Everyone needs someone.

And who do you need, Rip.

Lyra.

But like Mick Jagger once said, You can’t always get what you want.

She doesn’t know I’m here. Sure we text, a lot.

Especially when it’s late at night and she’s feeling lonely.

I’ve always been there for her, and normally she’d know my exact whereabouts, but this time, I need to heal in private.

While I’ve been holding a torch for her since college, it’s unrequited, most times.

Maybe this is a sign I’m getting over her.

Or maybe it’s a sign that I worry she’ll figure out I’m hurt and use it to further her career.

Which begs the question, why the hell am I still pining for a girl who burned me once, and I believe would do it again.

I need my head checked. Of that I have no doubt.

Maybe I’ll make an appointment with Melanie when I get home.

But the truth is, hurting me is one thing, but now, it’s not just my secret I have to protect, and I feel weirdly protective of my new roommate.

She puts her hands on me again. They’re soft and warm on my arms as she shimmies me on the blanket. She finally gets me where she wants me, and stands back. My gaze rakes over her tight clothes, that showcase her soft curves. I tear my gaze away.

“Why do you need me standing right here. I laugh, hard and deep and she grins at me. “Is it some sun salute ritual thing.”

“Oh, it’s a sun thing.” I eye her and she continues to explain. “I need your big body to block it from my eyes.”

I laugh, deep and hard. “Oh, so I’m helping you out yet again.” I shake my head at her antics.”

“Come on it’s a win/win. No sun in your eyes, and no sun in mine. Now stop talking and do what I do.”

“Bossy,” I grumble, even though I like our easy banter.

She takes a big breath in and I do the same and lift my arms to the sky. I stretch and when she leans to the left, I lean to the left. We continue this for a few more minutes, and then we drop to the blanket, the sand cushioning us.

She stretches out her legs and puts her hands between them. Her eyes catch mine, and there’s a deep seriousness there. “Stretch forward gently. If you feel any pain in your legs, even the slightest twinge, back off okay? I don’t need you trying to impress me.”

I glance at her and give her my signature bad boy smile. “If I were trying to impress you, you’d know.”

She roles her eyes, unaffected by my charm and that’s probably a good thing. Wait, why am I even trying to be charming? I think the lack of sleep and early morning heat is messing with my brain.

“Press your feet to mine.”

I do as she says and honestly, it feels pretty damn good to stretch out like this.

“Close your eyes,” she says quietly. “Feel the sun on your back. Listen to the water. Smell the ocean air, and let the tension drain from your body as you become one with nature.”

I take a deep breath and concentrate on her voice as I engage my senses. I let air out slowly, and it loosens something in my chest, a knot that has been tightening, thickening since our last playoff game.

In the distance the cull of the seagulls mingles with the strumming guitar, and I lean forward a little more. A small twinge has me pulling back and I open one eye to take in the petite blonde facing me, our bare feet touching.

“What are you smiling at?” she asks, and that’s when I realize her eyes are open too and she’s watching me.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “I guess, this is nice. It feels good.”

“Goldilocks, got skills.” She takes a deep breath. “By the end of the week, Big Bear will be purring like a kitten.”

Purring like a kitten.

The sudden image of little Goldie under big bear—purring like a kitten—pulls a growl from the depths of my throat.

She arches a brow. “You growling at me, Big Bear?”

“No. Just…maybe let’s not talk about purring.”

Her smile falters, just a flicker. “Then what?”

I glance her way, one corner of my mouth lifting, dry. “A problem.”

She blinks, and for a beat we just sit there, the air stretching between us, charged.

“Right,” she says, finally, her voice light but her gaze not quite meeting mine. “No more kitten talk.”

“Appreciated,” I murmur. But I’m already too late. The image is burned in.

She shifts into another pose, seated twist, her spine long, chest open, and I follow, though my joints protest. Not from the stretch. From the proximity. From her.

Goldie, with her tousled hair, her sand-dusted skin, and those eyes that see too much. She exhales slowly, grounding herself. I try to do the same. It doesn’t work.

“So, Big Bear,” she says lightly, not looking at me, “Do you growl often, or just when provoked by woodland creatures or when you face a problem.”

“I growl when someone pokes the bear.”

She snorts at that. “You’re not as grumpy as you pretend to be, you know.”

“Don’t let the pancake-making fool you. I’m a menace before breakfast, after dinner, and sometimes when doing yoga.”

“That so?” She lifts a brow and moves into a forward fold. “Guess I’ll make a note not to poke the bear during those times.”

I’m trying hard not to look, but then she glances at me, upside down, hair spilling toward the sand, a teasing smile on her lips.

“What?” she asks.

I clear my throat and turn my gaze out to the ocean. “Just… wondering if we need more rules.”

She straightens slowly, studying me. “So many rules for one week.”

Before I can answer, she stands, brushes the sand from her leggings, and offers me a hand. “Come on, Big Bear. Let’s go back. You’ve got rules to write, and I’ve got sunbathing to do. In a fully appropriate swimsuit, for the record.”

Great, now I’m picturing her not in it.

I take her hand, but don’t let go right away. Her skin is warm. Her grip steady. There’s something really different about this woman.

“We’re done, already? I ask. “Are we going to do it doggy style?” Her eyes go wide and she bites her lip, working hard not to laugh. I shake my head, confused. “What?”

“We are going to take it slow, and it’s called downward dog, and we’re going to get to that, eventually. Doggy style is something else entirely and no we will not be doing that.”

I nearly choke on my tongue. I don’t know much about yoga, but I know a Freudian slip when I hear it. “That’s not—I didn’t mean—obviously we won’t be doing that.” Fuck my life. “I mean, I don’t even want to.”

Liar.