Page 5 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)

Charly

I check in with my brother, to let him know I found a place to stay.

I don’t tell him where. Call me paranoid, but I have no idea who is listening.

That almost makes me laugh. It’s not like I’m a big star.

Heck just a few months ago I was nobody.

Sure my name, Indy Rhodes, became popular when I won The Spotlight, but it was the supposed sex tape I was in that really skyrocketed me.

Who knew all you had to do was flash the world to become popular.

They say any publicity is good publicity, but I disagree. I really don’t want to be known for my sex-capades, even if they weren’t mine. But honestly, I have no idea if this will blow over…ugh, bad choice of words…or I I’ll have to find another career, out of the spotlight.

I read my brother’s response. He, of course, wanted me to stay with him, but again, I don’t want to bring him unwanted attention. What would he think if he knew I’d crashed in Rip Hart’s bed. He’d probably lose his mind. Everyone knows Rip’s reputation. But I’m not about to crawl into bed with him.

No sleepovers.

No doggy style.

A chuckle rumbles in my throat just as a noise at the door gains my attention. I set my phone down, shade the last day sun from my eyes and spot Big Bear stepping into the back yard.

“Something funny?”

“Just texting my brother.” Shoot, I shouldn’t have said that. We’re not sharing details of our lives, and the less we know the better. Although, something does tell me this man can keep a secret. Heck he’s keeping one of his own. But I plan to help him with that. He just doesn’t have to know it.

“Crispy yet?”

I poke my leg. “Medium well,” I say, and sit up. I might have sunbathed nude, considering I don’t have a bathing suit with me, but no way would I do it with Rip in the house. I am not leaning into the things the media is saying about me.

He jerks his hand out. “Thought I’d go catch us some dinner.”

I angle my head. “You’re going to catch dinner? Should I be worried?”

He laughs. “Nah, did you see those rocks today, when we were doing yoga.”

He waves his hand, pointing to somewhere far in the distance, but all I see is the fence hugging the backyard. “Vaguely.”

“Good fishing spot. I can hook us some summer flounder.”

I sit up a little straighter. Honestly, I’m not build or lounging. Sure the backyard is peaceful and quiet, which is exactly what I thought I need, but I’m already starting to feel like a decorative. A slightly sweaty, restless gnome.

Rip, meanwhile, look like he was born to recline in silence and look handsome doing it. I don’t want to ruin his zen more than I already have.

“Sounds fun,” I respond, like someone pretending to know the difference between a flounder and a door stop.

“Sound fun.”

He turns, about to walk off, then hesitates. “I have an extra rod, if you want to tag along.”

Cue internal confetti cannon.

“I’ve actually never fished before,” I blurt out, already scrambling to my feet like this is a limited-time off and I have to react. My body is hallway to the house when my mouth tries to play it cool. But I don’t want to get in your way.”

Jeez, way to act casual, Charly. Maybe throw in a cartwheel next time.

“Kind of seems like you do,” he teases as I brush past him.

“It’s just that I don’t like to half-ass anything,” I shoot back as I flash him a grin over my shoulder. “Mother always told me if you’re going to do something do it right.”

“So she means, if you’re going to be a nuisance, you’re going to be an award-winning nuisance?

“I don’t do amateur hour, Rip.” His laughter curls around me as I shut the bathroom door.

I wash up quickly, buzzing with way too much excitement for what is technically a yucky fish-based activity.

Heck, I thought I wanted quiet and calm.

Turns out calm is kind of boring without my guitar, and nothing is boring around Big Bear.

After washing up, I step into the living room and find it empty.

“Rip?” Did he leave without me. The place isn’t big and there are no spots a man his size can hide.

Rustling sounds from outside reach my ears, and I slip on my flip flops and step out front, to find him pulling rods and a toolbox from the small shed.

I stand back for a moment, take pleasure in the strength of his big body.

While I’d like to suggest he ice his groin, I’m not supposed to know about his injury. There are ways I can probably get around that though.

I walk up to him. “Need help?” I ask and he jumps. “Sorry.”

“I’m going to have to put a bell on you,” he grumps.

“Or you can just remember that you’re sharing this place with me now. Have you forgotten already?”

He hands me a rod. “No, of course not.”

Okay, why is he saying it like that?

Maybe because you’re really an annoyance, girlfriend.

A wave of guilt seeps through my blood. If I had anywhere to go, I would. I guess all I can do is try to make this week easy on him. Help him out with cooking and cleaning, and healing and whatever other things he might need help with, like yoga, stretching…doggy style.

Nope not going there.

He sets the toolbox on the ground, and I’m about to flick my hair over my shoulder before I bend to pick it up. That’s when I remember it’s cut short. My stomach tightens. I probably shouldn’t be out on the rocks, parading around the beach where someone might recognize me.

Rips phone pings, and he tugs it from the side pocket of his shorts. His entire body goes stiff as he reads the message, then he stands there like he’s debating his next move.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s…ah…she’s uh…”

“You don’t know who she is?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” he blurts out, and that takes me by surprise.

“Oh, yes, of course. I’ll just be over there, to give you privacy?

” He rubs his eyebrow as I step away, which appears to be some kind of nervous tick.

Are they having a fight? Is that why he looked unsure, maybe even a bit nervous when the message came in?

Does she know about his injury? Is he hiding it from her, too?

Wow, for a girl who doesn’t want to get to know her roommate, I sure have a lot of questions.

Not your business, Charly.

Unless of course it is my business and he’s worried his girlfriend would be upset to find out he was cohabitation with a strange woman.

I walk away, and stand in the small driveway. I’m guessing Rip must have taken an Uber here too, since there’s no car in the driveway. If there had of been, I probably wouldn’t have shimmied the window open and snuck inside.

I examine the fishing pole and tug on the line, pretending to know something about the contraption as his fingers fly over his phone. A moment later, toolbox in hand and fishing rod in the other he steps up to me.

“All set?”

From the frown on his face, to the deep line in his forehead, it’s easy to tell he’s not okay. I’m not about to ask. Asking questions leads to more question and I don’t want any of those directed at me.

“Those rocks over there?” I say, pointing off toward the coastline, hoping to steer the conversation toward something he obviously enjoys. My finger arcs through the salty air, and Rip follows the line of my hand. “That’s where we’re going.”

He nods, and I ask, “He nods. “Have you been fishing this week?”

“Nearly every day.”

We fall into step, our feet crunching over a mix of crushed shells as we cross the road and reach the beach. We head toward the waterline.

“Catch anything?” I ask, brushing a wind-whipped strand of hair from my cheek.

A grin tugs at his mouth, and his shoulders lift in a dramatic shrug. “Yesterday I caught an old pair of gym shorts, followed by a wave of disappointment.”

I snort, nearly tripping over a driftwood log. “Tragic.”

“Don’t laugh,” he says, bumping my shoulder with his. I stumble sideways with a mock gasp, nearly losing a flip-flop. “I worked hard. I thought I had something big on the line.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, still giggling as I regain my balance. “Really, I am.”

Rip shoots me a sideways look. “Don’t be. There’s a fish market down the street. This is about relaxing.”

We reach a flat stretch of wet sand and slow our pace. I glance over at him. “So... did you keep them? The shorts, I mean.”

“No.”

I tap my chin. “Hmmm.”

“What?”

I stop short, plant my feet like I mean business, and toss a hand on my hip. “Let’s have a contest.”

“A contest?”Rip turns, raising an eyebrow like I just challenged him to a duel instead of beachcombing. He adjusts the fishing rod on his shoulder with a practiced ease that really shouldn’t be so attractive.

“Yeah. See who can reel in the most usefulitem today. Winner keeps the loot.”

He gives me a crooked smirk—equal parts charm and trouble. “Define useful.”

“If it’s clothing,” I say sweetly. “We have to wear it. No exceptions.”

Rip narrows his eyes, full of suspicion. “I’m not putting on a dress. Or anything with sequins. Or feathers.”

I grin already imagining him in something tragic and glittery that smells faintly of seaweed and regret. “Then maybe you don’t want to play?”

He steps closer, and his eyes flicker with a cocky gleam. Why did I know this man would never back down from a challenge. “Oh, I’m playing. Just want it on record that if I end up in someone’s discarded wedding gown, I’m blaming you.”

“Why do I feel like this isn’t a hypothetical?” I squint at him.

A grin tugs at his mouth as he steps up on a rock and extends a hand to help me over. “Let’s just say I’ve seen some things in Vegas that no man should ever see. Including a groomsman in a tiara.”

This isn’t the first time he’s mentioned Vegas. “You spend a lot of time there, or did you just live in a Hangover movie?”

“My grandfather owns a resort out there,” he says with a shrug, then winces. “I’ve seen s like he accidentally dropped a secret.