Page 7 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)

Rip

I try to keep my focus on the fishing line. Really, I do. But the woman next to me is soaked, her T-shirt clinging in ways that should probably be illegal, and her hard nipples are doing absolutely nothing to help my concentration.

A warm breeze drifts over us as she shifts her stance, brushing damp strands of hair from her face.

“If you want to run back and change,” I offer, keeping my tone casual, “I wouldn’t blame you.”

She waves me off. “Nah, I’ll dry soon enough.

” Then she wipes her brow and shoots me a smile.

Open, grateful, genuine. It knocks me off-kilter more than her wet T-shirt ever could.

That’s probably not a good thing. She lowers herself onto the rocks beside me, shoulders sinking like the last of the tension is finally melting out of her.

“Actually, Rip... this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in a long time.

” She lifts her face to the sun. My God, she’s pretty. Like really pretty.

I drop down next to her with a quiet grunt, stretching out my legs. My groin is already protesting. The stretching this morning was helpful, but apparently, standing on rocks for an hour isn’t part of my healing regimen.

“I’m glad,” I say, because it’s true. She’s been through a lot lately, and if I can help out a bit, help her forget real life, even for a week, then I’m happy to do it.

The Atlantic stretches out in front of us, sunlight bouncing off the waves in sharp glints. She watches the ocean like she’s memorizing it. What is going through her mind?

“I had no idea fishing could be like this,” she murmurs, enlightening me to her thoughts. She gives me a grin. “Maybe I’ll take it up when I leave.”

A knot tightens in my chest at the word leave , but I shove it down.

“There’s lots of good fishing in California,” I say, trying for casual. “You can charter a boat, do some deep sea stuff.” She grunts at my suggestion. “You don’t like the idea of that?”

Her nose crinkle as she puckers. “I kind of like being on the rocks.” She pats the smooth surface beneath us.

“You don’t like boats?”

“I actually fell off one once. When I was young. It was an accident, but…” Her voice trails off.

When she doesn’t continue, I lean forward. “Jesus, I’m sorry, Charley. That must’ve been horrifying.”

“It was.” She pauses, then adds, “My parents were super mad.”

That makes me blink. “Wait… You had an accident and your parents were mad?”

She gives a hollow chuckle. “But that’s me.Troublesome Charley.Too much. Disobedient. Out of control.”

“I’m sorry.” The words are automatic, but a wave of anger rises in me like a tide. How could her parents be mad at her for nearly drowning?

“Not your fault,” she says. Another humorless laugh. “Wasn’t mine either, but that didn’t seem to matter. My brother and I were playing. He accidentally knocked me in. But he’s the golden child. He can’t do anything wrong.”

I go quiet. We have this unspoken rule — no sharing, no digging — but she’s clearly handing me a piece of herself. And it feels fragile in my hands.

“You have a brother?” I ask gently. “I do. And don’t get me wrong — I love him to pieces. He’s studying law and is my parents’ pride and joy.” A warm smile touches her mouth. “I’m so proud of him too.” Her voice softens.

“I’m sure your parents are proud of you too.”

She swallows. “I never followed the path they wanted for me.” She rolls one shoulder. “See, rebel.”

“Nah, we have to follow our own hearts, Charly.”

“Maybe. But look where that got me.” She stares out over the ocean, but it’s easy to tell her thoughts are a miles away. “My brother, Jason, he was the only one who believed me when—” She cuts herself off, the words dying suddenly.

“What is it your parents wanted you to do?” I ask.

“They thought I’d be a good teacher, or even lawyer, since I was so good at arguing.”

I cringe. “That sounds more like dig than a compliment. I take it your teenage years were hard.”

“On all of us. I thought I could show them with…” She shifts, sits a little straighter, like she’s pulling armor back into place. “Wow,” she says with forced brightness. “What is it about fishing that has me dragging up past hurts and bringing the mood down?”

“It’s all good, Charley. Fishing can be a quiet time, a time to reflect, too. And you only brought up the past because I asked about boats.”

She nods, her gaze drifting out across the water. Silence settles for a moment, comfortable now.

Then I ask, “Do you think you’d ever go on one again? You know what they say about falling off a horse.”

She grins, just a little. “I don’t know. Maybe. For the record I’ve never been on a horse, so I don’t know what I’d do if I fell off.”

I do an air checkmark. “Adding horseback riding to our list of things to do,” I say playfully. “But seriously, I could rent a boat. We wouldn’t have to go far. And I can put you in a life jacket and water wings.”

“Water wings?” Her eyebrows lift.

I grin. “Lots of my friends have pools and their kids wear them. You know—” I raise my arms and wrap a hand around one bicep, miming the inflated floaties. “They blow up and keep you afloat. Pretty stylish, honestly.”

“Well, I mean, if there are water wings involved…” Her eyes light up with amusement. “Will you be wearing them too? Because if so, then yes, I have to see that.”

“I’m not sure they make them in men’s sizes,” I say, chuckling. “But if they do, yeah, I’ll wear them.” She leans a little closer, and I catch another whiff of her sweet scent. Sunshine and warmth.

“Really?” she murmurs. “That wouldn’t embarrass you?”

I meet her gaze, and something warm blooms in my chest. “Nope. Not if it gets you back on a boat. I’d wear a whole inflatable suit if I had to.”

That earns me a laugh, an unguarded, genuine sound that wraps around me and squeezes tight.

God, I love that laugh and it’s crazy how much I enjoy her company.

How easy it is to sit here with her, just talking.

I don’t usually do this, talk with women.

Not like this. The women I’ve been with before, they wanted something else from me.

Attention, maybe. The image. The body. But never this.

Never the part where we trade memories and dare to be honest. That’s not to say I’m not attracted to her.

Hell, I am. But this is just really…nice.

“You don’t have to answer,” I say, nudging her gently. “I’ll leave that with you. I mean, we’ve got to do something to pass the time this week.”

Pass the time.

Yeah right.

There are about ten things I could think of to make the week go faster… or slower. Or just plain more interesting. All of them start with her and end somewhere I probably shouldn’t be thinking about right now.

“Okay,” she says, her voice quieter. “I’ll think about it.”

I glance at her again, then shift a little on the bench. “What do you usually do to relax?” I ask, even though we promised to keep things surface-level. I can’t help it. I want to know more. I want to know her .

She doesn’t answer right away, and for a second I wonder if I pushed too far. But then she tucks her hair behind her ear and says, “I write and play music.”

I blink, like I’m surprised by that. Actually maybe I am. I knew she sang, but I didn’t know she wrote music too. “That’s awesome. I have, like, negative music skills. I can’t play anything. My singing is strictly shower only, and you’re welcome,” I tease.

She laughs her eyes sparkling. “What’s your go to shower song?”

I smirk. “That’s classified.”

“Oh, so it’s embarrassing,” she says, clearly delighted. “Let me guess… something dramatic. Whitney Houston? Celine Dion?”

I gasp. “I’ll have you know Inail, ‘My Heart Will Go On.’ The acoustics in the bathroom are phenomenal.”

She grins and bumps her shoulder against mine. “Now I have to hear it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You volunteering to sit outside the door while I shower? That’s bold, Charley.” Jesus, I can’t think about her climbing into the shower with me. I do not need to be sporting a boner while fishing.

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. “Maybe I just want to know what kind of guy I’m stuck with for the week.”

“I’m full of surprises,” I say, a little softer this time.

She holds my gaze, and for a second, the teasing fades into something quieter. Warmer. The air between us shifts.

Then she looks away, lips curving. “I think you’re full of something.”

“Hey,” I burst out.

She laughs. “Tell me, do you incorporate your ‘moves’ when you’re belting out Celine?”

I grin. “Be nice. You weren’t supposed to see that. My disco skills are also highly classified.”

She laughs, really laughs, and it’s the kind that makes your chest feel lighter just hearing it. I’d do a hundred more ridiculous dance moves if it meant I could hear that sound again.

“I guess I’ll have to get a bell after all,” she says, a teasing gleam in her eye. “A woman can only take so much of those moves.”

“Does that mean you like them, or hate them?”

“They’re not bad, Rip. I mean, I’ve seen worse.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me today,” I joke.

She grins, eyes on the water. “I can teach you to play. Least I can do after you introduced me to therelaxing world of fishing.”

I narrow my eyes, scanning through a mental inventory of the beach house. “Did you bring a guitar? Must’ve been a tight squeeze getting it through the window.”

She laughs, but there’s no real joy behind it. More of a hollow echo than a belly laugh. “Right. No. Didn’t bring it.”

Her smile fades, her rod twitching as she watches her bobber like it might reveal the secrets of the universe.

“What’s Rip short for?” she asks, casual but curious.

“Ripley.”

She turns slightly. “I like it. It suits you.”

“Charly suits you,” I say.So does Indie Rhodes, but that part stays behind my teeth.

“I’m named after my dad,” she says softly.