A topless, dark blue jeep pulls to a stop at the crosswalk about ten yards away. A surfboard is strapped to the top rails, and a dog peeks his head out of the backseat. He’s adorable—black pointy ears and face, with a white snout like a border collie. His pink tongue lolls from his mouth.
Not waiting, I run towards the jeep, the wheels of my bag rattling against the cement. I lift my hand holding the phone, awkwardly waving the jeep down. The guy in the driver’s seat nods. He’s wearing aviators and a ball cap with the brim pulled low.
“Hi,” I say, breathless as I stop at the passenger side of the jeep. “I’m Rachel Price. I’m so sorry again! My phone wasn’t working, and two of my bags are missing, and I’ve been up for 36 hours, and I’m just a red-hot mess. But I’m here now, and I’m ready to go and—ohmygod, you are so cute—”
The guy in the front seat stiffens, his mouth opening a little in surprise, but I’m not actually paying attention to him right now.
As I spilled my guts, the dog in the backseat hopped between the seats, popping his face over the edge of the passenger door, panting in my face. He’s got gorgeous icy blue eyes, so bright and curious—and fine, I’m a huge sucker for animals, okay? I could never have one growing up with the way we always traveled, so now I become painfully awkward in social settings if there is a dog involved.
“Sy, back,” his owner commands, cranking the jeep into park.
The dog wiggles his whole body, his tail flapping in the guy’s face before he hops dutifully into the backseat.
“Need help with your bags?” my ride asks.
“Oh, no. I can get it,” I say, my eye going back to him.
Oh…shit.
Well, this should show you just how much I lose it around animals. Here I am fawning over a cute dog when his owner is even cuter. He slips his aviators off, tucking them into the top of his t-shirt, and I get the full affect of those dark eyes and cheekbones for days. He’s got a day or two of stubble along his jaw, and the sexiest bow pout to his lips.
“I—”
He raises a brow that all but disappears under the bill of his hat.
Girl, get yourself together.
I snap my mouth shut.
Shit, when did it open?
“I’m fine,” I repeat. “Let me just…” I don’t even bother finishing the sentence. I just duck my head in shame and move around the back of the jeep.
“Here, let me,” he calls out. “The door can get jammed sometimes.” That’s when he unfolds himself from the driver’s seat and—oh my sweet heavens. He’s a surfer dream boy. Sculpted perfection. I could see the shoulders from the jeep, but I wasn’t betting on the height too.
He’s graceful as he moves, turning his back on me to fiddle with the door. Ink covers his right arm from the wrist up, disappearing under the sleeve of his t-shirt. Swirls of color and detailed patterns. He swings the door open and I step back, ready to heft my bag inside.
“Here, let me get it,” he mutters.
“No, don’t bother,” I say. Why is my voice coming out so squeaky?
“That looks heavy.”
“I’m a big girl,” I reply, hefting it by the handle.
Then a few things happen at once. First, the car behind us honks, making me jump and the dog bark. Then the PA system starts blaring about parking in restricted areas. Lastly, as I lift the bag, I snag the edge of the door. This must have been just enough force to fray the ancient bag’s last will to live. I hear the fabric tear, and then all hell breaks loose.
And by hell, I mean the contents of my bag.
Yep, I stand there, mouth open in horror, watching as all my carelessly packed belongings flood from the shredded canvas, spilling all over the curb at our feet.
Surfer Boy exchanges a wide-eyed look with me before we both jolt into action, trying to catch all my falling stuff. His hands reach out, snatching for the bag as if he means to force it closed. I shriek as a book slams down on my exposed toes. This has me knocking back against the open jeep door.
Now the dog is barking in alarm, watching us scramble to keep my stuff from rolling into oncoming traffic. Once we get the bag to the ground, I drop to my knees, desperate to shove everything back inside.
This is it. I’ve finally found it.
Hello, limit. I’m Rachel.
I work quickly, stuffing things back inside the broken bag. A few seconds pass when I realize Surfer Boy is just standing there, making no effort to help me. I glance up, my eyes trailing up his bare legs that are dusted with sand. Did he come straight from the beach to pick me up? I pass over his board shorts, up his cut torso, to his face.
He’s looking down, but he’s not looking at me. No, he’s looking at the thing in his hand. His expression is frozen on his face, totally unreadable.
And thing is right because—
Oh my fucking god.
My heart drops out of my chest. Someone bury me in the earth right here in this airport loading zone. And make sure to dig a hole for Tess right next to me, because I plan to haunt her to death!
Surfer Boy is holding a dildo. My dildo. It was a gag gift from Tess, and it’s most certainly a gag that she packed it for me. It has to be, because the dildo is large and purple and shaped like an octopus tentacle.
CHAPTER 3
I’m standing in the ‘no parking’ zone of the Jacksonville airport with a tentacle dildo in my hand. It’s electric purple and rubbery, and I can tell from the weight it’s battery operated.
Holy fucking shit.
How the hell did I get here?
I’d been waiting for this woman for almost an hour, getting myself more and more worked up about entitled doctor types who have no consideration for others. I was ready to hate her. Hell, I was ready to drive off and leave her ass here.
But then my phone finally rang, and this walking hurricane of a girl swept through the automatic doors, sucking me into her vortex. She talked at me so fast, I could barely make out the words. All I could do is watch the elegant arch of her throat as it moved. Then Sy had to go bouncing around, distracting us both.
She’s gorgeous, I’ll give her that. Her curvy body is clad in high-waisted black leggings and a cropped hoodie unzipped to show her cleavage. She did the world a favor by strapping her purse between her breasts and running towards me like a Baywatch model. Once she’s close enough, I see the little glint of gold at her nose.
Fuck, she’s got a septum piercing.
I’m a sucker for a pierced and tatted girl. Does she have tats too? I can’t tell yet. What I can tell is that the guys are gonna go crazy. She’ll be breaking hearts by day’s end tomorrow, I’d bet money on it. Coach is gonna have to put up an electric fence around her office. We’ll probably have to make the rookies take cold showers before she examines them.
And here I am, still holding her dildo.
Fuck.
She’s on her knees, scrambling to gather her shit, cursing under her breath. She looks up at me and I’m still just fucking standing here, like I’ve been turned to stone. Her dark gaze drops from my face down to my hand and her lips part in an “O.”
“Oh my god,” she shrieks, launching to her feet. “Give me that—” She all but slaps the dildo out of my hand, cheeks turning bright red.