Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“What?” My eyes pop open, and he laughs. And I learn two things.
One, Dean Powers is a morning person.
Two, he’s got a dimple on his right cheek when he smiles and laughs.
“My pie, it’s got to be sore.” He steps back and motions to his bed. My clothes are neatly folded, and the comforter is now dark blue.
“Get dressed if you want to learn to surf,” he says, leaving me with my coffee and a throbbing wet pussy.
I take a deep breath, trying to get ahold of all these feelings. Not only is he not kicking me out, but he’s going to teach me to surf?
“You know I don’t have a bikini.” I look around his bedroom for a coaster so I can set my coffee down. His room is celery green with dark wood furniture, and I guess the ocean is his art because he’s got a million-dollar view.
“Hurry up. The tide is coming in,” he yells back.
After chugging the coffee, I set the mug on his nightstand and look at my clothes. Even my tiny panties are folded perfectly. Are these clean? Did he wash my clothes? Yep, these are clean. I quickly get dressed, then grab his mug and walk out into the large room. It’s all open. The kitchen is to the right, then the living room, with his couch and TV. But it’s the large windows and that view that make me hesitate.
“Your place is unbelievably beautiful.” He looks up from reading something on his laptop, which sits on his blue granite island. And I have to bite my tongue not to say, and so are you.
“Thank you.” He shuts the laptop. “I inherited it.” He walks over and takes the empty coffee mug from me, his fingers grazing mine, leaving behind invisible red-hot sparks.
Burning. As I wait for him to kiss me, it’s like I have a fever and he’s the only thing that can cure me.
Instead, he says, “Let’s go. You need a bikini, board, and wetsuit.” He reaches around me for his keys.
“Dean Powers…”
Smiling again, he kills me with his next words. “You can call me Brett. You’ll know when I’m Dean.”
He takes my cold hands, and I swallow because I can’t afford all that stuff. My dad literally watches every dime I spend.
“I, look, I can’t… that is, I don’t have money for any of that stuff…” My voice trails off as he walks me over to the couch and points at my shoes and purse.
“Just get ready.” He walks away, and all I can think of is that I’m in way over my head.
BRETT
“Hey, brother.” I grin at Curtis, the owner of the small surf shack where I’m a regular, and pull a reluctant Alexandrea inside.
Her eyes sweep the Hawaiian vibe. You have to duck under the fake thatched roof just to get into the shop. Colorful murals of surfers riding waves fill the walls. Racks and racks of clothes make it like an obstacle course. Boogie boards, skateboards, shoes, anything you could possibly want, and then some, are crammed in here.
“Oh wow.” Alex looks down at the rotting wood floor that’s mostly covered with sand.
“Brett Powers is in the house. ’Sup, bro?” He grins. Curtis is pushing fifty and looks way older. The sun and wind have made his hands and face look like leather, but he’s a true seeker; the surf and ocean are his religion. He’s owned this shop for thirty years and still sounds like a teenager.
“You catch those waves this morning? They were epic, man.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe it.
“I heard.” I grin, looking up at all the surfboards stacked in a long row.
“Pick one of these,” I say to Alex, motioning to the middle section.
“Brett, I told you, I can’t afford—”
“You got a wetsuit that would fit Alexandrea?” Cutting her off, I turn toward him. Curtis’s eyes rake over Alex’s thin form. And I want to kill him, or at least beat the shit out of him.
Curtis is a friend, I remind myself. I roll my neck, hearing it crack as I relax my clenched fist and jaw.
“Dude. Does a bear shit in the woods? Let me grab her one. You like pink?” he yells over his shoulder, his flip-flops scraping on the sand floor.
“Black is fine,” I snap, then take a breath because I need to tamp down this possessive shit.
So she has the tightest pussy? Big deal. She was a virgin, that’s all this is. The racks of bikinis clack loudly as I rush through them, finally stopping at one I can’t help but grin at.
“Put this on,” I say, holding up the black bikini with all kinds of tiny fruits on it, including peaches.
“You’re kidding me?” She rolls her eyes as I walk to her.
“It’s perfect.” I wink.