Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“Holy fuck, man, you’re covered in baby shit!” Foster shouts as we all back away from the horror show.
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna barf.”
“That’s so nasty.”
“It’s all over you!”
“Get it off me! Get it off!” Bucky writhes around in the sand while Hunter tries to capture the diaper with his grabber thing and Foster keeps kicking more sand on him for some reason.
Matt is cackling at the scene unfolding in front of us. “Wash it off, dumbass,” he tells Bucky.
I’m pretty sure Matt means for Bucky to utilize the showers up by the parking lot.
Instead, Bucky strips out of everything but his boxers and goes sprinting into the freezing surf.
Oh boy. It’s fifty-four degrees on land and the wind’s blowing at a good clip. But mind over matter, I suppose, because Bucky dives headfirst and swims out, furiously scrubbing and rinsing.
We all watch his progress. I’m feeling real admiration for the guy. I was out there earlier freezing my ass off in a wetsuit. I shudder to think of that frigid water tickling my bare balls.
When Bucky finally runs back out of the water, he’s turned a shade of blue and is shivering like a dog in an ASPCA commercial. I swiftly take off my Henley and give it to him. Gavin’s waiting for him with a towel. As for shorts, he’s kind of shit out of luck.
“Go warm up in the Jeep.” I hand Bucky the keys.
He snatches them. “I hate the environment.”
As soon as he’s out of earshot, the guys drop to their knees laughing.
“He’s gonna be traumatized for life after that,” Foster says, still working off the chortles.
“Dude’s never coming to the beach again,” Gavin agrees.
“I don’t blame him.” Hunter grins before sauntering off to toss all the feces-covered garbage in the dumpster.
With the exception of Bucky, the guys have been pretty good sports about giving up their Saturday morning. And honestly, it means a lot that they took an interest in something important to me. Since coming to the East Coast, I haven’t had a lot of time to reconnect with my passions. Hockey and classes didn’t leave any time for surfing or coming out to the coast. It was Taylor who got me thinking about looking for ways to volunteer again. She’d offered to join us today, but I thought this’d be a good way to get all the guys together. With the season over, we hardly ever get everyone in the same room anymore. Or the same beach, as it were.
I’m not gonna lie—a part of me missed them. I mean, yeah, I live with like half these assholes, but it’s not the same as sweating it out on the ice together. Skating drills. Spending hours on a bus. Ninety minutes of pure nail-biting determination. I guess I didn’t realize how much hockey meant to me until I played it with them. This team made me love it. These men have become my brothers.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I expect it to be Taylor wondering what time I’ll be back, but an unknown number pops up on the screen. By now I know what that means.
Kai.
I shouldn’t answer it. Nothing good comes from giving him the satisfaction. There’s this nagging feeling, though, that keeps me from sending him to voicemail. Because when it comes to Kai Turner, I’d rather see him coming. The worst thing I can do is let him sneak up on me again.
“What?” I bark in answer.
“Easy, bro. Simmer down.”
“I’m busy.”
“I can see that.”
My blood runs cold. Trying not to draw attention, I look around, scanning the beach, the parking lot. In the distance I glimpse a skinny dude loitering near the restrooms. He looks like a little boy in his big brother’s clothing and I don’t have to see his face to know.
“How the hell did you find me out here?” I take a few steps away from Hunter and the others.
“Man, I got eyes everywhere. Don’t you know that by now?”
“So you followed me.” Fuck. He’s getting more desperate.
Tracking me down in Buffalo was one thing. Now he’s come to Massachusetts? From Hastings to this beach near Boston. Who knows how long he’s been watching me or what his game is this time. I hesitate to say Kai’s dangerous. I’d never known him to be violent beyond a few brawls. Just kid stuff. Black eyes and bruised egos.
Then again, I don’t really know him anymore.
“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just talk to me like a man,” he says.
I stifle a curse. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“Yeah, but I do. So you can come up here and we can do this like friends, or I gotta come down there and embarrass you in front of your fancy new douchebags.”
Fuck him.
It was like this when I first moved to Huntington Beach, too. Making me feel guilty for leaving the neighborhood, as if I had any choice in the matter. Taunting me about leaving him behind for trust-fund assholes, as if I even had any friends then. Ragging on me for my mom buying me new clothes. It took me a long time to realize what he was doing, the subtle psychological manipulation. Too long.