Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
I shrug. “I like them.”
I steer the truck down the dusty, sand-covered drive to the stop sign at the end of the road. I signal left and when I twist my body to ensure the way is clear, I suddenly feel Mac’s fingertips graze the nape of my neck.
Heat instantly travels to the southern region of my body. A common reaction to her touch.
“I just noticed this,” she says in surprise. Her fingers trace my most recent tattoo. “Did you always have this anchor?”
“Nah. Got it done a couple months ago.”
When she removes her hand, I feel a sense of loss. If it were up to me, this girl’s hands would be on me twenty-four seven.
“I like it. It’s simple, clean.” She smiles at me. “You’re really into all the nautical stuff, huh?”
I grin. “I mean, I do live on the beach. Although, to be honest, it’s just a coincidence that a lot of my ink involves water. And the anchor was a spur of the moment tat when I was in a bad mood.” I give her the side-eye. “It was after you told me you were picking your ex over me.”
“Dumbest mistake I ever made.”
“Damn right.” I wink at her.
“Luckily, I rectified it.” She smirks and plants her palm over my thigh. “So the anchor represents what? You being pissed at me?”
“Feeling weighed down. I’d just been rejected by the coolest, smartest, funniest girl I’ve ever known. And she didn’t want me.” I shrug. “I felt like I’ve been dragged down my entire life. By this town. The memory of my parents. Dad was a loser. Mom is a loser.” Another shrug, this one accompanied by a dry smile. “I have a bad habit of getting very straightforward, un-metaphorical tattoos. No subtext at all on this body.”
That gets me a laugh. “I happen to like this body very much.” She squeezes my thigh, not at all subtly. “And you’re not a loser.”
“Certainly trying not to be.” I gesture to the book in her lap. “I read stuff like that—biographies, memoirs by these men and women who crawled out of poverty or bad circumstances and made something of themselves—because they inspire me. One of the dudes in that book? Mother was widowed, left with five kids she couldn’t take care of, so she sends him to an orphanage. He’s poor, alone, goes to work at a factory when he’s still young, making auto part molds, eye-glass frames. When he’s twenty-three, he opens up his own molding shop.” I tip my head toward Mac. “And that shop ends up creating the Ray-Ban brand.”
Mackenzie’s hand travels to my knee, giving it a squeeze, before seeking out my hand on the gearshift. She laces our fingers.
“You inspire me,” she says simply. “And I have no doubt, by the way, that your name will end up in a book like this someday.”
“Maybe.”
At the beach, Wyatt and the rest of the crew have already claimed one of the volleyball nets. Nearby, the girls are set up on the sand with an umbrella. Steph reads a book, Heidi tans on her stomach, and Alana looks characteristically bored with all of it while she sips a concealed cocktail from a water bottle.
Evan and I greet the guys with fist bumps. We’ve barely finished saying our hellos before Wyatt starts shouting at everyone to break up into teams.
“Getting dumped turned him into a real dictator, eh?” Tate mutters as we watch our buddy order us around like a drill sergeant.
I chuckle. “She still hasn’t taken him back?”
“Nope. I think it might actually be over this time—” Tate stops, narrowing his eyes.
I look over to see Wyatt tugging Alana out of her beach chair. She sighs and takes his hand. I guess she’s on his team. Although what’s up with the way he’s whispering in her ear?
“What’s that about?” I ask Tate.
“No clue.” His jaw is tight.
Okay, then.
The volleyball tournament gets under way. And since we’re all a competitive bunch here in the Bay, it turns intense fast. Mac’s on my team, and I’m pleasantly surprised to discover she has a killer serve. Thanks to her, we take an early lead that has us winning the first game. Wyatt’s crew wins the second. For the tiebreaker, Mac tags Steph in and walks down to the water.
“I’ll sub back in,” she calls to me. “Just cooling off for a bit.”
I nod and return to the task of crushing Wyatt and Evan’s team into the sand. It isn’t until an hour passes that I realize Steph’s still playing in Mackenzie’s place.
“Dude!” Tate grouses when I miss a spike.
But my focus is now on finding Mac. My gaze roams up and down the beach until finally I spot her. She’s at the water’s edge talking to someone.
Despite the sun beating down on my head and bare chest, my entire body runs cold when I recognize who she’s with.