One
Here comes the bride.”
The wedding march echoed down the Barefoot William Boardwalk. The annual Southwest Florida bridal event brought both engaged and expectant women to the beach. It was a sea of sexy, sweet, and everything in between. Joe “Zoo” Zooker took it all in. The idea of marriage made him sweat. It triggered his gag reflex. He could, however, admire the ladies planning their weddings, as long as they didn’t involve him. He was a bachelor. For life.
“Does Crabby Abby’s General Store sell condoms?” asked his Richmond Rogues teammate Jake Packer. Better known as Pax.
Joe and Pax presently leaned against the blue metallic railing that separated the boardwalk from the beach. Joe knew where the condoms were shelved. He’d stocked up earlier in the week. “They’re back by the pharmacy, bottom shelf, next to the douches and the K-Y lubes.”
“You need anything, bro?”
Joe shook his head. He had six Magnum XLs in his wallet to get him through the night.
“Be right back, then.” Pax pushed off the railing. He walked the short distance to purchase his protection. He planned to get lucky. So did Joe.
The team was in town for spring training, with an entire weekend to kill. Booze, babes, and sex would definitely come into play. Monday, and they’d turn serious. They’d live and breathe baseball. The entire team would assemble for workouts and scrimmages. Nine Roanoke Rebels would also hit the field. Affiliate Triple-A players participating in preseason practices and an exhibition game. Showcasing their talent and hoping for the call to suit up in the majors.
Joe hated squad competition. Dean Jensen in particular got under his skin. The minor leaguer played left field. Joe’s position. Joe had refused him, four years running. Under Rule 5 draft, Dean had one final year to either make the club’s expanded forty-man roster or be passed over. The guy kept coming after Joe, harder and faster each season. He just wouldn’t let up. But then, Joe wouldn’t have, either, if the situation had been reversed.
He rolled his shoulders now. Cracked his knuckles. It was too nice of a day to dwell on the asshat. He turned and stared out over the Gulf. Clear skies. Turquoise water. White sugar sand. Sunbathers. Sand castles. Carnival rides, an amusement arcade, and a long fishing pier stretched south. Paradise. He would retire here. Years from now. Following his last bat.
Joe waited patiently on Pax—for all of five minutes, before restlessness claimed him. He wasn’t good at standing still. He was in continuous motion. A few brave men mingled with the wedding-minded ladies. He tugged down the bill on his black baseball cap. His mirrored Maui Jim aviators allowed him to stare, and not be caught doing so. He stepped into the crowd. Pax would find him. Unless he found a hot babe first.
So many women. Blondes, brunettes, redheads. A chick with purple hair. The multicolored storefronts on the beachside shops were all open, welcoming the stirring breeze and the aroma of salty air. The scent of freshly popped popcorn wafted, along with the aroma of chocolate fudge, cheesy nachos, cotton candy, and women’s perfume.
Ladies came on to him. He was recognized by many. Flirted with by most. Inviting glances and promising smiles. His navy T-shirt scripted with I’ve Broken All the Rules Today, So You’ll Have to Make New Ones drew whispered suggestions. Half-naked women appealed. Kink tempted. He liked the attention. A lot.
Space was tight. Whether intentional or by accident, female bodies pressed against him. Some snugged as close as skin. He didn’t mind the touching. Although a few hands got downright personal. Arousal heightened his senses. He was looking for a weekend lover, but no one fully caught his eye. So he kept on walking, sex foremost on his mind.
Long decorated tables lined both sides of the boardwalk. Signs were visible. Bridal banners arched overhead. Women clustered, checking out the area’s best photographers, florists, engraved invitations, caterers, bakers, wedding and reception venues, entertainment, hairstylists, makeup artists, prenuptial consultants, and other important services. Mannequins exhibited wedding gowns. Assorted accessories, from veils, crystal tiaras, rhinestone headbands, and sashes to every type of jewelry exhibit came next. Along with the garters.
Garters. Worn on a bride’s thigh. A total turn-on. He scanned the ruffled, pearled, lacy, feathered, monogrammed, brooched, and rhinestoned collections. Foreplay. He might buy one for the pure pleasure of slipping it up his next conquest’s leg, then slowly sliding it down. Sexy.
“Something blue,” he heard a woman say, softly and wistfully.
He glanced toward where her voice had come from. Stopped, and got an eyeful. A slender blonde stood in profile, alone at the end of the table, toying with a pale blue satin garter with a silver heart charm. He was a sucker for long hair. The sun had run its fingers through this woman’s strands, leaving them streaked and shiny. The ends touched her waist. He openly stared as she bent, her shoulders curving, her ass jutting out. Sweet cheeks were outlined beneath her short skirt. Gently stretching the elastic, she worked the garter over a sandaled foot—her toenails painted silver—then up her calf and onto her thigh. She had nice legs. Freckled knees. She straightened, admired the garter. She had yet to notice him. He appreciated her further.
Her smile came slowly, on a sigh. “Perfect, don’t you think, Lori?”
He shifted his stance. Cast her in his shadow. Then removed his aviators for a better look. Twirled them by an arm. He wasn’t Lori, but that didn’t stop him from saying, “Hot, sweetheart.”
She jerked up, and he took the opportunity to check her out. Wide eyes, deep and dark as midnight. A sharp contrast to her fairness. Tip-tilted nose. Full glossed lips, slightly parted. She wore a navy tank top; her denim skirt had a gold side zipper. Zippers made for a quick strip. Diamond studs sparkled at her ears. A collection of thin gold bracelets circled her wrist. A pearl ring on her forefinger. She was pretty, he mused, but not nearly as attractive as the babes in his nightly party posse. Those he chose for getting it on. Still, he’d give her five minutes.
She didn’t ignore him, but neither did she invite conversation. He initiated, “Nice assortment of garters.”
“See one you like? Try it on.”
Was she serious or playing him? “None in my size.”
“Elastic stretches.”
She had him there.
“The pink garter with the red hearts and white feathers looks like you.”
Looks like me? Was that how she saw him? Hearts and feathers? Her polite expression gave nothing away. He crossed his arms over his chest, hooked his thumbs in his armpits. Widened his stance. Questioned, “Having a good time?”
“Not as good as you.” Dry-toned.
“I don’t follow.”
“This is a female event.”
Predominantly female, but open to the public. He’d noted five guys on the boardwalk. Seven, counting him and Pax. “Your point?” he asked.
She told him. “Men don’t always attend bridal affairs for the right reasons. You shouldn’t be here unless you’re hearing wedding bells.”
No ringing. None whatsoever.
“There are hundreds of hopeful ladies over there on the boardwalk,” she added. “Vulnerable, emotional, and seeking their happily-ever-afters, while you men are opportunists.” Pause. “You’re not here to score, are you?” she innocently inquired.
He wasn’t taking advantage of anyone. He set her straight. “I’m not hitting on you, hon.”
“Talk to me, not to my garter.”
Busted. She was on to him, had caught him eyeing her legs. He liked her thigh gap. “I’ve got integrity.” On a good day.
She glanced toward the beach. “There’s an amateur volleyball tournament going on near the lifeguard station. A Frisbee contest by the ice cream stand. Kite flying on the pier. Sand-castle sculpting by the shore. Yet you’ve chosen the bridal event.”
“I’m tapping in to my feminine side.”
Her gaze returned to his. “There’s nothing feminine about you.”
He had a hard face, or so he’d been told. Dangerous. Intimidating. He played his features to his advantage. Several scars. A twice-broken nose. A death stare. “I like to browse.” Not necessarily through the bridal items for sale, but cruising for women gave him pleasure.
“Browsing often leads to buying.” She tilted her head, thoughtful. Observed, “You’d need to shave before trying on any bridal veils, otherwise your whiskers will catch on the delicate lace. And you’d have to tie back your hair for both the Swarovski two-tiered circlet and the vintage chandelier birdcage.”
Birdcage? That blew his mind.
A few more thoughts emerged. “When it comes to wedding gowns, large men should stay away from ruffles and layers. I can picture you in plain silk. Ivory, maybe. Or blush. Go full-length, to cover the roll at your waist. Flabby thighs. Better choose low heels. You’re plenty tall.”
Lastly, “You might also consider a manicure. Your nails look rough. Manscaping would clean you up.”
Shave his chest and his pubic hair? Not happening. Lady was a fusion of sarcasm and sweet smiles. He didn’t know how to take her. Her suggestions sucked. Along with her attitude. She confused the hell out of him.
No female had ever described him in a dress before. He had no words. She saw him as fat, when he was actually fit. He’d nearly killed himself off-season with endurance and weight training. He had single-digit body fat.
She rose up on tiptoe, looked over his shoulder. “I need to locate my friend Lori.” She strained to look over the crowd. “I don’t see her.”
“It’s just you, me, and the garters.”
She flat-footed. “Lori wouldn’t walk off and leave me.”
“You have a fear of being alone?” Rather disturbing.
“I prefer alone,” she informed him. “My car’s with the mechanic, in need of repairs. Lori’s my ride.”
Made sense. His day was open. He had free time. He foolishly found himself saying, “I could drive you.”
“Drive me where?”
“Wherever you need to go.”
“California.” She was testing him.
Farther than anticipated. He wasn’t crossing state lines or changing time zones for her. “Anywhere local?”
“I don’t get into cars with strangers.”
Stranger danger? Him? She had to be joking. He introduced himself, “I’m Joe.” His teammates and bar squad all called him Zoo. “You?”
She scanned his T-shirt. “Not sure we need a name exchange. I play by the rules. You break them. I’d rather take a taxi.”
A cab over him? He had a classic Jaguar XKE convertible in the parking lot. Mint condition. A chick magnet. Leather seats that molded to his body like a lover. A phallic long bonnet. Big engine. Top speed. Ground-hugging. Raring to go.
Somehow she’d failed to recognize him. That bothered him. A little. He was high-profile. Rogues fans filled the stadium during spring training. The players were a significant part of the community. Available for interviews, charitable appearances, and bachelor auctions. He usually couldn’t cross the street without someone requesting an autograph. Without a woman asking him out.
“Do you know who I am?” He needed his ego stroked.
“I don’t watch cartoons.” Smile or smirk, he couldn’t tell.
Harsh. He’d yet to figure her out. Women had numerous ways of catching his attention. Most were sweet, sexy, and feisty. But never this sarcastic. He racked his brain. They hadn’t met, as far as he could remember. She didn’t look the bar type. The Lusty Oyster and the Blue Coconut were his second homes.
He’d tried to be nice, friendly, appear to have no ulterior motive. She was challenging, though, for no apparent reason. Their conversation was going nowhere. He gave her one last shot. “What’s with you?” he asked.
“Ask yourself the same question.”
Question himself? He was his own answer.
She wrapped up with, “Leaving now.” Dismissing him.
He had her blocked between the table and his body, and before he could step back, she squeezed by him sideways. Her foot ground down on his booted toe. Her raised knee came close to his boys. He sucked in air, inhaled her scent—light and as warm as sunshine. He smelled citrus, and he had the questionable urge to sniff her hair. Dumb-ass. Not cool.
He tried to take in what had just happened. He honestly didn’t get it. She’d showed no interest in him. Not even a hint. “That’s it?” he called after her.
“You expected more?” she tossed over her shoulder. “No time.”
He had no idea what he’d expected. What he wanted. The fact that she’d left him standing there irritated the hell out of him. He’d complimented her garter in passing. She’d cut him off permanently. Her aversion to him was unsettling. Her tight smile disconcerting.
He held back, refusing to go after her. Her loss. He needed to move on. He had a line of women waiting to date him. Less snark, more seduction. He was ready for a willing woman to have her way with him. To take him slowly and sinfully. All night long.
“Shoplifter!” an older woman monitoring the accessories table shouted. She rounded the table, elbowing him and others aside, as she stormed after the person who’d just ripped her off. He’d been standing at the table, yet somehow he’d missed the five-finger discount. Boardwalk security joined the chase. Two men in khaki uniforms. Chaos ensued.
Gutsy thief, Joe thought. Stealing in broad daylight, then fading into the foot traffic. He followed the charge at a distance. Curious. He stood a wide-shouldered six-foot-four, and his height gave him an advantage. He could easily track the action. He glimpsed the unfriendly blonde a few yards ahead. She was alone one second, then surrounded by security the next. Trapped. The taller guard gripped her upper arm. Detaining her. Nasty accusations flew. Loudly.
Attentive, he took it all in. He hadn’t seen her lift anything. But then, he’d been staring at her legs. He might’ve missed something. Perhaps she’d taken an item prior to his arrival. Stuck it in her purse. He’d blocked her from the proprietor’s view. Until she could slip into the throng.
He watched as the shorter of the guards drew a notepad from the pocket of his slacks. He flipped it open, went on to request the shop owner’s name. Joe had hearing loss in his left ear, thanks to his old man cuffing him as a kid. He strained to hear. Apparently Giselle was the accuser. Stewie was the blonde, from what he could detect. Odd name. She didn’t look like a Stewie. More like a Summer, Shayla, or Sienna. Skylar.
Giselle pointed to the blonde’s thigh. Her hand shook, all righteous indignation. “She stole the garter. It’s under her skirt.”
Stewie paled. She placed her hand over her heart, then said, “Not on purpose, I swear.”
Giselle huffed. “Customers look, but they don’t touch. You not only handled the merchandise, you tried on the garter, and then you snuck off. Outright theft.”
“She didn’t get far.” The taller guard appeared proud of his takedown. “I’ll radio for a squad car.”
Stewie’s eyes widened in panic. She scanned the crowd, searching for someone she might know. Someone to vouch for her character. To save her. Apparently her friend Lori was nowhere in sight. Her gaze glanced off him. Swung back. Relief, uncertainty, doom, all flickered over her features. She frowned. All hope faded. She expected him to turn on her. To walk away. As well she should. He could be a dick on occasion. Far more badass than good guy. That’s who he was. No shame. No remorse. His own man.
She’d flipped him off without any thought of further consequence. That consequence was now. Karma had returned her to him. She was in trouble, and he could help. He smiled to himself. She would owe him for saving her. Owe him big-time.
Game face on, he stiff-armed his way through the crowd. Glared people back. They gave him space. He eyed Stewie. Her lips parted. Her breath caught. She had no idea what he would do, what he might say, but then, neither did he. He went with the obvious. Women came and went in his life. He seldom went on a date with the same girl twice. But he made Stewie his date-for-the-day. Despite her sucky attitude.
Once he reached her, he draped his arm about her shoulders and drew her to his side. Tucked her in tight. She fit nicely. Her shuddered resistance appeared to be shivery compliance to those looking on. They gave the impression of a couple. He dipped his head, nuzzled her cheek, then spoke low near her ear, “Time for me now, babe?”
She blushed. Deeply. Perhaps embarrassed by her previous snub or merely at the fact that their bodies were touching so intimately. “No need for an arrest, Roy,” Joe read the security guard’s name stitched over the pocket on his khaki shirt. “I can explain the garter heist.”
“Joe Zooker.” Roy recognized him. He grinned broadly. “Shed some light, my man. I’m listening.” He released his hold on Stewie. She shook out her arm. A purple thumbprint showed above her elbow. Joe’s body tensed. He hated that she’d been manhandled. That she’d been bruised. Son of a bitch.
A protective growl rose deep in Joe’s throat. A warning. Dark. Animalistic. He tamped it down. Now was not the time for further confrontation. He needed to get Stewie off the hook and away from the security guards. He was good at stretching the truth, always had been. White lies were as much a part of his life as baseball, booze, and sex.
He went with, “We were browsing the bridal event, and we stopped at Giselle’s table. My woman here”—he claimed her—“found a garter that she liked, and I asked her to try it on. She did so—for me.” He stroked Stewie’s hip, fingered the denim, then suddenly hiked her skirt three inches up her thigh, until the accessory was visible. He nudged Roy. “Sweet mercy, don’t you think?”
The guard eyed Stewie’s gartered thigh along with the other onlookers. There were nods of approval, and a low whistle rose from one man in the back. Comments ensued. Everyone agreed with Joe: Pale blue was her color. The heart charm, romantic. It was the perfect wedding accessory.
Stewie shifted beside him. She dug her nails into his wrist, pushed his hand off her hip. Her attempt to step back failed. He tightened his hold. She huffed her annoyance. The lady was unappreciative.
Joe clarified to Roy, “She asked me to purchase the garter while she moved on to the next table. Cake toppers. She walked away, and I was reaching for my wallet, just as Giselle shot past me. There was no one to pay.” Short pause. “She’s no thief. It was an innocent mistake. I went after Giselle ready to pay, but she’d already sounded the alarm.”
Roy accepted Joe’s account without question. “Thanks for clearing it up, Joe.” He nodded to Stewie. “Purchase it or return the garter, so we can close the incident.”
Robbery dismissed. Accountability upheld. No one was headed to jail. Interest waned. The crowd thinned. There was no price tag on the garter. “How much?” the blonde asked Giselle.
“Sixty dollars.”
Joe raised an eyebrow. Apparently elastic didn’t come cheap.
“The charm is sterling silver,” the shop owner said in defense of the cost.
Stewie dipped one shoulder, rolled down the garter. “I don’t have sixty—”
“I do.” Joe bent, placed his hand over hers, then skimmed the garter back up. Higher, this time. Denim brushed the backs of his knuckles. His thumb met her thigh gap. Satin against smooth skin. Their secret. He and Stewie knew she wore the garter, yet it was no longer visible to the casual observer. He squeezed her freckled knee. Straightened. She tried to pass under his arm, to wiggle free. He refused to let her go. Not until he was ready.
Payment came next. He removed three twenties from his wallet. Giselle snatched the money from his hand. Hurried back to her unsupervised table.
A new disturbance drew security down the boardwalk. Two women were arguing over a wedding veil. It was about to get ripped in half. The area cleared. Passersby skirted them. Joe and Stewie were left alone. He and his supposed date.
He stared down at her. She stared up at him. Her sigh was heavy. Her expression questioning. “Do you think I stole the garter?” His response seemed important to her.
He shook his head. “There’s not a criminal bone in your body. You were blamed—”
“It was all your fault.”
He stopped short. “How do you figure that?”
“You cornered me by the accessories table. Came on to me.”
Get real. “No more than a passing comment.”
“You stared at my garter.”
“I’m a leg man, babe.”
“You made me uncomfortable.”
“I tend to fluster women.”
“Not in a good way.”
“Good for most.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I couldn’t get away from you fast enough.”
“Fast got you into trouble,” he reminded her. “You walked off without paying for the garter.”
She stuck out her chin. Stubborn. “I would’ve eventually noticed it, gone back, and paid.”
“Giselle was quick. She accused you of shoplifting. I saved your ass. Kept you out of jail.”
Her dark eyes flashed. “I could’ve managed just fine without you.” The lady was short on gratitude.
“Keep telling yourself that, hon. Your booking was seconds away.”
She huffed. Her breasts rose, inches from his chest. Her nipples nearly flicked him. “I would have been entitled to a phone call. Someone would’ve bailed me out.”
“Not Lori, she deserted you.”
“I have other friends.”
“You’d have sat in Holding until your ride arrived. Paperwork takes time. Cops eat doughnuts. Cells are nasty. You’d never have survived.”
“And you would have?”
“I have.”
She didn’t seem all that surprised by his comment. Pretty accepting, actually. She obviously didn’t think much of him. So be it. He had a juvenile record, having been the fall guy when he took the rap for a stolen car for his younger brother. He’d never regretted his decision.
She swallowed, said, “I’ll pay you for the garter once I get my paycheck.”
He offhandedly wondered where she worked. He decided not to ask. It wasn’t important. “No need. Keep your money.”
“I hate owing people.”
Especially him. He could see it in her eyes. “Trade-off, then,” he proposed. “What do you have that I might want?” He had something in mind. He lowered his gaze to her mouth.
Her lips thinned. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Not joking.”
“Jerk.”
He’d been called worse.
She breathed in deeply. “You’re insane.”
“I’m so mental I’d follow you around all day for that kiss.”
“You have way too much time on your hands.”
He never gave up. Never gave in. “One kiss, then I’m gone. I’ve got other obligations.” He had a professional commitment at the Beachside Memorial Hospital Children’s Ward. Legendary superheroes Batman, Captain America, and Super Zooker were scheduled to entertain the young patients for an hour. He didn’t want to be late. Didn’t want to disappoint the kids. He used his superpowers for good. Smiles were contagious. Healing came through laughter and happiness.
His attention centered on Stewie. She was growing on him, in a smart-mouthed sort of way. Which he didn’t fully understand. She wasn’t someone he would ever date. That she would ever even be his friend was questionable. Companionship was a two-way street. She hadn’t taken to him—at all.
He preferred a warm, willing woman. Sexual experience mattered to him. Stewie might not be a virgin, but he’d bet his first home run of the preseason that she was all missionary position and snuggling. He liked X-rated.
He eyed her now; her expression hadn’t changed. It was sullen, disapproving. No visible softness. A first for him. He reconsidered his request for a kiss. He’d never forced himself on a female before, and he wasn’t about to start now. If they kissed, fine; if not, that was okay, too. There were lots of kissable lips there today on the boardwalk.
A beach babe in a skimpy sundress passed by within a foot of him. Ignoring Stewie, she arched an eyebrow, lightly touched his arm, signaling her availability. Definitely a hot prospect for the night. He winked, but didn’t commit. She blew him a kiss, moved on.
“Kiss her instead of me,” Stewie suggested. Hopeful.
“I plan to kiss you now. Her, possibly later.”
“You’re such a hound.”
What if he was? No big deal. “I’m single. I like the ladies. I’ve been known to howl at the moon—”
“Chase your tail?” Spoken with a straight face.
“I don’t do circles.”
She gave a single-shoulder shrug. Not caring.
Applause rose from the beach. He glanced over the blue metal railing. A volleyball game had ended. Cheers for the winners. Congratulations from the losers.
A Frisbee sailed high and fast and far too close. It looked like a flying saucer. Someone had a strong arm.
His attention returned to her. “Ready for me?” he asked.
“Hurry up and get it over with.”
“I’ve never hurried a kiss.”
He eased toward her, allowing their bodies to meet. His male heat and muscle pressed against her slender curves. He slid his hands into her hair. Summery silk. His thumbs traced the frown lines at the corners of her mouth. Creamy skin, despite the creases. He waited for her to warm up to him. She shivered instead.
Pulsing seconds passed as he gave her time to push him away. Amazingly, she did not. The lady was paying her debt, albeit reluctantly. He was tempted to take her mouth fully. To lightly scrape her lip with his teeth. To slip her his tongue. He lowered his head. Her eyelids shuttered. She appeared a martyr.
He gentled. Calm and persuasive. An airbrush of warm breath over her mouth, in hopes of parting her lips. But she remained tight-lipped. He nipped one corner; she scrunched her nose. Not a pretty face. He hated second-guessing himself. He held back, unsure. Then he changed his mind at the last minute. Leaning back, he kissed her on the forehead. Quick, light. Uneventful. Then he withdrew. She blinked. Confused.
He lowered his gaze to her legs. “Wear our garter and think of me.”
“The garter comes off shortly, and it stays off. No thoughts of you.” Snippy woman.
“Believe what you will.”
“You know different?”
He looked up. “Wait and see.” Her indifference amused him. It was too forced. He’d bet she would wear the garter to bed. They were about to part ways. He gave her one final chance to be cordial. “We didn’t get off on the best foot, did we?” he asked. Definitely not.
“I stomped on yours earlier.” When she’d edged around him at the accessories table.
“You’re heavier than you look,” he said, tongue in cheek.
“Are you trying to be funny, or are you saying I’m fat?”
“Funny.”
“You’re not.”
There was no winning with her. Pride pushed him in the opposite direction. “’Bye, Stewie.” He took his leave, all jock strut and arrogance.
“Stewie?” Her voice hit him between the shoulder blades. Damn if she didn’t come after him. All flushed and offended. Breasts heaving. Fire in her eyes. A woman wanting the last word.
They faced off near Goody Gumdrops, a penny candy store. Joe could go for a jawbreaker about now. Or bubble-gum baseball cards. He was still a kid at heart. He kept his cool despite her outburst. “Isn’t that your name?” he asked. Had his ears deceived him?
“No, it’s not.”
“You look like a Stewie.”
“Insulting me again?”
“Being truthful.” Not really.
“I’m Stevie, short for Steven.”
“A guy’s name?” Puzzling.
“After my father. My parents wanted a boy.”
“Anyone ever call you Junior?”
“Don’t be the first.”
“Steven what?” he tried.
“Last names are for relationships.”
“No sweat. I’m not that into you.”
“I can live without you, too.”
He had to ask, “Do you dislike all men, or is it just me? ”
Her silence said it was him.
“Because you see me as an opportunist.”
“Pretty much.”
Fine by him. He glanced at his watch. A Genesis X1, Advertised for the man who wouldn’t be told what to do. It fit him. He’d spent thirty minutes with her. He’d planned on five. Time he’d never get back. He flicked his wrist, waved her off. “Hope your day improves.”
“It has to—you’re leaving.”
They parted ways. His day could only get better, too. It immediately upgraded. A hottie in a bikini top and Boom Boom shorts bumped into him. On purpose. Barely covered breasts and peekaboo butt cheeks. There’d been room for her to walk around, but she’d cut his corner. Close. She tapped the front of his shirt with a finger, near his nipple. Grinning, she read his T-shirt, “Rules are meant to be broken.”
She was a sex pack of wild, curly hair, phenomenal tits, narrow waist, and long legs. A Take Me Home Tonight tattoo curved over her left breast. He wondered where else she might be inked. He’d bet that her inner thigh had sexy script on it. Lick Me, maybe.
She could keep him hard for the entire weekend. No doubt about it. He was tempted to invite her to meet him at the Driftwood Hotel later that night. Apartment housing for the players. Many of his teammates had purchased homes in town, but Joe hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Maybe this season. He’d enlist a Realtor.
His hesitation had the dark-haired babe rolling her eyes and moving on. Had he missed out? More likely than not. He didn’t feel all that bad. He was more partial to blondes.
He glanced back at Stevie one final time. She gazed back. A long stare. They blinked simultaneously. She looked away first, took in the boardwalk. Something felt off. The fight seemed to have left her. She relaxed against the metal railing now, her sudden change in mood confusing him. Her features had softened. She nodded to passersby, both women and the infrequent man. Her eyes were bright and smiling. She appeared happy. Away from him. He frowned.
He sensed she was about to leave. Perhaps she was going to go in search of her friend Lori. Stevie needed a ride home, he remembered. Before he knew it, she’d slipped into the crowd, swallowed up by the masses of wedding consumers. Gone.
His heart gave an unexpected squeeze. The tightness in his chest annoyed him. Why should he care where she went? Whom she was with? What she did? The reason was simple, though utterly ridiculous. Because she was wearing his garter. That gave him every right to go after her. And so he did. Keeping his distance.
* * *
“He’s following me,” Stevie Reynolds whispered to her best friend, Lori Rafferty, once they’d connected at the wedding cake table. Three local bakers offered samplers. Small confectionary squares of traditional vanilla and buttercream, along with new takes on flavor profiles. Stevie moaned over the whipped-orange chiffon laced with strawberry schnapps. She would’ve enjoyed another piece, if seconds were allowed. The crowd nudged her aside before she could grab a napkin.
Lori finished off her last bite of cherry-glazed mocha. “Who’s he?” she asked, peering at Stevie over the rim of her red heart-shaped sunglasses. Her green gaze was curious.
“Joe.”
“Joe who?”
Indrawn breath. “Zooker.”
Lori gaped. “Not ‘the Zoo’?” She finger-quoted.
“One and the same.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew him.”
“Chance meeting earlier.” It was hard to confess. She’d been mindful of him for several years. Her cousin DJ spoke often of Joe. He envied the Rogue, imitated the left fielder’s drive and focus. Right down to Joe’s swagger and smugness.
“Must have been some meeting,” Lori speculated. She glanced down the boardwalk. “Something must’ve gone right for Joe to come after you like that. I’m impressed.”
I’m wearing his garter. That thought gave her goose bumps. She’d told him that she would be slipping it off immediately, yet it remained high on her thigh. She didn’t need a public restroom to remove it. She could slide the garter off at any time. Yet she had not. Joe was enough of a hound to sniff out that fact. To track her down. To grin his satisfaction.
“We had words,” Stevie admitted.
“Flirty, suggestive words?”
Not even close. “I called him an opportunist.” She’d started it.
Lori was shocked. “Whatever for?”
“He’s just here this afternoon to score.”
“Not a big deal.” Lori glanced in his direction. “Can’t condemn a man for checking out the ladies. He’s not forcing himself on anyone. If anything, the women are all over him.” Pause. “I think he’s a genius. The dating possibilities here are endless.”
Leave it to Lori to side with Joe. Despite their closeness, the two women were as different as night and day. Lori was a guy’s girl. She preferred hanging with men over women. She loved sports, she watched action flicks, she was opinionated and strong-willed, and she didn’t give a damn what others thought. She presently wore an oversized white button-down and boyfriend-style jeans.
Stevie, on the other hand, was a girl’s girl. She liked sisterhood, romantic comedies, feminine clothing, delicate jewelry, and gourmet cooking. She shied away from relationships, preferring to concentrate on herself and get her life in order. A personal choice.
“How close is Joe?” she questioned.
“He just passed Denim Dolphin, the children’s store.”
Stevie stood before Waves, a women’s swimsuit shop, three doors down. He was close. Too close. She cut him a quick look.
He dominated the boardwalk. Big man. Bigger entourage. The lustful female crowd swept him along. Unrestrained touching, kisses, and deep sighs. Joe responded, spreading himself around. Slowing to sign autographs. Posing for photos. Making everyone feel special.
“He’s one dangerous-looking dude,” said Lori. “His body’s built from a kit.”
Stevie’s heart agreed, skipping a beat. Athletes weren’t new to her. Some of her closest guy friends played sports, including her cousin DJ. Joe had an undeniable presence. Roughly handsome. Lawless blue eyes. Slicing cheekbones. A slightly crooked nose. A mouth that invited kissing. Square jaw. Strong neck. Powerful shoulders. Muscled chest. Long legs. A total alpha.
Lori moistened her mouth with the tip of her tongue. She eyed the ballplayer with interest. “Should he stop and chat, introduce me. I’d like to meet him.”
Stevie blanched. “I’m trying to avoid him, not take up where we left off.” They’d parted poorly.
“I’d never run from that man.”
Stevie wished she wore track shoes. “Join his party posse, then.”
“His posse is renowned,” said Lori. Stevie had heard the same rumors that her friend had heard. “Beach babes gone wild. They’re all hot, sexy, the stuff of wet dreams. They wear next to nothing and do tequila shots off of their bellies. They take the night by the balls and squeeze.” She grew thoughtful. “I’d never qualify. One beer is my limit. I’m in bed by eleven.”
Stevie didn’t qualify, either. Her favorite bar drink was a virgin piña colada. Lights-out by ten. “You could always talk to him about sports.”
“Joe’s a Rogue. He gets his sports talk at the ballpark. He’d find better uses for a woman’s mouth than reciting his stats.”
Stevie took a step away from Lori. “Are you coming or not? I’m gone.”
“Not sure you can avoid him. He’s here.”
There, and facing her. His entourage pushed Lori back. Rather rudely. They then stepped on Stevie’s sandaled feet. Painful. Joe blocked them from fully shoving her aside. Their gazes locked, and, in that instant, she saw only him. His unsettling eyes. The quirk of his mouth as he looked down at her legs. The faint line of the garter was visible beneath her skirt, for anyone who knew it was there. For everybody else, it appeared to be only a wrinkle in the denim. Joe grinned. A big old gotcha grin. For some reason, her still wearing the garter brought him amusement. Aggravation curled her fingers. She had the urge to wipe the smile right off his face.
He caught her clenched fist, and had the balls to laugh. A deep, rough laugh. Heat scored her cheeks in the silence that followed. Those around them stared. Confusion and curiosity gathered, thickening in the crowd. She was as cornered now as she’d been with the security guards. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Joe leaned toward her. She gave him the cold shoulder. He made her hot. Inappropriately warming her nipples. Her belly. Her thighs. Leaving her panties damp.
She had no escape. He fronted her. Women hovered behind her like a human wall. Eyeing her lips, he lowered his voice, then said, for her ears only, “You have cake crumbs on the corner of your mouth.” He reached around her, snagged a napkin from the corner of the cake table. Handed it to her. Then left.
Left her standing there with her mouth wide open. Women pushed past her, rushing to catch up with him. Stevie and Lori could only stare after them.
Lori was the first to speak. “That was an interesting exchange.”
“Obnoxious man,” Stevie muttered. She turned to Lori, piqued. “Why didn’t you tell me that I had crumbs on my mouth? ”
“You were turned away from me. I never saw them.”
Stevie’s napkin had dissolved within her sweaty palm. Lori passed her a second. “He saw them.” She hurriedly wiped them away.
“That he did,” said Lori. “He had hungry eyes. I thought he was going to lick the crumbs right off of your lips when he bent over toward you.”
Thank goodness he hadn’t. His earlier kiss on her forehead had left her on edge. His second appearance moments ago had rattled her completely. She hoped she wouldn’t see him again. Not today, anyway.
She scanned the nearby event tables. The security guard named Roy protected a glassed-in display of engagement rings and wedding bands. The diamonds sparkled in the sunlight. Roy recognized her and waved. “Stevie, sign up for the drawing. Lux Jewelers is giving away bridal sets. Your choice, if your name is picked.”
Lori headed over to the table. Stevie was more hesitant. She dragged her feet. What was the point of entering the drawing? There was no man in her life. An unrequited love held Lori’s heart. She’d cared for DJ, for as long as Stevie could remember. Her cousin hadn’t a clue. Despite Lori’s countless hints and propositions, the dude was oblivious.
Trailing Lori to the table, Stevie filled out the square piece of paper. She could always pass the win to her friend if her name was drawn. She folded the form, dropped it in the padlocked wooden box. Subsequently admired the rings. Unique, beautiful, and incredibly expensive. A starburst engagement ring winked at her. Stevie couldn’t help but wink back.
“Where’s Joe?” the security guard asked her as she worked her way down the table.
What to say? That she wasn’t his keeper? That they’d gone their separate ways right after the garter fiasco? That she had no desire to see him again? She drew in a short breath, said, “He’s—”
“Right behind you, babe.” Joe appeared, a human boomerang. He slipped his arms about her waist and drew her back against him. His hands spanned her abdomen with the familiarity of a lover. Her bottom wedged against his groin. “I had an errand, but I’m back now.”
She wished he’d stayed away. His errand had included flirting with dozens of women during a walk down the boardwalk. “You didn’t have to return.” She attempted to pry his fingers off her stomach. He had big hands. He covered her hip bone to hip bone.
He spoke near her ear. “You got rid of the crumbs.”
Her mouth compressed. “Did you think otherwise?”
“I came to be sure.”
“You’ve checked, so good-bye.”
“Chill,” he whispered. “I heard Roy ask about me. I didn’t want to blow our cover as a couple. We don’t want security to reinvestigate your case.”
“It wasn’t a ‘case.’”
“It was documented. Roy wrote it all out in his notepad.”
“With pencil, not pen. Erasable.”
“But remembered.”
“I was released.”
“Into my care.”
“I never heard the words ‘your care.’”
“I did.”
The man was impossible. She had needed him for all of ten minutes. He was well-known in town. His word was respected. She was newly arrived. Not trusted. The situation had resolved itself. Over and done with—or so she’d thought. Yet he was starting things up again.
The security guard cleared his throat, requested, “Ladies, once you’ve filled out your information cards, drop them in the box and move along. You’re blocking others from signing up. The next three tables have additional prizes.”
Joe was forced to release Stevie. A slow slide of his hands over her stomach and hips. She jumped when he patted her bottom. “You’re pretty free with your hands,” she accused.
“I like to touch.” He pressed his palm to her lower back, nudged her along. “Just keeping up appearances until we pass Roy.”
They were well beyond the guard, and deep into the crowd when he let her go. The heated imprint of his hand remained, like a permanent tattoo.
Lori was eyeing her now. A smile played impishly over her mouth. “Who’s your little friend, Stevie?” she asked.
“Little friend?” Joe was larger than life. He towered over her. “Lori, meet Joey.”
Lori extended her hand, and Joe stretched to shake it. He frowned. “No one’s ever called me Joey before.”
No one would dare. “First time for everything, Joey,” Stevie purposely repeated.
“Fine, Stewie.”
Lori raised an eyebrow. “Pet names for each other already? What have I missed?”
“Private joke,” said Stevie. She chose not to explain her earlier encounter with Joe.
Lori didn’t press. The friends proceeded to check out the next table. A professional photographer offered a wedding video and photo album package. They filled out individual cards, then entered additional drawings for a five-course, sit-down dinner and open bar reception. A travel agency offered a ten-day honeymoon to Saint Thomas. All lavish and luxurious. Lastly, a drawing offered a spectacular centerfold spread in I Do bridal magazine. The potential bride’s choice of locale. Winners would be announced on Sunday.
Security appeared shortly thereafter. The guards parted the crowd to make room for a fashion show. Models in designer wedding gowns took to the boardwalk, looking like walking fairy tales in satin, silk, and lace. Lori and Stevie both sighed over an off-the-shoulder dress comprised of sparkling crystals. Glass slippers peeked from beneath the hem.
A flower girl followed. She carried a white wicker basket filled with miniature bridal bouquets. The young girl tossed clusters of pale pink tea roses and baby’s breath to hopeful women. She aimed one at Stevie, and Stevie sidestepped. Lori reached out, snagged it.
Her friend breathed in the fragrance, murmured, “This bouquet is the closest I’ll ever get to planning an actual wedding.”
“Don’t sell your love life short.”
“Your cousin has known me since middle school, and he’s never acknowledged my existence.”
“DJ’s life revolves around sports.”
“He hangs up his jock at the end of the day. His downtime includes his buddies, but not me.”
“Not you or any other woman. He doesn’t date much.”
“I’m relieved by that.”
“Get him to the beach and wear your new bikini.”
“It shows a lot of skin.”
“He’d have to be dead not to notice you.”
“We’ll see.” Lori looked over her shoulder, noted, “Your man, Joey, isn’t keeping up with us.”
He was not “her man.” Still, Stevie glanced his way. He’d distanced himself from them, and was leaning against the blue metal railing. Surprisingly, he was alone. He removed his baseball cap, slapped it against his thigh. His hair was nonconformist long. The breeze lifted it, mussed it up. He ran one hand down his face, and the color drained. He appeared pale beneath his tan. He rubbed his throat, as if he was having trouble swallowing. Then he rolled his shoulders. He looked down. Shifted his weight. Shuffled his feet. He was visibly ill at ease.
Realization came with her stare. She nearly laughed out loud. She’d been right about him. Joe Zooker was a fraud. Far from marriage-minded, he’d come to the bridal event to flirt, charm, and find a new lover. He’d attracted many women. His choices were numerous. Yet his pained expression said it all. Rings, receptions, and all things wedding gave him cold feet.
The parade of gowns had pushed him to the edge. He’d momentarily removed himself from the event. Her plans to draw him back in would ultimately distance him further. From her. She had no immediate desire to get married. Obviously neither did he.
She finger-waved, called to him, “Joey, join us. I want your opinion on a gown.”
Had his eyes just crossed? He settled his cap low on his head and pushed off the railing. Then he crossed to her slowly, slipping between a model with a bustled train and a second flower girl, who was tossing red rose petals. Several petals landed on his shoulder. He brushed them off. He looked out of place, a rugged man amid goddess gowns.
“Which dress?” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “I can’t stay long. I’ve got other commitments.”
“Do those commitments have breasts?” Snarky-sweet.
“You the jealous type?”
“Not when it comes to you.” A white lie. A man with a huge female following would drive her nuts. He’d never narrow his choice down to just one woman. Not that she cared.
The fashion show continued. Lori pointed to a model in a vanilla-cream satin gown with a sweetheart neckline and a mermaid skirt. The bride floated toward them. “Whatcha think, big guy?” she asked Joe. “The perfect gown?” The back showcased a long row of pearl buttons.
He shrugged. “Good enough, I guess.”
Lori contemplated, “It would take a groom half the night to undo the closures.”
“No man wastes that much time on his wedding night. I’d pop those pearls while I ripped it off of her.”
Lori’s eyes dilated, her expression dreamy.
Stevie shivered. No man had ever wanted her badly enough to tear off her clothes. The word thrilling came to mind. She dismissed the thought outright. Joe had plans for the afternoon, and so did she. She cut him loose. “Lori and I want to check out the music venue. The harpist, pianist, accordion player.”
“I’m outta here.” Which she’d expected. He nodded to Lori, then touched his hand to Stevie’s thigh. A slow burn tucked beneath her skirt. Then it shot high. “I don’t need X-ray vision to picture your garter under your skirt.”
“X-ray vision is for superheroes.”
“I could be a superhero.”
“Only if you used your powers for good.”
“Trust me, babe, I’d be very, very good.”
She believed him.