I don’t make a habit of laughing at naked men. Not that every guy I’ve hooked up with has been Adonis. They’ve ranged from unimpressive to average to exceptional—with one sexy-as-hell beast I’ve tried to block out. Still, I never laugh. Not even at the guy who strutted through my room in a leopard-print thong. But none have ever walked around nude wearing nothing but a fanny pack. A lime green fanny pack.
I elbow Shay. “I’m gonna lose it. Like cackle in this dude’s face.”
She squishes her lips so tight she’s barely breathing. “I know,” she says from the side of her mouth. “It’s so ridiculous it’s funny.”
Lily fidgets on my other side, her pale skin pink with embarrassment. She digs her flip-flop-clad toe into the sand. “I can’t believe you guys dragged me here.”
I bump my hip into hers. “I can’t believe you haven’t been here yet. A nude beach in a major Canadian city? This place should be a World Heritage Site.” I inhale the briny smell of the Pacific Ocean, hints of sulfur and fish mingling with the summer air. Even faced with Nude Fanny Pack Dude, I’d take Vancouver’s sea and sand over the constant bustle of Toronto.
Fanny Pack Dude smiles as he passes, his paunch jiggling with each step. The visual reminds me of the Jell-O molds I’d make as a kid. Better to eat wiggly sugar than a plate full of nothing. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he lost the accessory,” I say. “It’s just wrong.”
“This place is a time warp.” Shay scans the long-haired hippies baring it all to the sun, the majority of whom likely attended Woodstock. Gray hair and sagging skin extend for miles. “I bet they still think it’s 1960.”
Without warning I get shoved from behind, and I stumble forward, bile rising up in my throat. If someone’s dick rubbed against my ass, hellfire will rain. Spinning around, I tuck my limbs tight, clutching my purse to avoid touching anything naked.
A clothed man holds up his Frisbee. “Sorry, wasn’t looking.” He does, however, look at my legs in my jean shorts and my chest in my tank top, my black ensemble leaving little to the imagination. “Nice ink.” He nods at my exposed skin.
I smile but don’t flirt back; younger guys aren’t my flavor of choice.
He jogs away to join a rowdy group drinking by the evergreens lining the beach, likely students from UBC. Having a nude beach in Vancouver is odd enough. Having it attached to the city’s main university is a whole other level of weird. At least the steep descent from campus is a natural barrier to prying eyes.
“So, what do we do now?” Lily crosses her arms as though people can see through her white summer dress.
“Walk, I guess.” Shay plaits her brown curls into a loose braid. “It is a nice beach, naked hippies notwithstanding.”
“Walk it is,” I agree.
Shay and Lily, both in flip-flops, go ahead while I unlace my black goddess sandals from my calves. I carry them as the sand sifts through my toes, the grains hot and coarse. We pass clothed beachgoers, the majority seemingly unconcerned by the naked bodies around them. Two ladies stroll by, their boobs swaying. Behind them a younger woman walks alone, her nudity on display. I slow my pace. Her hair is long and black, like mine. Her eyes are dark, like mine. She’s about the right age, too—ten or so years older than me. I study her face, her features. I scan her lips and cheekbones and nose, looking for familiarity. Looking for my sister. Then she smiles, revealing a mess of crowded teeth.
Not my sister.
I run my tongue across the back of my two front teeth, letting it slide between the center gap. As kids, when our mother was busy pickling her liver and my father was betting our rent money at the track, my sister, Rose, would take me for ice cream. Ten years older, she’d use the money she’d earn babysitting, then waitressing, to distract me. We’d count the number of licks it would take to finish our mint chocolate cones, her teeth perfect and straight, mine gapped in the center. My envy knew no bounds.
I haven’t seen her perfect smile since I was nine.
I glance ahead. The girls are waiting for me, and Shay shades her eyes with her hand. “You’re looking for her, aren’t you?”
Lily frowns, then raises her brows in understanding. “Is that why we’re here? To find Rose?”
My friends don’t miss much. “Yes and no. Yes, I thought it would be a good place to check out, considering she only wore tie-dyed shirts and used enough incense to send smoke signals. But I also thought, since Lily’s only ever seen two penises, that she should have a look at the variety out there. For scientific reasons.”
Shay cackles, and the sound eases my tension. A reminder that moving closer to her and Lily was a smart decision. Shay has lived in Vancouver seven months, Lily and me only one. The girls moved to be with the men they love. For me this is a fresh start: new job, new city. And a chance to find Rose, if my intel is correct.
Lily attempts to scowl at me, but she can’t hide her giggle. “I’m not sure Sawyer would be happy about me being here without him.”
Shay links elbows with her and turns to keep walking. My purse bounces against my backside as I join them.
“It’s better he’s not here,” Shay says. “Sawyer would be the first to strip and lounge naked.”
Lily cringes. “You’re probably right.”
The sun beats down, sweat gathering on my forehead. I run the back of my hand under my bangs. “In the name of scientific research, we should work on Lily’s penile education.”
“I’m in.” Shay releases Lily’s arm and tips her head toward a naked middle-aged man reading on his towel. “Exhibit A: the Number Two.”
The poor guy has nothing more than a string of licorice between his legs. Although unattractive, his nudity sends my mind to a place it often goes, the place I try to ignore. To the beast of a man I woke up naked with in Aspen. It may have been over a year ago, but that’s not the kind of thing one forgets. Goddamn Nico.
I ignore the unwelcome thought and focus on Mr. Dick Smalls. “If that’s a two, I assume your ranking system ranges from one to a hundred.”
Shay shakes her head while a silent Lily blushes. “Nope. That bad boy is a two. As in the pencil. Hopefully he’s more of an H pencil. If that thing is a B, he’s screwed.”
“More like not screwed,” I say, wishing we’d invented this classification in high school. If we’d lined up our hard H pencils and soft B pencils, naming each after a boy in our class, Mrs. Water’s gray hair would have caught fire. Thank God for that art class, though. With the amount of pot I smoked and rules I broke, I’d never have befriended Lily and Shay without it.
Lily’s so embarrassed she looks sunburned, her white-blond hair blowing across her heated cheeks. “You guys are horrible.”
“What’s wrong with a little peen humor?” Shay asks.
Lily ducks as though she can hide on the open beach. “Don’t use that word.”
“Peen?” I holler, drawing annoyed glances our way.
Cringing, Lily covers her face with both hands.
Shay kisses her cheek. “You’re adorable. And I’m still in shock we’re all living in Vancouver. I’ve been thinking about us starting that event business. I have a tight deadline at work, but when that’s done, we should have our first board meeting.”
I nod but don’t answer. I love the idea of working with the girls, and we could rock an event business. Lily’s attention to detail makes her a natural planner, Shay’s interior design skills could transform any space, and I could finally put my photography to use, documenting the events for clients. But a start-up business needs cash, and there’s no way I’m returning to teaching art. Although it had its moments, dealing with a roomful of thirteen-year-olds is up there with getting my ribs tattooed.
My remaining choices are: Live on Wreck Beach with Dick Smalls, or find a new job.
To distract myself, I gesture toward a naked man walking out of the ocean. “Exhibit B: the Hoodie.”
Shay coughs out a laugh. “Nice one.”
Lily tilts her head and studies the specimen, playing along with our immature game. “I don’t get it.”
“The Hoodie,” I repeat. “The man’s foreskin is still intact, covering the coveted head.”
“Oh my God.” Lily studies the sand.
As I’m about to make fun of Lily’s perpetual shyness, Shay stops in her tracks. “Goldilocks at twelve o’clock.”
It’s my turn to frown in confusion. “You lost me on that one.”
She tries to gesture toward the Asian man with her eyes, but her attempt at subtlety makes her look like she’s having a stroke. “Goldilocks—not too big, not too small…you know, just right. I’d bet that man knows how to please a woman.” She pinches my side. “You should talk to him.”
“To the naked man? On the beach? That sounds about as fun as the time you forced our hot waiter to set me up with his friend. I’m still paying off the restaurant bill that jerk stiffed me with.”
Continuing on our mission, we traipse through the sand, the wind in our hair, the sun on our faces. I don’t glance back at the cute guy Shay spotted; our definition of Goldilocks differs. My “just right” isn’t average. It’s thick and long and hard. It’s Thor’s hammer big. It’s attached to a tower of tattooed muscle, one I vowed never to acknowledge again. Tequila may have blurred my night with Nico, but I know we didn’t have sex. With what he’s packing between his thighs, there’s no question I would have been sore afterward. What was crystal clear, though, were the secrets I shared with him before the shots flowed, and the fact that he ditched me afterward.
Goddamn Nico.
I’ve avoided crossing his path since moving here, but he’s best friends with Sawyer and Kolton. So unless I stop hanging out with Lily and Shay, I’m bound to suffer his presence eventually. Good thing I have a doctorate in grudges.
Lily grips my upper arm, concern beaming from her gray eyes. “There are a couple of women ahead, and one has black hair like yours. Do you have a picture of Rose? We could help you search if we know what she looks like.”
My fingers twitch as I scan the beach. I’d kill to have my camera here, to study the area through my lens—a barrier between me and my past, providing the semblance of safety. If I find Rose, I’ll have to apologize for what I did as a kid. Find the words to explain my actions, even though there’s no reversing the consequences. If it weren’t for me, she may never have left.
Pulse surging, I follow Lily’s gaze, but the woman in question has a wide nose and thin lips. Although I haven’t seen Rose in seventeen years, those features don’t match the girl I remember. Still, Lily has a point: I could use help. The only clue I have that Rose moved to Vancouver is a tip from an old friend of hers who spends her days cashing welfare checks to play the lottery. Not exactly promising.
I reach for my purse and pull it around to my front, but the second I dip my hand inside, I freeze. “Shit. No. No, no, no.” I shove my hand deeper, then pull it out and stick my nose in the small opening, hoping to hell this is one of those bottomless Mary Poppins jobs.
“Why are you making out with your purse?” Shay asks.
I drop it and slump back. “Because my wallet isn’t inside. I had it when I gave you change for the meter, so how the hell did I lose it between then and—” My jaw drops as realization sinks in. “Fucking asshole.” I whip my head around and squint down the beach, but the rowdy group and the guy playing Frisbee are long gone. “That guy who bumped into me. That asshole stole my wallet.”
Lily bites her lip. “Are you sure?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense, and my one picture of Rose was inside, along with my driver’s license and credit cards and health card and fucking bank card.” My purse caves under the pressure of my fisted hand.
Shay’s nostrils flare. “That little shit. We better go, then.” She attempts to stomp away, but her flip-flops sink in the sand.
“Go where?” I call.
She stops and swivels back. “The police station. You’ll have to file a report.”
“Yeah,” Lily agrees. “And maybe we should cancel tonight? Sawyer was looking forward to seeing you, but we can reschedule.”
I wave her off. “No. I haven’t seen Kolton and him since moving here. It’ll be a good distraction. But I might need one of you to spot me some cash.”
“No problem,” they say at once.
I offer a half smile and rub my eyes. I planned to visit a couple of photographers this afternoon to hand out résumés and hopefully find a paid apprentice job. Now I have less money than I did an hour ago, no ID, and I have to put off my job hunt. The warmth of the summer air is suddenly suffocating, a bout of heatstroke imminent. Things can only go up from here.
* * *
But things go down. At breakneck speed. A plummet off a steep cliff. Unwilling to ruin both my friends’ afternoons, we drop Lily at home, then Shay drives us to the police station. Not my favorite place. A portion of my teen years were spent getting booked for having a rare disease: bad decision-itis. Walking into a station still makes me itch.
We push through the glass doors and are directed toward a counter at the back. Men and women in uniform weave around us, a number of regular citizens among them, including a belligerent man in stained pants who belches as a cop drags him through a set of doors.
Any old day at the lockup.
Except on this particular day, as we near the back counter, a deep male voice says, “Shay?”
My day ricochets from bad to worse.
Cursing my luck, I glance over. Of course Nico is wearing his uniform blues, like he isn’t hot enough in his usual jeans and T-shirts. Now I have to endure all that male power packed into drool-worthy clothes. He swivels to talk to someone, and my throat dries. His thighs and ass look delicious, his massive shoulder blades massive. The man could be a professional wrestler. I should have known I’d see him here, should have thought this through. Unaware what station he worked from, I’d ignored the possibility. Vancouver’s a big city, and getting into it with Shay meant inviting questions. After today’s fiasco my stress level has reached capacity.
Now I’m faced with the Sexy Beast.
Shay grabs my arm. “I didn’t know he’d be here. I can ask for someone else.”
I will not be that girl. I will not play hide and seek, worried I’ll run into my ex-hookup. “No. Whatever. It’s fine.”
Nico flips back and lowers his gaze. He scrubs a hand over his buzzed head. “Why are you guys here?” He directs the question at Shay, but his attention darts toward me.
The sensation is immediate, the way his proximity raises my pulse. He shouldn’t still affect me. One glance shouldn’t have my belly tightening and my arms wanting to slip around his waist. I shouldn’t thirst to nuzzle into his broad chest and feel his heartbeat against my ear.
It shouldn’t hurt this much.
I shoot him my best glare, and he looks away quickly.
Shay has on a loose tank top with a pair of skis printed on the front, the hem hanging over her shredded jean shorts. She widens her stance and plants her hands on her hips. “Some asshole bumped into Raven on Wreck Beach, and now her wallet’s gone. Pretty sure the guy stole it, so we have to file a report, and if I see him again, I will personally reassign his gender.”
“What she said,” I add, making sure to avoid Nico’s blue eyes.
Everything about him is dark and imposing: dark skin, dark stubble if he doesn’t shave, eyebrows set in a dark line. All but his eyes. There’s something about those light blue stunners that are so disarming. They’re probably why I opened up to him in Aspen, why I told him things I’d never shared, ever, with anyone. For the first time in my life, I opened my heart to a man, then he blew me off.
A fresh wave of humiliation rocks me, shocking in its intensity.
He narrows that penetrating stare on me. “Some guy on Wreck Beach bumped into you? Naked?”
Swallowing down the sting seeing him revives, I shiver at the thought. “No. I was not accosted by any geriatric genitalia. Some young guy, a student maybe, clothed, was playing Frisbee. He probably saw my purse was open and figured I was an easy mark. Which, clearly, I was.”
Nico shifts on his feet, his gaze raking over every inch of my body in a very non-public-servant way. Awareness lights through me, a memory of his hands dragging up my thighs fanning the flames. Big hands, heavy hands—the weight of them plaguing me with months of flashbacks. And here he is again, raising the temperature in the room. I doubt all the civilians he deals with get this sort of probing attention. Unwanted attention, I remind myself. As hot as he is, as intense as our time was, I do not need to walk that road again. My family has gifted me with a lifetime of disappointment. No point suffering in my personal life, too.
“Come,” he says finally. “I’ll help you at my desk.”
He has us sign a logbook and hands us visitor badges, then he leads the way, and I’m faced with that ass in those pants, his broad back filling out his shirt, the muscles below flexing as he swings his arms. I’m also faced with the uncomfortable vulnerability that plagued me after Aspen.
Goddamn Nico.