Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

“Ye—” She growls when she hiccups again, her nose wrinkling.

I chuckle and push her board forward. “Com

e on then.”

We drag our boards onto the sand and I walk with mine away from the sea, placing it down and removing the ankle cuff of the leash. She does the same and lies down in the sand.

“I’m pooped,” she groans, her chest lifting on another hiccup as she stretches her arms above her head before sitting up. “I should probably get going, I’m not sure what time the buses stop.”

I flip onto my stomach, letting the sand sieve through my fingers. “What do you mean, buses?”

She turns her head, her eyes not quite meeting mine. “I took the bus this morning.”

She stands up and I jump to my feet. “Why didn’t you drive? It’s so much quicker.”

She huffs out a breath, her shoulders pulling back. “What is it with you men? Like I constantly tell Tris: that car is for work use when I have the kids.”

“I’m pretty sure I remember Tris saying he bought you that car.” She narrows her eyes. “But whatever, you’re not taking the bus home. I’ll drive you.”

“No, no. It’s fine, I can…” she trails off as I step past her, grabbing both of our boards. “Come on, we’ll get the boards strapped onto the rack of my car.”

“Okay,” she finally relents, walking beside me as we make our way back to my car, the sound of her hiccups echoing around us. “Goddammit, I hate these things.”

I chuckle as I attach both boards to the top of my Land Rover, grabbing my clothes and towel out of the car and handing Amelia her bag. Pointing over to the small wooden shacks for people to change in, I say, “You can dry off and change in there. I’ll meet you back here.”

“Sure.” Spinning around, she starts to walk toward the shack and I can’t help my gaze trail down her body, taking in every dip and curve it displays. She seems to be unaware of the several sets of gazes following her, as if she’s so focused on the task at hand nothing else matters. That or she’s completely oblivious to the effect she has on guys.

Before she closes the doors, her gaze meets mine and the small smile she gives me has me turning my head.

What the hell is wrong with me? She has me smiling like a goofball.

I strip off my wetsuit pulling my dry board shorts on over my wet boxers and putting on a t-shirt. I don’t mind being wet still, as long as she’s comfortable.

Five minutes later, she comes out looking red-faced, the wetsuit draped over her arm. “You could’ve told me this was like trying to escape a straightjacket.”

I bark out a laugh. “Sorry, I forgot what it was like the first time I tried to get out of one. But hey, you survived.”

“Barely,” she mutters, holding the offending object up. “What do I do with this now?”

I take it from her and throw it in the back of the car with the other wet things. “I’ll take it home and wash it if you want? I’ll bring it to your place sometime next week.”

She fidgets, clasping her hands in front of her. “I—” She hiccups again. “I don’t have.” Hiccup. “Anywhere to keep.” Hiccup. “It.”

“Keep what?” I look at her, puzzled.

“The suit.” She points at the car. “And the board.”

“Don’t worry about that, you can keep everything at my place. I have a special space for all my gear.”

“You have a—” Her chest rattles again. “Special space?”

“Don’t make it sound so geeky, it’s just a room full of sports equipment.” I hesitate before spewing out, “Maybe I could show you sometime?”

“I…” She pauses, causing me to skirt my gaze to her. “I’d like that,” she answers softly.

Her admission makes me grin and I graze my palm along her soft cheek without even thinking about what I’m doing. When my skin connects with hers, she sucks in a breath as she flicks her gaze down to my lips and back up, leaning her body closer to mine so we’re almost touching.

The tension in the air crackles as I move in closer to her, my hand curling around the back of her head, my fingers tangling in her damp hair.