Saint (Hot Shots 4)
“Life is tough, my darling, but so are you”
? Stephanie Bennett Henry
One
Saint
Every single one of our friends from Florida to South Carolina is fucking sunk for his woman. I’m not begrudging them. Not by a long shot, yet here I am, a virtual straggler, trying to figure out what to do next. What I wouldn’t give for a woman of my own though. If I settled down, set some roots, maybe then that would happen. That’s partly why I’m finally pulling the trigger on finding a place. It’s time for me to stop living out of a suitcase in a rent-by-the-month type of place. I reached out to a buddy, Rome Carter, to see if he had any real estate agents in the area just south of his place in New Smyrna Beach. He and his brothers own a real estate agency but have taken the back seat, wanting more time with their wives and children. Everyone settling down and starting a life of their own. It solidifies that that’s what I want, especially with that ripe age of thirty-five quickly approaching. Rome suggested Emerson Watson. She works on her own and more in the south end of the county. I already know where my mind is at when it comes to the property. I want a place along the intracoastal, not one directly on the beach. Hearing beach goers and tourists all day isn’t my idea of fun. I prefer a boat at the end of the dock, throwing a pole out, catching a few bites, and silence.
Even though where I’m looking is almost an hour north of Cocoa Beach, it’s still not too far away to stop in and see Cruz. An eight-hour drive north, and I’ll be at Fox’s, along with Jax’s. Though with the way Jax and Sloan travel, they’re mainly on the road too. And every once in a while, I’ll sign up on the roster to help out with beach volleyball or hit up a surf competition. What I won’t be doing is going back to Montana. There’s no way I want to ever freeze my nuts off again.
I pull up to one of the listings Emerson sent to me via email. A small picture at the bottom showcases what she looks like, and it’s nothing to snooze about. A Jeep Wrangler is already parked, blacked out in every imaginable way—black in color, black rims, and black-as-fuck window tint.
“Christ Almighty.” The set of legs that peeps out of the Wrangler before the body are toned, tan, and long. After seeing Emerson’s headshot, I knew she was a looker, but taking in the full fucking package, I know this is going to be a wild ride, that’s for damn sure.
Two
Emerson
I slide out of my vehicle, being careful not to trip and fall. It’s a common occurrence with me. Which is saying something when you’re a well-known real estate agent in the Edgewater and Oakhill area of Florida, you know, the born and raised type. Especially when you live in this small town too. Heck, if you’re not careful, the news of falling flat on your face will be spread like wildfires during fire season. I make sure not to let my dark black pencil skirt ride up, straighten my white chiffon blouse since it’s on the looser side, grab my bag, and shut the door. I’d just pulled in when another vehicle parked behind mine. I didn’t want to look like an awkward idiot, so I made sure not to look back.
When Rome Carter referred me to a friend of his to find his dream home, I wasn’t expecting the budget that came with it. Meaning there wasn’t one. In our emails back and forth, my now client, Saint Hunt, didn’t specify. Instead, he was more worried about the deck, a boat lift, and the sea wall. Everything else was a bonus as long as those three things were included. He didn’t care about the rest. He somehow skated around the price point he was looking at, so I sent him multiple listings to get an idea of what budget he had in mind. I even threw this one at the wall, wondering if it would stick. And, boy, did it ever. Saint didn’t want to see the other three I sent him links to. Nope, he wanted to look at this house. I make my way up the steps to the most amazing house I think I’ve ever seen along the waterway. It’s a two-story with a built-in observation deck at the very top. I bet it would be heavenly to see the stars late at night or to sit up there while drinking your morning cup of coffee.
“Wow,” I say when I open the door with the code the other realtor sent over this morning. Sure, I’ve seen the pictures, but they didn’t do it justice.