"I don't want her anymore."
She stares into my eyes. "I'm not sure I believe you."
Me either.
She lets it slide. "He's not like Penny. He's a good guy. He deserves it."
"How do you know?"
"How do you know you want to do tattoos?"
"That's a stupid question."
"Exactly." She sits back. Brushes a purple strand behind her ears.
"No offense, Leigh, but he sounds like an idiot."
"Why's that?"
"He can't see how amazing you are."
Her eyes turn down. "He has his reasons."
"How good could they be?"
Her smile is sad. "Good. But he… it doesn't really matter. He's not interested."
"You sure?"
"A hundred percent."
"Leigh, you're hot as fuck."
"I am?"
"We went over this yesterday."
"I don't recall."
"Look at your tits."
She makes a show of tilting her head down. "Can't see them."
"Here." I grab my cell, pull up a photo of her from our run. She's wearing nothing. Shining with sweat. Flushed. Staring at the camera like she's begging it to make her come.
"They look good in this picture, yes."
"You're smart. Funny. Talented."
"I put up with your bullshit."
I chuckle. "So how the fuck do you know he's not interested?"
"I just do."
I hate this jerk for the way she's frowning.
This guy doesn't realize she's amazing.
He doesn't deserve her.
But she's my friend.
I'm gonna help her figure out shit with this idiot.
Even if I want to punch him in his stupid face.
Chapter Eight
Ryan
"What's he do?" The words fade into the chatter. This is the hippest coffee shop in the area on a Saturday afternoon. It's packed.
"Huh?" Leighton takes a long sip of her coffee—the mint mojito that shouldn't be good, but is—and lets out a heavy sigh. "Fuck. How did I not know this existed?"
Somehow, her moan cuts through the room. It bounces off the concrete floor, the high ceiling, the uncomfortable metal chairs.
Her lipstick stains the white lid.
Her black fingernails scrape the brown paper cup.
Some guy in slacks and a dress shirt turns toward us. He gives Leighton a long once-over then shoots me a nice look.
Fuck that, asshole.
And the asshole occupying her thoughts.
There's no way he deserves her.
Not if he can't see what's right in front of his face.
I wrap my fingers around her wrist. Lead her outside.
She squints as she looks up at me. "What did you say?"
"This idiot. What's he do?"
"Uh-uh." She digs her sunglasses from her purse. Slides them on. "We're not talking about that."
"You want me to agree to this plan?"
"Yes. But we're still not talking about that." She moves forward, toward the beach. "You're mine today. And I'm ready to escalate."
"Tell me one thing about him."
"He's tall."
"Leigh—"
"That's all you're getting."
"Taller than I am?"
"Are you threatened?"
"No." That's ridiculous. My gut is churning. But it's not jealousy. It's concern for my best friend. Concern that she's wasting her time on someone who doesn't deserve her.
"About the same."
"That's all you like about him?"
"That's all you're getting." She stops at a red light. Takes a long sip. Looks to me. "How are you drinking hot coffee? It's a million degrees."
"It's better hot." I take a long sip of my medium roast.
"Black like your soul?"
I chuckle. "Joke only works if I take it black."
"It still works."
"Tell me something else."
"Tell me yes."
"No."
"There's your answer."
"If you tell me, I can help."
"How?"
"I could kick his ass," I offer.
She laughs. "Probably, yeah. But he hurts enough."
"Leigh—"
"You want to talk about Penny?"
I say nothing.
"Then follow me."
My black blanket flutters against the wind. We bend, lay it on the ground, secure it with our bags.
Leighton drops to her knees. Looks up at me like she's about to groan come here, baby, I want you in my mouth.
No.
That's my head.
She's into some guy she can't have.
Some idiot who doesn't appreciate her bright smile.
The oblivious motherfucker doesn't even appreciate her lush tits.
She's wearing nothing—three scraps of cherries on black held together by red nylon.
Technically, it's a bikini. Really, it's a look at my tits sign.
I want to smash this idiot's smug face.
For not seeing her.
And for looking at her.
Who the fuck does he think he is turning her into a piece of ass?
She pulls her sunscreen from her backpack. Looks up at me with that same needy stare. "I'll do you if you do me."
Take off that bikini. I want you naked when you come on my face.
Blood rushes south.
I throw up the brakes.
Things are good between us. I can't fuck that up. I can't lose her.
But that tiny swimsuit is making this hard.
The bottoms barely cover her cunt. Their strap hugs her round hips. Show off her long legs. Invite my hands.
She laughs. "I know." She motions to her tits. "It's kind of slutty."
"Suits you."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"I mean it as one."
"No offense, Ryan, but you should work on your sweet talking." She laughs. Motions take it off.
All right. We're at the beach. It's a socially acceptable excuse to strip to almost nothing.
To take look at us, practically fucking pictures in almost nothing.
I kick off my sandals, toss my t-shirt over my head, do away with my shorts.
Leighton lets out a soft sigh.
Her eyes go wide. "I didn't think you were a Speedo guy. But uh… You, uh…"
"It's comfortable."
"Really?"
"And that?"
"Aren't we shallow?" She bends at her waist and digs through her bag.
Fuck, that swimsuit is tight.
I can see every line of her folds.
My eyelids press together.
For a second, I see it—that bikini on the ground, my fingers in her cunt, her hands around her ankles.
I force myself to avert my eyes. Wait for her to find her phone, up the brightness, decide exactly how she wants to frame this.
"There." She motions toward the ocean. "I'll get all that blue in the background. Bring out those beautiful eyes."