“I’ll come with you.” He all but jumps out of bed, and I had forgotten he was naked.
He towers over where I’m sitting, that perfectly shaped ass at my eye-level as he walks to the bathroom. I trace the muscles of his back as they taper down into his waist, and Sinclair turns before closing the door. His cock, rigid and long, sticks out perpendicularly from his body.
I can’t stop the tiny gasp that leaves my lips, and he notices. “Or we could start the morning off with a bang. Before we leave?”
That cheesy line has me rolling my eyes. “I didn’t even invite—”
My sentence is cut off as he closes the door, and the water begins running behind it. Apparently, his accompanying me is not up for discussion. I could argue more or simply leave while he’s still in there, but I don’t.
And I’m not sure why.
“I want to crack some crab legs.”
Sinclair rubs his hands together. I shoot him a look over the center console, and my stomach flutters at him sitting in the passenger seat of my years old Camry.
“There are some pretty good seafood restaurants on this main drag. Or we could drive further down and go to Captiva. The traffic is just a bitch, but it’s worth it to come here.” I gesture to the bumper-to-bumper we’re currently sitting in.
“I’ve got nowhere to be. Now that I’ve got supplies, I can waste the whole day here.”
An entire day with Sinclair. Out of my bedroom. It will be interesting.
Those supplies he’s talking about is the entirely new wardrobe he just picked up. Since he slept at my place, having shed his work uniform before jumping into my bed, all he had were those khakis and Pistons polo. I offered to drive him to his place, and wishful thinking on my part thought he might just stay there and leave me to my peaceful day. But no. He said he’d buy some things on the island, so off we went.
I’d stopped off at the first beach supply store we hit once we got over the bridge. Sinclair bought a white and blue pair of striped board shorts, a gray tank top, a pair of aviators, two sticks of beef jerky off the front counter, and a towel for the beach. I looked on like my eyes might fall out of my head. I’m not poor by any means, but I have never walked into a store with the ease Sinclair had and just picked things off the shelves without checking the price.
It’s clear he comes from money, but he hasn’t told me a lick about it.
“Thanks for letting me come along, by the way.” His grin is genuine, with no note of its usual tease or jokes. “I know this is usually your solo thing, like you said. But … I wanted to spend the day with you.”
Uh-oh. My heart skips a beat, and I can tell we’re treading in dangerous waters. First, the pillow talk last night. Then him falling asleep at my place. Now we were taking day trips together?
Like I told Sinclair, I have no daddy issues. I’m not opposed to finding love. But, as I always felt, there’s something inside that’s warning me about this guy. He’s here for spring training; who knows if he has any plans to stay. He’s disclosed near to nothing about himself and hasn’t invited me to his place once in all the weeks we’ve been hooking up. This screams temporary, and yet …
Here he is, charming me into something more than just sex. Truth is, I enjoy his company. I think today will be fun. And that’s what scares me so much.
“So, we’ll head to the beach first. I like to park at Bowman’s, it’s a pretty walk out to the sand.”
“Sounds good to me,” he agrees easily, pushing his newly bought aviators onto his face.
Jesus, he looks way too handsome with those on. I gulp, focusing on the traffic that always seems ever-present on Sanibel.
Another twenty minutes, and we’re parking at Bowman’s beach. It’s crowded, per usual, but I’ve never minded that. We’ll find a secluded spot after the five-minute scenic walk.
“I brought a cooler and umbrella, they’re in the trunk.” I nod to it, and Sinclair follows suit.
He grabs the umbrella, shouldering it, and then pulls up the handle for the rolling cooler I packed with waters, fruit, and even a couple of beers. Without much instruction, he begins to walk, and I hastily grab my small beach bag with a towel, sunscreen, and paperback novel, and hurry to catch up to him. It’s chivalrous, a man doing all the heavy lifting, and I’m surprised that my heart flip-flops at the sentiment. I’m a strong woman, literally. I’m used to calling the shots, carrying the weight, and being mentally tough on top of it all.
With Sinclair taking the lead as the man, you think I’d bristle. But I’m finding that with him, I react in the complete opposite way I would.
“This is pretty,” he remarks as we walk.
I nod. “It is. My favorite part is when we cross this one bridge, you can see kayakers on the bayou.”
Our steps fall into rhythm as we stroll through the sand, stopping on the bridge I mentioned to watch the water below.
By the time we make it to the beach, picking a spot way out from the entrance so we have some privacy, I’m sweating. I strip off my sundress and feel Sinclair’s gaze eating me up. It only serves to make my skin flush hotter. I do the same when he pulls off his tank, taking an extra-long moment to appreciate the sight of his bare torso.
We set up camp, shake out our towels under the umbrella, and I reach into the cooler for a beer.
“Want one?”
The minute the words leave my mouth, the minute I see my hand extending him a Leinenkugel, I want to slap myself on the forehead.
“Shit, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have asked.” I’m mortified.
Sinclair pulls his sunglasses down his nose and eyes the color of the waves before us, squinting back warmly at me. “Frankie, you forgot. It’s fine. It’s not like it’s something we’ve discussed in detail. No offense taken on my part.”
I quickly chuck the beer back in the cooler. “I feel so bad, that was so rude of me. And I don’t know how tempted you are …”
I trail off, realizing there is a lot I don’t know about my friend who provides lots of benefits.
“Pretty tempted, actually. I’m only a year sober.” He looks out to the water.
“Only a year? From what I hear, that’s the hardest year. And you shouldn’t tack on an only. That’s a hell of an accomplishment.” For some reason, my voice is defending him to himself.
He smiles, but it’s half-hearted. “Thanks. It hasn’t been easy, that’s for sure. I would have loved to guzzle that beer you just offered. But you wouldn’t like the guy I turn into if I did. I hate that guy. Everyone I know was so ready for that guy to shape up. So … I’m trying.”
“Did you go to rehab?” I ask, feeling like an idiot again for blurting out something so insensitive. But I can’t take it back now.
The crash of the waves and beachgoers partying is our background soundtrack. “I did, after I wrapped my car around a utility pole and had to be extracted from my car with the jaws of life.”
A sickly, cold feeling rolls down my body, from the tops of my head to the bottom of my toes. “Oh my God, Sinclair.”
He told me so matter-of-factly, like his near-death experience was just another charge on his rap sheet.