And as if that wasn’t enough, see exhibit B, the second, more dangerous effect.
You know that old saying, absence makes the heart grow fonder? Well, my heart is growing fond, all right. A little too fond. As in at least one sex dream about him a night fond. And while I know that saying no to a date with him was the responsible thing to do, it seems like my sex drive isn’t feeling particularly responsible lately. Yay for me.
Eight minutes pass in the blink of an eye, and there goes my alarm again, screaming that it’s time to get up. With a sigh, I shove off the covers and turn my alarm off, then immediately reach for my phone, hoping to see a notification from Lexington.
But no, just a few news notifications and a text from Sarah Jo, double-checking that we’re on for lunch tomorrow.
I fire back a quick response to her, then hold down the side button until the screen goes black. My phone needs a time-out. Or rather, I need a time-out from my phone. I need to unplug and stop wondering about Mr. You-Know-Who. And I’ll never get out of my head if I don’t get out of the house. Luckily, I know just the way to do it. It’s too beautiful out to worry the day away, and in my experience, there isn’t a problem in this world that a little sunshine and ocean air can’t wash away.
I do a load of laundry, and then hop into the shower with my hair up in a messy bun so I can shave my legs. As I finish the few remaining chores around my apartment, I hatch a plan about how I can spend my day.
With my chores done, I march over to my closet, change into my go-to baby blue bikini, and slip on a gauzy white cover-up. It takes me a few minutes to dig up last summer’s beach bag from the back of my closet. There’s still a tube of suntan lotion in there, along with a very expired bag of trail mix. Shame on Last Year Corrigan for not properly cleaning this thing out.
After tossing the trail mix into the trash, I pack my bag with all the essentials—a fluffy pink towel, sunscreen, and my favorite well-worn paperback I’ve read every summer for the past five years. All the perfect ingredients for a beach day to get my mind off of this whole Lexington situation. I’m going to lay out, reread this fluffy chick-lit book, and get my tan on. This day is going to be a stress-free zone. No Lexington. No drama.
On my way out the door, I snag my oversized sunglasses, then pile my things into the passenger seat and zoom off toward the beach. It’s a quick drive, and I find the luckiest parking spot right by the ice cream parlor where Lexington and I had our first date all those years ago. Which, of course, has me feeling all types of things about him again.
Ugh. Maybe if I can go one full hour without this man crossing my mind, I’ll treat myself to a scoop of double-chocolate fudge.
My flip-flops slap against the sidewalk as I make my way toward the sand, scoping out a little stretch of beach to call my own. But a certain set of familiar broad shoulders and a low, throaty laugh send my stomach bottoming out to my kneecaps.
You’ve gotta be freaking kidding me.
He may have his back to me, but there’s no mistaking it. That’s Lexington Dane, sitting smack dab in the center of the beach on a striped green beach towel, his cupped hands scooping sand into the pink plastic pail in Grier’s tiny fist.
I can’t help the enormous sigh that escapes my lungs. Suddenly, the concept of a stress-free day is a sad, distant memory. So much for my double-chocolate fudge.
Before I can say screw it to my beach day and bolt back toward my car, Grier spots me, her face splitting with a big, giddy grin. She drops the plastic pail, sending sand spilling all over the towel as she claps her hands together with glee. “Corgi!”
Well, no turning back now, I guess.
Lexington follows his daughter’s gaze over his shoulder, pulling his aviator sunglasses off to get a better look. His blue eyes twinkle as a genuinely surprised smile breaks out across his face. “Well, hey there.”
I wiggle my fingers in a little wave, trying desperately to ignore the giddy feeling buzzing behind my rib cage.
No, Corrigan. We’re not supposed to be excited to see him.
Why is my heart not getting the message?
It takes some serious willpower, but I manage to pull my attention away from Lexington (in a pair of swim trunks, no less) and go back to combing the beach for a tanning spot. Preferably somewhere far in the opposite direction of the adorable daddy-daughter beach day happening in front of me.
But then I feel a tug on my swimsuit cover-up. Grier has her fist wrapped around the fabric, grinning up at me from behind her teeny-tiny heart-shaped sunglasses. I imagine Lex picking this out for her in a baby boutique and my heart squeezes.
“Up!” she demands, stretching her arms to the sky. Goodness, she toddled over here fast.
Of course I comply, scooping her into my arms, because I just can’t say no to this little munchkin. As much as I could use the day off, I can’t pretend like I haven’t missed her and her daddy these past few days.
“Hi, sweet girl.” I grin down at her, and Grier giggles.
I head toward Lexington, all the while getting an earful from Grier about the sandcastle they’re building. Although she pronounces it more like san-capple. Part of me hopes she’ll never fully master her words. Her mispronunciations are so freaking adorable.
“I believe you lost this,” I say, teasing as I lower Grier back onto the towel next to . . .
Holy smokes. Next to shirtless Lexington. Seeing him from the back was one thing, but from the front? Nothing could have prepared me for this.
Fuck. The man is gorgeous.
I can immediately feel the blush creeping across my chest and cheeks, and I pray to God that these giant sunglasses are covering at least part of it. Or maybe I could pass it off as a sunburn or something? Anything that would keep him from knowing that one look at his firm, chiseled pecs has me redder than a summer sunset.
Sure, I saw him shirtless plenty of times when we dated. During sexy times, yes, but also during normal day-to-day moments. Like when he and my brother would come in from shooting hoops in our driveway, both of them sweaty and smelling worse than a boys’ locker room in June.
He was toned then, but he was also young. A boy.
But the Lexington Dane in front of me now is all man. And I mean all man. I literally have to look up at the sky to keep myself from counting his abs. Not that I need to. I know for a fact there are six of them, each chiseled and firm.
If this is a dad bod, well, sign me the heck up.
To make this uncomfortable moment even more awkward, Grier decides to chime in with her thoughts on the situation. “Daddy, Corgi so pretty!”
Oh sweet Jesus. Of all the things she could say right now, did she have to go with that?
But Lexington just chuckles, ruffling Grier’s windblown hair. “Yeah? I think she looks good in blue too.”
Wait. Blue? But my cover-up is white.
I glance down, double-checking that I’m not losing my mind, only to discover that the sunlight is shining through the thin white fabric just right. My little blue bikini—and everything else it doesn’t cover—is fully on display. And by the way Lex clears his throat into his fist and subtly adjusts his swim trunks, I’m thinking he may be enjoying the view quite a lot.
What. Is. Happening?
“Grier, honey, why don’t you go fill up the bucket with water?” he says, picking up the pail and handing it over to his daughter. “Wet sand will be better for our sancapple.”