"I'll never be clever enough for a comeback like that. Don't rub it in my face."
"Uh-huh." Her laugh gets louder. Heartier. "I hate to step on your dreams, but I know how to surf."
"So?"
"Aren't you trying to teach me something?" She takes her last sip. Sets her cup down.
Maybe. But it's not surfing. It's something deeper. There's a bright woman under the layers of black.
I want to bring her out.
Not 'cause there's anything wrong with Chloe's scowl or her clothes or her attitude.
Because I want to show her the beauty in the world.
'Cause I want to make her smile like this again and again.
Because she hates me.
Because she bites back.
Because she wears her misery on her sleeve.
This girl is under my skin.
It's fucking weird.
I take my last sip. "You ready?"
"Sure." She moves forward. "Are we walking or driving?"
"You up for a walk?"
She nods.
I grab my surfboard. Hand it to her. "Thanks. Carry this."
She wraps both arms around it. "Is that a challenge?"
I offer my best effortless shrug.
Fire fills her eyes as she lifts the board. It's way too big for her, but she holds it against her side like it's a tiny scrap.
She's strong. Or good at pretending.
I take it back. It's fun baiting Chloe, but I can't let her ride that board. It will swallow her whole. "It's too big for you. We'll rent one."
"What about you?"
"I'm coach today."
"The point of this is you saying goodbye to your hobby."
"Is it?"
Her smile is sly. It's there, in her eyes. Of course not. We both know you're full of shit. I want to hate it. But I kind of like it. "I can handle the board," she says.
"I thought you knew how to surf."
"I do."
"Then you should know that board is way too big for you. You're barely five feet tall. Still can't believe you spar with Ryan."
"He's only got ten inches on me."
I raise a brow. "Fuck, Chloe. Don't let Leighton find that out."
She shakes her head you're ridiculous. Her nose scrunches as she looks up at me. "Really? Ten inches?"
I nod.
"How do you know?"
"Massive cocks run in the family."
"Even if that were true—"
"If? You gonna pretend like you haven't tested the equipment?"
"I didn't bring a ruler."
"You can take my word for it."
She shakes her head. "Everyone knows guys exaggerate about their height and their size."
God, she really is a tiny package of fire. I've never had a thing for short girls, but there's something about Chloe. I want to wrap my arms around her. To consume her.
"Which means you're only nine inches," she says.
"Only nine?"
"You're right. You're Dean. You exaggerate twice as much as normal. Only eight. Maybe even under seven."
"Eight gets an only?"
She nods.
"That's the size of your arm."
"No…" She holds out her arm, spreads her fingers wide. "This is at least a foot."
"Want to compare?"
"No."
"You can see my Prince Albert."
Her pupils dilate. It's a quick second, then it's gone. "Not interested."
I don't argue with her. It's not good for mission don't fuck Chloe. This probably isn't either. But I can't help myself. "Could you take me?"
"Really?"
"In karate?"
"Oh. Yeah. Sure."
"Show me something."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"I don't believe that."
She smirks. "Fine. Aikido is based around not hurting your attacker. But… shit happens."
"Of course.
"I'm not going easy on you."
"I'm counting on it." I move into the empty area in the middle of the room, between the couch and the TV. Motion come here.
"This is about self-defense. Not about proving something to you."
"Of course." We both know she's doing it because I baited her, but I keep that to myself.
She moves into the main room. Places herself three feet from me. Fire fills her eyes as she looks up at me. "On three, go. Attack me. I'll fend you off."
I nod.
She counts. "One, two, three."
I lunge at her.
She ducks out of the way. Darts behind me.
I turn. Reach for her.
She's too small. Too fast. Too short. She bounces off the couch. Gets behind me.
I reach back. Grab something. Get her tank top.
My arm finds its way around her throat.
Her gasp isn't fear.
It's a yes, just like that, harder, please.
It's a quick second.
It steals every bit of my attention.
I forget that we're sparring.
That I haven't figured out if I'm going to let her win or give it my all.
My thoughts go straight to Chloe under me.
She leans forward. Bends, Takes me with her.
Chloe flips me over her head.
I hit the carpet with a thud.
She dusts her hands off. Mimes a no sweat. "Told you."
I can't help but smile. Proud looks good on her.
It's the same as back in high school. I want to push her to be better. So she'll push me to be better.
I want the competition. The banter. The fire.
Nobody has ever pushed my buttons the way she does.
Usually, my buttons are too far out of reach. Nobody even tries to push them. Nobody thinks I give a shit. Nobody thinks I'm worth challenging.
Nobody but Chloe.
Chapter Ten
Dean
I stop at a red light. Look both ways. Cross and motion for her to follow.
She does.
A car whizzes by as we step onto the curb. It honks. The driver looks out the window with a what are you, crazy?
I wave back hell yeah. "You graduated six years ago."
"Accurate."
"When did you finish UCLA?"
"Two years ago."
"So…"
"So?" She raises a brow, trying and failing to look aloof. Her jaw cricks. Her eyes turn down. Her Fingers curl into fists.
"What have you been doing?"
"Life."
"Life?"
"Yeah." She stops at the next street. Looks both ways. Crosses.
I follow her onto the sandy sidewalk. This is it. Venice Beach at its most beautiful. The sky is white. Soft. The puffy clouds diffuse the sunlight.
A hundred feet of dry sand. The crashing ocean. Surfers jumping onto a small wave.
Chloe steps onto the sand. She looks down at her feet with surprise. Shakes it off. Steps forward.
She keeps her back to me.
Whatever it is that knocked her off course, she doesn't want to talk about it.
I want to know.
I want to pry her open. Peel back her walls. Figure out why she's always frowning.
"I, um. I mostly just worked and went to school. There's nothing to talk about." She steps out of her sandals. Digs her toes into the sand.
She's drifting off someplace ugly.
It's something serious.
And serious…
Not my strong suit.
Even so. I want to know. I want to wipe the hurt from her expression. To hold her and promise it will be okay.
It's weird.
Really fucking weird.
I retreat to what I do best. "You fuck a lot too?"
"Huh?"
"You must have cleaned up at the Doc Marten store."
She turns to me. Throws her hand over her eyes to block out the sun. It's not enough. She squints. "Cleaned up?"
"You must have had punk guys leaving their phone numbers."
"No." Her laugh breaks up the tension in her jaw. "Punk guys are like other guys. They also want the blond cheerleaders."
"I don't believe you."
"You should." She turns to the water. "Where are we setting up?"
"Let's get closer."
She nods and steps forward. With every step, she scrunches her toes, feeling the rough warmth of the sand. Her expression twists with this mix of surprise and delight.
It's enthralling.
"I had a boyfriend most of the time I worked there," she says.
"Did he have a Mohawk?"
She laughs. "No. He was clean cut. Liked good girls."
"You're a good girl."
She drops her backpack on the sand. Drops to her knees next to it. She keeps her back to me, her gaze on the ocean. "How do you figure?"
I move next to her. "How many guys have you fucked?"
She flips me off, but it's good humored. She's smiling.
"That many or that few?"
"Shut up."
"No shame in racking 'em up."
Her eyes light up as she turns to me. Back to fire. To challenging me. Pushing my buttons. "Wouldn't I be getting in on your turf?"
"Sunshine, there's no way you're anywhere near my turf."
"How many women?"