Chapter Seven

Lance

"Which one of you a-holes is going to be getting a tat with my name?" I turned around to where I was sitting on the bench in front of my locker in the locker room and ignored the new guy's idiotic question.

He was a new hire and I couldn't even remember his name, if I was being honest. All I knew was that he was another lifeguard and a total ladies' man. He acted like he was a gift to the female population. He just graduated from college and had no real job experience or marketable skills. It wasn't true what people said—men gossiped just as much as women did, if not more frankly, and the gossip mill was all over this douchebag and his big ego.

Marcus, one of the other surf instructors, answered him, shooting him a dirty look as he did. "What are you talking about?"

The guy held up two tickets and whipped them around in the air. "It means one of you lucky suckers is going to get the opportunity of a lifetime and you might just love me enough to brand yourself with my name." He wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

I scoffed and he came behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders before running through the locker room and brushing his hands over all the lockers. I looked down and shook my head. What an idiot, I couldn't help but think. I mean, he was clearly looking for attention, and he wasn't going to get it from me.

I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it in my locker.

"Come on," he roared. "Who wants to go to the Miami Heat game with me this weekend?" He waved the tickets in the air again, flipping them with his hand. "Any takers? These babies are courtside, or did I forget to mention that?"

Marcus shook his head, but kept his eyes fixed on the tickets. "Uhh… why would you tease me like this?"

"No tease. Come on, it'll be fun."

"You might care to ask what you'll have to do to get them, Marcus," one of the other guys said before slamming his locker shut and walking out, shaking his head the whole way out.

"No, I can't, it doesn't matter anyway. My wife's family is in town this weekend, there's no way I'll be able to sneak away."

He turned his attention to me just then. "You must have nothing going on. What do you say?"

I got up from the bench and started walking to the door to leave, too. "Looks like you'll have to go on your own. I've got responsibilities of my own." Like a son, who I wasn't going to leave with one of his uncles so I could go to some basketball game with a guy I didn't even know or like. Even if the seats were courtside.

Not giving him a chance to respond, I opened the door and walked out. I swore every time I entered that locker room I felt like I went through a time machine and I was in high school again, having locker room chats with the guys about who was whipped or who was sleeping with the prettiest girl.

I thought some of these guys forgot we were supposed to be grown ups now. For me, I wanted my son to look up to me and want to be like me one day, not see some juvenile that didn't have his life together and was a lousy father.

When I approached the surfboard rental station, Kai was there, waxing one of the boards. "Hey, kid, which will it be?"

I cracked my knuckles, thinking. "Let's do a foam longboard."

Kai grabbed one of the blue and white longboards and passed it to me. It would do just fine for the sixty-year-old man I was working with. The foam would make it easiest for him to try to get up, it was more stable and better to paddle with. And I rarely ever used shortboards, unless they had multiple lessons with me prior or were using our lesson as a refresher.

I took the board from him and thanked him.

"How is that kid of yours?" Kai asked. "You'll have to bring him around some time."

I rubbed the back of my neck with my free hand. "He's good. Today he's with Steph, doing activities. I'm sure he'd love to see you."

"He could help me wax the boards. We could make a day of it," he replied, smiling.

That was what I loved about this resort, everyone was so friendly, and they felt like one big family. "That'd be great. Thanks, Kai." I pointed to the beach. "I have to go, but I'll bring this back after my appointment."

I placed the surfboard under my arm and held it there with my hand. The surf conditions were still great with their being no wind and the water like glass today. I didn't care for canceling my appointments, so I was pleased when the conditions remained good for surfing throughout the day.

Looking ahead, I spotted a woman walking toward the beach. She had beautiful brown hair with shades of blonde that was on the top of her head in some sort of sloppy knot. She could've been a real beauty, if I could've seen anything other than the top of her head. She was so focused on her phone, whatever was on it captivating her much more than the oasis around her.

I didn't get people. This was the closest we may ever get to paradise and she had her head in her phone. It boggled my mind.

I looked behind her and saw a golf cart coming, almost straight toward her. Why wasn't it stopping? "Look out!" I shouted to get their attention when I realized he, too, was on his phone.

Nothing. From either of them.

Deciding I had a better chance in saving her, I stuck the board in the sand, jogged over, and bumped right into her, placing my hand on her shoulder and pushing her onto the sand. Only between the impact and the fact that she didn't seem to be paying any attention still, we both went down and fell sideways on the sand. She cushioned my fall and I immediately felt bad and stood up.

The guy in the golf cart put his hand up as though to say sorry, but my focus was on the woman still.

"What is the matter with you?" she practically shouted, fury in her voice as she looked up and our eyes connected. "Oh my—" her words obviously fell off in utter shock, as a look of disbelief came across her face.

"Gemma." I couldn't believe it. It'd been a little over three years since I'd last seen her and here she was, like no time had passed. She didn't look any different, except for a few more strands of blonde in her hair.

When she said nothing, just kept staring at me, I cleared my throat and put my hand out for her to take.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, regarding me closely.

"You were going to get flattened by that golf cart," I said, pointing ahead, but it was long gone by this point.

Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips, deciding to get up on her own.

But all I could do was stare at her lips, remembering the way they felt like pillows. Full, they always shimmered, just as they did now. I was tempted to bend down and place my own lips over them for old times' sake.

She brushed her dress thing down and fixed her bag on her shoulder, dropping her phone in it, finally. "Thanks," she said as if unsure if she meant it.

I raked a hand through my hair as I watched her wipe her hands on her legs so the sand fell to the ground. "Anytime."

She looked around and sighed. "I didn't expect to see you, let alone bump into you. Or you bump into me, literally," she said simply.

"I work here," I reminded her.

She patted the top of her head as though to check and make sure her hair was still put-together. It looked like a mess, but I wasn't going to be the one to tell her that. It looked like a beautiful mess, though. When she was finished, her eyes roamed over my body and I watched with satisfaction as her gaze stayed a little too long on my bare chest and ripped muscles. I couldn't help but remember the fondness she had for my muscles. She cleared her throat as her eyes met mine again and I tried my best to stifle a laugh. She clearly noticed I was noticing her because now she was fussing with her hair again, tucking a loose strand behind her ear.

"I remember you work here, but three years is a long time."

I shrugged, keeping my hands at my side, even if all I wanted to do was reach out and touch her. "It's a good job. So what brings you back to the resort, Gemma?" I watched my words carefully, almost letting the word beautiful slip out. Old habits. We both knew as much as I would've liked her to say she was back here for me, that was so far from the truth. If she was going to come back for me, she wouldn't have waited three years or made herself believe that it was such a long time that I probably wouldn't be working here anymore.

She began looking everywhere but at me. It was obvious I was making her nervous. It was new to me to see her this way, though. Because when we first met she was anything but nervous, and when I cornered her in the elevator and claimed her lips, she was far from nervous then, too. Although, knowing that I could have this affect on her made me feel good actually, made me feel like she still wanted me and our attraction to one another hadn't diminished.

She pulled her bag closer to her body, as if using it as a shield. "I'm here with my sister for her bachelorette party. I should probably get going," she said, looking away, almost like she was hoping said sister would come and save the day.

I nodded, smirking. "Sure, sure."

Then she looked around and found my board, pointing to it. "And you," she said, "probably have to get back to work."

I furrowed my brows, wondering if I had any say in the matter. I knew I didn't, though. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"I wouldn't want to keep you from that." But even as she was saying the words, her eyes were still intent on mine. It was just like it was years ago—we couldn't break eye contact if we wanted to.

She backed up and practically sunk into a hole in the sand.

My hand went out to grab her, but she shook it off. "I'm fine," she lied. "I meant to do that."

Why did I doubt that?

Then she clapped her hand over her phone and smiled. "Well, surf's up," she said and then immediately started walking away.

Surf's up? Yeah, she was definitely nervous. I chuckled and called back, "See you around."

She didn't turn around, only waved her hand back at me, ignoring my words.