Ahead in the Heat (6 page)

A
nnie didn’t flee. She wasn’t the fleeing type. Instead, she made a strategic exit as quickly as she could. It might be a matter of semantics, but they were words that mattered to her. Fleeing sounded weak, and she didn’t want to ever feel weak again. She’d left that feeling long behind. Considering how delicious Sean’s mouth was . . . maybe that exit wasn’t done as quickly as it ought to have been.

She insisted on a cab, despite Sean’s protests. There was no way she was getting back in a car with that man when her whole body wanted nothing more than to climb him like a spider monkey. And how strange was that? She couldn’t remember the last time she was more than vaguely turned on, and that had been intentionally created as part of therapy, by trolling Tumblr for the very best in smutty-men pictures.

But there weren’t pictures of Sean Westin on Tumblr. Or rather, there probably were, under the #surfing hashtag, and in every one he’d be wearing board shorts at the least or a wet suit at the most. On a board. On top of the world.

Not obviously worrying over the vagaries of his career. Except even that was an understatement. This was a crisis that could destroy his entire career
and with it his name. He didn’t need her experimenting all over him.

But God, she could use an orgasm that wasn’t self-directed.

Except not from him. Not from him. Maybe if she repeated it to herself a hundred times more, she’d believe it.

The man could kiss like a god. Not rape-minded marauding Zeus, but one of the gods invested in making their human targets seduce themselves. He’d teased responses from her, his lips on hers promising all sorts of things.

Hence, cab.

She was a professional. She wasn’t supposed to be messing with him.

But when she stood at the start of the walkway to her back door, all she wanted was Sean. She didn’t want to walk into her house. There was no quiet there. No privacy. She looked longingly at her ramp and pool.

Skateboarding could fix her. Could get her out of her head and into her body. She bit the edge of her thumb where the cuticle met her nail.

“If you want to skate, you’ll at least have to come inside and change your clothes,” said a voice from behind her. “If you wreck that dress, I’ll be so annoyed. Do you know how hard it was to find an actual
dress
that you were willing to wear?”

Annie’s shoulders released from their anxious climb up toward her ears. “I know, Mom.”

“Twelve. Twelve dresses. That’s how many I had to take back to the store. Because it’s not like you
could be bothered to go shopping, even when you’re the one with the fancy schmancy event.”

“I know, Mom.” Her tension was slipping away. This was a conversation they’d had a hundred times. A million. “What are you doing here, anyway? Your town house is two miles away.”

“Two point six. You might as well call it three miles.”

“You say three miles like it’s some giant hardship.” Annie finally turned around. Her mom was leaning a shoulder against the open doorway. She had on skinny jeans, awesome boots with buckles that went up to the knees, and a cowl-necked sweater. Annie’s mom had style, which was why it was kind of pointless for Annie to go shopping. Denise had it covered.

“You know there are people who live
thousands
of miles away from their families,” Annie continued. “They leave for college and never come back.”

Denise waved a hand, her nose curling. “Those parents obviously did something wrong, to make their kids run away.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “You don’t believe that.”

“I don’t.” Denise flashed a grin. “But I like having you living nearby.”

“Easier to spy on me?”

“You know it.” She stepped back in the doorway, letting Annie move past her to the stairs, and they both climbed.

Annie loved her bedroom. It was on the east side of the house, which meant it got gorgeous sunlight in the mornings. The bed was huge for her. There
was no reason why someone who was only five foot one needed a king-sized bed with a half-canopy headboard. She’d piled it with all sorts of blankets, from a fuzzy fleece to a black-and-gold afghan that her grandmother had made. The pillows teetered haphazardly.

She was at least a little bit self-aware. She’d made her bed into a nest, a safe place where she could hide from the world. Nothing was wrong with that as long as she didn’t hide forever.

Ducking into her closet, she pulled the stupid dress in question off over her head. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I can’t hear you, darling. Stop talking with your mouth full.”

Annie stuck her head out the door and shot her mother a look. “We’re not at the dinner table.”

“Fine, don’t talk with a face full of fabric.”

“Does Dad know you’re here?”

Denise wasn’t easily shaken. She was an inch shorter than Annie, but she’d always been able to wrap Annie’s dad around her little finger. Andy adored Denise, and he had since they’d met in college. She rolled her eyes and said with droll emphasis, “No, he thinks I’m working the corner.”

“Come on, Mom.” Annie shuddered as she pulled on a pair of cotton pajama bottoms and a camisole. “Don’t be icky.”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Denise said with a laugh.

“Did you just call your only daughter stupid?”

Denise sat on the love seat that Annie had
strategically placed in front of the fireplace. She only managed to use the fireplace about twice a year, since temperatures in Southern California seldom dipped low enough. But it sure looked pretty in the meantime. Annie dropped onto the love seat next to her and leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder.

She was tired. But more than that, she was a twisting mass of contradictions and nerves. Her fingertips tingled with anxiety, but her lips were tingling as well—for an entirely different reason. “Why
are
you here?”

Denise passed a hand over Annie’s hair. It had been a long time since her mom had petted her head, and it said a lot about the place each was in. “The last time you went to a surfing industry party, you came home pretty upset,” Denise said quietly.

Annie chuffed a laugh at the understatement, but it wasn’t actually a funny subject. That night had left Annie a mess, and it was the reason she’d had to work through so much. Her entire life shifted that night. “I proved I could protect myself, at least.” It was the one bright side to what had happened—the bright side she’d sometimes clung to desperately.

“You did.” Her mom squeezed her shoulders. “My brave and amazing baby.”

“I was eighteen.”

“Exactly.”

Despite her age, she’d thought she could conquer the world. She’d been on the Prime circuit for women’s surfing for two years already, and a sponsor had come calling. Terry had been the rep for Leslie Sunglasses, and he’d told Annie how much they liked
her look and her skills. Then he’d told Annie how much he’d liked
her
. On a personal level.

“Sean isn’t Terry. He was a perfect gentleman.” Even when he’d kissed the hell out of her. That had been all about being devoured by his mouth. Nothing else. He hadn’t touched her. Even though he’d sheltered her against the wall, she could have ducked away anytime. It was nothing like what Terry had done.

Denise’s fingers dug into Annie’s shoulder with remembered upset. Annie patted her hand. “I still say I shoulda killed that man. Your daddy has a very big hammer. If I’d come up on him from behind . . .”

“Murderous doesn’t look good on you. And that was a long time in the past.”

“Is it?” Denise’s eyes were lighter brown than Annie’s, since Annie took after her dad in that regard. But when they filled with concern, they darkened and turned luminous. Annie knew love from the way it was filtered through those eyes. Pure and undiluted. “I still worry about the effects. You’ve never had a long-term boyfriend since that dick.”

“He and I dated for three months. I’m not sure it counted as long-term.”

Denise pulled a frown. “It was the summer after you graduated high school. Anything more than three days is long-term when you’re that young. But he was a smarmy, too-old-for-you, good-for-nothing.”

“He was twenty-three.” Just out of college, he barely knew what he was doing himself. But he’d known enough to trade in expectations and disgusting favors. Annie had thought he made her feel
special. Instead, he’d been trying to artificially build her up, the better for tearing her down when the time came.

“I know exactly how old he was. I still regret letting you even
talk
to him.” Denise squeezed Annie. “I’m sorry for that, Annie. I should have kept you safer.”

Annie jerked back far enough that she could look her mother in the eyes again. Her jaw dropped open. “You are an amazing mother. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I thank God that ass didn’t win at turning your head toward a pro career. You didn’t give up your slot at San Diego.”

Annie was thankful for the same thing. She’d had to surf long enough to keep her scholarship, but after that she’d been able to walk away from the entire riddled, corrupted system.

She bit her lip hard enough that a wash of pain ran through her. “Sean’s in trouble. He found out some bad news tonight.”

Denise’s eyebrows flew up. “Something happened while you were with him?”

Annie found herself recounting the entire story, including the way that she’d almost lost her shit to a panic attack, since her mother knew every bit of her history and treatment. But when she moved on to the part where her positive conversation with Frank Wakowski had turned sour for Sean, Denise sat up straight.

“Annie . . .” Her voice was laden with warning as she shook her head. “This isn’t something you need to get involved with.”

She sighed, dropping back against the arm of the love seat. “I know, Mom. And really, there’s nothing I
can
do. But Sean’s in a world of hurt.”

She knew she’d be in the same world if she didn’t back away. Kissing him had been foolish. So ridiculous that it felt like a farce. If she had even a modicum of sense, she’d walk away from him immediately. But how would that look? She didn’t want to be the kind of person who left when the shit hit the fan.

He seemed to have so few people on his side. His first call in times of trouble had been to his manager, and he had definitely not followed it up with any sort of family call. Maybe he’d saved that for after she left, but she doubted it. There’d been nothing in magazines or articles over the years about his family. He didn’t talk about them. It was as if he’d sprung fully formed into the surfing world at eighteen, kicking ass through the Prime.

If she abandoned him, he’d be alone. Part of her warred with that idea, arguing that it wasn’t as if they were
real
friends anyhow. She was hired. Practically an employee.

An employee to whom he was offering three million dollars. She hated that it was even a concern. It made her feel dirty and sticky, as if she were one of those people with screwed-up priorities. But the
money wasn’t even
for
her, not directly. It was for the center. That was different.

Keeping her mouth to herself wasn’t asking too much.

“You can’t take Sean on as a project,” Denise insisted.

“I’m not intending to.” Annie drew her feet up on the couch, knees in front of her chest. She wrapped her arms around them. “I’m going to do my job and get out.”

Her mom didn’t believe her. Annie knew that look from the few times she’d tried to slide by on schoolwork in order to go surfing or skateboarding. She drew a cross over her chest with two fingers. “No project. Nothing more than work. I swear it.”

S
ean didn’t get many visitors at his house. He certainly didn’t get unannounced visitors. But when he pulled open the front door, he felt a small smile curve his mouth. “Annie. What are you doing here?”

“Way to sound inviting,” she said with a cheeky little smile. Dark lashes ringed her eyes, and her mouth looked like it had been colored pink with some gloss. She ducked past him, under the arm holding open the door.

“But we don’t have an appointment.” It had been two days since the Saturday night party. The night Sean had kissed Annie like the idiot he was.

The thing was, he couldn’t get that kiss out of his mind. He kept running it over and over in his head, as if he could re-create it if he thought about it enough times. Like he could actually taste the sweetness of her mouth, rather than just remember it. That wasn’t going to happen again.

“I know. I wanted to come by and make sure you were okay precisely because we
don’t
have an appointment.” She shot him a severe look. “Calling my office voice mail in the middle of the night? Seriously, dude. That’s a douche bag move.”

“Something came up.”

“Yeah, I figured that much, considering the weight
you put on your recovery.” She perched on the edge of a cherry-stained coffee table and picked up its only decoration, a crystal paperweight. She held it up to a ray of sunshine, and the embedded gold flecks rained sparkling light on her features. “You think I don’t understand that you’ve got things you need to deal with?”

He ran his palm over the top of his head. He’d cut his hair bristly short about a year ago, on a trip to Bondi Beach, Australia. The feeling of sand encrustation had finally gotten to him, so he’d had a go with a pair of clippers. Coyote had spit nails over changing his “image” without consultation, but the new look had nailed him pages in a national nonsurfing mag. Good enough for him, and good enough for Coyote too.

But this whole situation was a lot more dire than shaving his hair off. He could get booted from the Coyote lineup. He could get dropped by any or all of his sponsors, even before the rumors were verified. Image was half the gig. Ranking in competition was the other half, and fuck, he still hadn’t won anything. For that matter, he was having a hell of a time hanging on. If the distasteful aspects of his childhood came out, he’d have an unsavory taint. And that wasn’t even counting his brush with the law.

There might be less pressure on him if he’d won a title. Unfortunately, he was a long way from that.

As if on cue, his shoulder throbbed. “I can’t do this now.”

“Which this?” she asked calmly. She set the globe down slowly, then crossed her legs. “Physical therapy or kissing? Because only one’s up for offer.”

“You didn’t come in with your usual bag of tricks, so maybe you mean kissing.” He shouldn’t be snarly, shouldn’t be an awful ass. But he both dreaded and anticipated her tote bag full of equipment. At least it would be the devil he knew, rather than the meeting he was headed for with Tanner Wright.

“That won’t happen again,” she said with a voice so even, he almost thought she believed it. He
wanted
her to believe it, because maybe she could convince them both.

She stood, and he moved closer. All he wanted was to frame her face in his hands and kiss the ever-loving hell out of her. He wanted the freedom to touch her this time, to twine his fingers through her hair and see if it was as silken as it looked. As he’d dreamed about last night.

She was wearing another T-shirt, this one with the four horses of the Apocalypse. Pony style. Little-girl toys with snarling, vicious muzzles, ranging in color from bloodred to pale green.

Annie was a work of art.

The growing heat meant she’d left her usual jeans at home and wore dark khaki shorts. He wished they were a little shorter, because her legs were pale but lean with muscle and subtle strength.

He had to be losing his mind. This was just a way to distract himself from the holy-fuckin-hell levels of trouble coming down on his head. Annie was sweet and levelheaded, but he shouldn’t be thinking of her quite so much.

His crazy had hit new levels. Any woman who got involved with him at this point would either be doing so because she was the same sort of crazy, or
because she felt oozing pity toward him. His stomach turned at that second option. He wanted to impress Annie, wanted her to think of him as a guy with his shit together.

There was no way he was letting her in. Not that way. Fuck it, not for any reason.

Letting people in only led him to trouble. Led him to arson, if he was going to be fucking honest with himself. “I have to go, Annie.”

“Do you mean figuratively? As in, trying to run from this discussion we’re having? Or literally?”

“I have to meet someone.” His throat was tight with something thick. He forced a cough, then another. “I just . . . I have to go.”

But he didn’t move. And neither did she. Her mouth parted, and he was so shit at resisting temptation. Because he kissed her. His hands slipped around the back of her neck. She came closer, then closer still. His body brushed hers. She was lithe and hot under the sun’s warmth.

He wanted to absorb her.

She grabbed his shoulders, fingers digging in tight. They breathed together. Fast and then faster still. That easily, they were part of something new, something they could build together.

Something he wanted to believe in.

But then, she yanked her mouth away from his and pushed back. She lifted the back of her hand to her mouth. Her fingers were trembling. “I quit. I can’t take care of you anymore.”

He wasn’t surprised. When things went to shit, they tended to go off the pier all together. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m done with you.”

He looked closely at her, but he’d never been a mind reader. He didn’t know what to make of the expression in her dark eyes or the way her tongue slicked across her bottom lip. He touched her only because he couldn’t resist. “Don’t make decisions you’ll regret, Annie. I’m going out now. If you’re here when I get home . . .” He took her mouth fast and hard. His tongue plunged between her teeth and she welcomed him. “There won’t be any going back. Not for either of us.”

She’d fired him as a patient. The mixed relief and annoyance he had at that made his head swim. He wanted the best for his rehab, sure. Whatever it took. But that wasn’t the only way out. He’d gotten where he was through his own sweat and determination. He might not have been scoring the way he liked last year, but as soon as he got over this injury, he’d fix that. The rewards that might come with the risks, though. Jesus, they’d be worth it.

Sean started walking toward the beach. Considering that his house was only steps from the pier, it didn’t take him long to get to Wright School so long as he ignored the pure need rushing through his body. Tanner had left the circuit in December, and since then everyone knew he’d poured every bit of his energy into the school he was opening.

The place had once been a surf shop run by Tanner’s mom and stocked with the usual run of things. Sean abided by the principle that you didn’t need much to surf. A decent board, a pair of shorts, and go. Wet suit only when necessary. It was what he’d
survived on, after all. By the time he was fifteen, board wax felt like a luxury.

Wright Break had been one of the better stores, at least. They sold good stuff, even when it came to the California-emblazoned T-shirts for tourists. Theirs didn’t fall apart after five washings.

The store was empty. Brown butcher paper covered the inside of the big plate glass windows. Not abandoned, however. A two-by-four propped open the front door and music poured through the crack.

No one was expecting him, and he’d taken a risk by showing up unannounced. But there was no telling whether Tanner would have answered a call from him. The best thing they could be called at one point was rivals. The worst was acquaintances. Sean didn’t have much call for friendship with Tanner. He knocked briskly on the door anyway. He’d never exactly been put off by expectations.

Tanner answered the door. He was a big guy, with really wide shoulders for a surfer and incredibly thick thighs. Sean had researched his competition, so he knew where Tanner’s epic air came from. The man had been known for power moves, and his hefty body had been the force behind them.

He also had a bright smile. “Hey, mate. It’s good to see you.”

Sean gently tongued the inside of his bottom lip. Did Tanner mean that? His expression was open enough. With paint splattered up his arms, and a roller still in his hand, he’d obviously been in the middle of a project. His expression seemed happy enough, but that could just as easily be attributable to his most excellent girlfriend, Avalon Knox.

Sean didn’t like the part of him that doubted everyone, but he’d been proven right more times than not. “Wish I could say the same, bro.” It made life easier if he tried to suss out motives ahead of time.

“Ah.” Tanner nodded. “You’ve finally heard.”

“Then you did know.”

Tanner’s wide shoulders lifted and fell in a surprisingly helpless shrug. “Come on in, dude. I’ve got a few beers in a cooler.”

“Can’t. Training regimen,” Sean said, and fuck, did he feel like an idiot of the first magnitude. He ought to be fucking grateful that Tanner was stepping to the side to let him in. Turning down a drink from the man was hard to do.

“Got some fruit juice too. Sage shoved them in there.”

“That’ll do.” A flicker of relief licked at Sean like a tiny wave.

The interior of the building had been fully gutted since the last time Sean had been inside it. Where there had once been a counter and two registers was now bare floor. The clothing racks were all gone. With all the empty space, the place seemed bigger and brighter. The front third had three rows of cafeteria-style tables, and full-color photographs of famous surfers on giant waves had been laminated directly to the wall.

“That’s the study area,” Tanner said, pointing to the front. “I’m painting the gear storage right now.”

“Study?”

“Yeah. We’re going to work on the fundamentals of tides and oceanography, but they’re also going to have time to work on school studies. Get help if they
need to trade it around. Weather ain’t always the way you’d hope. They need to learn their limits.”

Sean felt his mouth twist. “You can say that again.” He’d busted his shoulder by ignoring his limits. He subtly stretched, drawing his shoulder blades together in the way Annie had taught him.

Tanner put the paint roller down in a bucket and traded out for their drinks. “Rumors are just rumors. You don’t have to let them get to you.”

“I got a call from a media company this morning. They were asking to do an interview. Didn’t say specifically what they wanted to talk about.”

But he had his guesses. He took a swig of the cold juice. The mango chilled his throat . . . but not the little kernel of fury burning away inside him. He’d worked so fucking hard to get where he was. Now someone was trying to take it away from him. “Tanner, you’re the expert. So many years on the ’CT and fuck, now we all know what you were hiding for so long.”

Tanner shook his head. He pointed at Sean with the neck of his bottle. “You trying to tell me you’ve got something as heavy as I was carrying around?”

Sean swallowed. He was proving crap at not giving hints lately. “No.”

Tanner’s gaze turned solemn. His blue eyes dropped to consider his feet in their worn sandals. He had specks of paint down his legs too, a decorative addition to his cargo shorts. “Then you don’t have to worry about it. You need to learn to let it go. Secrets carried only get heavier as you go along.”

Sean’s eyebrows felt like they were doing their damnedest to fly off his face. “Come on, dude. A few
months ago, you were so pissed at your dad, you’d have believed it if someone told you that he’d shot Gandhi.”

“That was then,” Tanner said simply. “I’ve let a lot of stuff go. And don’t get me wrong, I know my dad was a shithead. But I did the wrong thing, keeping it all under wraps. I called my mom this morning—well, it was morning for me. Evening for her.”

“She’s still in China?” Sean sat in a camp chair next to the cooler. He stretched his legs out and kept his head down. It was easy for Tanner to be so damn Zen. His mom, Eileen, was a gracious, graceful woman who was finally doing exactly what she wanted to in life.

“Nah, she’s in Cambodia now.”

“Jesus, aren’t you worried about her?”

Tanner pushed the front door open wider, letting out some of the paint fumes. “She’s in Angkor Wat. Me worrying about her doesn’t matter. She’s seeing the things she’s dreamed of. She’s better off now.”

A part of Sean was tempted to ask if maybe he should call Mako. As Hank Wright’s illegitimate, half-Tahitian son, Mako understood being punished by the past. But he was still a sore spot for Tanner, and Sean didn’t much feel like alienating the man who might currently be his only friend.

Sean shook his head. “I don’t understand what’s going on. A documentary on me? I’m practically a no
one as far as the ’CT goes. There’re two dozen guys who’re ranked better and have done bigger things.”

“I don’t know.” Tanner leveled a direct stare at Sean. “But if I were you, I’d start with anyone who’s got it out for you.”