Then, we walk down the beach, and Evie tells me all about how Grady taught her how to surf and that he was a pro surfer in his day.

I can’t wait to get out on the waves with her and see what she can do.

She’s so different compared to the girls back home. I can’t imagine one of them getting out on a surfboard. They might break a nail or something.

“Here good for you?” I ask her. Stopping, I assess the waves, which are looking good.

“Yeah.” She puts her bag on the sand, standing up her board. “Could you fasten my wet suit up for me?” she asks.

She has the wet suit on fully, but she didn’t zip it up all the way. I knew that because, as we were walking here, I couldn’t help but notice the bare skin on her back or the small bikini string through the gape.

“Sure.”

She turns her back to me. I put my towel and sunscreen next to her bag and then put my board down.

She already tied her hair up back at the house, so I brush her ponytail over her shoulder and see that my hands are shaking.

What the hell is wrong with me?

It’s not like I’ve never touched a girl before, and all I’m doing is zipping up her wet suit, for God’s sake.

Get a grip, Gunner.

Taking ahold of the zipper, I pull it up to the top.

“Thanks,” she says when I’m done.

I notice she sounds a little breathless.

“Do mine?” I ask.

“Sure.”

She’s not even touching my skin, and my cock starts to get hard at the feel of her being so close behind me, her hand pulling up the zipper.

And seriously, a hard-on and a wet suit do not go well together.

I need this boner to disappear.

Naked old ladies. Hairy, wrinkly naked old ladies.

My mother.

That does it.

“Ready?” I ask.

“I was born ready.” She grins, and then she suddenly takes off for the water, her board in hand.

Laughing, I chase after her.

Something in my gut tells me that I’ll probably always be chasing after Evie, one way or another.

“You were great out there,” I tell her, drying off my hair with my towel.

We’ve finished surfing and just rinsed off under the outdoor showers, and we are heading back to our stuff on the beach.

I shake my towel out before laying it on the sand, and I peel my wet suit off. I’ve got my board shorts on underneath. I pull my hair back, tying it up, and then I drop down onto my towel.

Evie has laid her towel out next to mine.

Kneeling on it, she says, “Can you unzip me?”

Sitting up, I take hold of the zipper. I slowly pull it down, the sound loud between us.

Zipping her up before was deliciously tough. Lowering her zipper now…exquisite fucking torture.

The beach is quiet with some people still around, but as far as I’m concerned, there is only her and me.

When the zipper touches its base, I stare at the exposed skin at the bottom of her neck. It looks so soft, so enticing. I want to know how she tastes. And I can’t help myself, I press my lips right there.

I feel a shudder run through her body.

“What are you doing?” she asks softly.

“Tasting you,” I breathe against her skin. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

Moving closer, she presses into me. My arm slides around her waist as I trail a path of kisses up her neck—until she turns her face to mine. I stare into those whiskey eyes for a long thrilling moment, falling somewhere unknown. Then, I take her mouth with mine. I kiss her gently at first until she’s moaning in my mouth and turning in my arms. Her fingers slide behind my neck, linking there, holding me like she never wants to let me go.

And I know for sure that I don’t want to let her go.

Then, she breaks the kiss. I see her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen.

She runs the tips of her fingers across my overgrown stubble. “I can’t believe we’re making out on the beach.”

“Too much too soon?”

She stares into my eyes and shakes her head. “No.”

“Good, because I plan on kissing you anytime I get the opportunity.”

I want her, so fucking much. And it’s not just the kissing even though that rocks. It’s more than that. It’s her. I want to be around her, to talk to her, to learn everything I can about her.

I have a feeling, when it comes to Evie, nothing will ever be enough. I’ll always want more, need more.

“So, what do you want to do for the rest of the day?” I ask, threading my fingers through her hair. “Aside from making out.”

That earns me a giggle.

“I don’t mind.” She lifts her shoulders, looking right at me.

No one has ever looked at me like Evie does. It’s like she really sees me. And that makes me feel like a fucking king.

“So long as I’m with you, I’m good,” she says.

My heart skips over.

“The feeling is totally fucking mutual, babe.”

And it really is.

Two days, and I’m already crazy about her.

She’s hit me like a bulldozer. And I don’t even care. If anything, I’m happy about it because I have her, and nothing has ever felt better, or more right.

“Evie.”

The sound of Adam’s deep voice behind me has the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.

Slowly turning around from the coffee machine I was cleaning, I face him.

He looks just as imposing in here as the last time I saw him, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s here to yell at me again. Well, that’s what I’m hoping.

Honestly, I’m surprised to see him here. I haven’t seen him since our talk a week ago. I know he’s been avoiding me. I thought I was the last person on earth that he would want to see right now.

But here he is.

Also, I was pretty sure I’d locked the door when I turned the Closed sign. Apparently not.

“We’re closed,” I say. I don’t know why I said that…unless he is actually here for coffee.

“Yeah, I got that from the Closed sign.” A small smile touches the corner of his lips.

A warm glow erupts in my chest. God, I’ve missed his smile.

“I’m not here for coffee.”

“What are you here for?” I put the cloth in my hand down on the counter.

“We need to talk.”

“About?” I’m probably being a little stern. I just don’t want a rehash of the other day. I know I deserve it, deserve whatever he has to fire at me, but I’ve only just recovered from our last encounter.

Well, recovered might be overstating it, but last night was the first night since our talk that I didn’t cry myself to sleep. I don’t want to start again.

He looks over his shoulder at the door, as though he’s expecting someone to come in, and then he looks back to me. “Not here.”

I cross my arms over my chest. I don’t miss his eyes going to my boobs as they get pushed up. Oddly, it brings me a sense of self-satisfaction. He might hate me, but he still likes my boobs.

God, get a grip, Evie.

“Why not? There’s only me here, and I don’t see a problem with us talking—unless you plan on yelling at me again, because that I could do without.”