Chapter 15: CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Faith.

Sinjin makes me feel calm and excited at the same time. Like revving an engine while the transmission is in neutral. It’s hard for me to believe he’s not working his way through some unknown agenda. A recurring worry, like a vintage game of Pong that keeps speeding up each time we’re together. Return the serve, keep the ball in play. Blip.

We’re driving through the town of Capitola. Petraphobia pumps out a ballad about a two-legged mermaid. My phone vibrates in the pocket of my hoodie. I reach in and grab my cell. Slide to access my message app. The group text from Beau to Kirsty and myself warms my heart. I introduced them because they are my bookend best friends, and I knew they’d hit it off.

Beau: Having fun or do I have to kick his ass?

Kirsty: I’ll help bury the body!

Sinjin opens my door, reaches for my hand and helps me out of the car. He does stuff like this. So damn sweet. Which makes me feel awful for questioning his intent.

“Time to walk in the Pacific.”

I launch the camera app and hand Sinjin my phone. “Not yet. I need to send proof of life to Beau and my friend Kirsty. Take the pic, please. Your arms are longer.”

We tilt our heads together, but he’s angled it so our bodies are in the frame. Crap. “Faces only.”

He adjusts the view, but I’m so self-conscious I move my hand to cover half my face, which draws us closer together. His nearness trips my pulse.

He checks the pic, shakes his head, and passes it back to me. “Why do you do that in all your photos?”

The back of my neck goes damp at my hairline. “Umm…that’s a broad statement when you haven’t seen any of my pictures.”

“You blocked your face with your hand on your wallpaper pic too. Why?”

“What?” I don’t. Not all my pictures. Talk about exaggeration. I forward the pic to my nosy friends to stall answering him.

When the whoosh sounds off to confirm delivery he taps my phone to sleep mode then back on again, which brings up the wallpaper shot of me and Kirsty. My hand does block my face. Whatever. It’s still not proof that all my pictures are that way. Geez.

He asks, “Is this Kirsty?”

“Yes. Why?” What the hell? His questions make me itchy.

He snorts out a laugh. “Suspicious much? You have a way of making me feel like a complete jerk.” He lifts his hands. A clear sign of exasperation. “Faith, we’re hanging out. This is the get-to-know-you part. I can’t do that unless I ask questions.”

Now I feel like a jerk. “You’re right. I’m sorry. She’s my East Coast bestie.” As I say this, her reply pops up on my screen for us both to read.

He’s mad hot.

My face burns, and I shove my phone in my pocket.

He’s wearing a mile-wide smile. “Aren’t you going to reply?”

“Of course, but not when you’re around.”

“Fair enough.” His grin remains stretched across his gorgeous face.

He reaches around me to pull a blanket from the back seat. His shoulder brushes mine, and I inhale his scent. It’s faint, but it makes me want to bury my face in his neck and taste his skin. I confuse myself. I know I’m sending mixed messages to Sinjin. God.

“Come on. Let’s go for that walk and work up an appetite for dinner.”

Dinner. Because my other appetite needs to be buried deep. Sinjin hands me the blanket and leans against the wall that separates the beach from the sidewalk to take off his shoes. “Let’s claim our spot.”

We find a place away from other people and spread the blanket. He drops his shoes and my flip-flops on one corner, and his bag with sunscreen on the opposite side to keep the wind from rolling the blanket, and we walk toward the water. Sinjin turns to me, his face serious. “Have you been baptized?”

Strange question. Completely unexpected, but I answer. “I’m half Italian. I’ve been baptized Catholic.”

He shakes his head. “I’m Catholic, too. Not what I meant.” He reaches down and plucks me off my feet like we’re a part of a Gone with the Wind reenactment. I’m in his arms, full weight, and he runs toward the water. I’m shocked at his strength when what he’s planning to do dawns on me, and I yell, “Sinjin, don’t you dare throw me in!”

He’s about ankle deep in the water. Small waves crash against his pant legs. “Getting christened by being thrown into the Pacific is a long-standing California tradition. Consider it part of the welcome package.”

He takes a few more steps deeper into the water and swings me in his arms like he’s getting ready to launch me. I wrap my arms around his neck in a death grip. I don’t want to get wet, but I’m trying not to laugh when I say, “I’ll kill you, bury you in the sand, and no one will find you. Your mother will cry.”

“Is that nice?” He swings me again. “You’re not convincing me to disobey the unwritten rule for newbies to our fair state.”

If he dumps me into the Pacific, my phone will die. “I can’t afford to replace my phone.”

He bounces me higher in his arms. That alone shuts me up.

“Hmm. You just upped the stakes. What are you willing to do to save your phone from a watery death?”

I smile winningly at him. “Buy you a slice of pizza?”

“Not hungry.”

Hmm. “Wash your car?”

“Tempting, but we’re in a drought.”

“Do your math homework or be your slave?”

He smiles widely. “We have a winner!”

He walks out of the water and sets me down on dry sand. I let go of his neck and smack his chest. “You want me to do your homework?”

He smiles slyly, shakes his head. “Negative.” Difficult guy.

“I’m not cleaning your bathroom. I’ll walk myself into that ocean first.”

He laughs outright now. “Nope. I intend to move out when my bathroom gets really bad.”

“What?” I ask, amazed. “You’re joking.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. Stick to the subject. We’re defining your debt to me, which might involve costumes.”

I laugh. “Get real.” I picture myself dressed as a French maid, and I mentally gag.

“Listen, Lacerna, out of the kindness of my heart I didn’t follow the state’s directive to anoint you in the Pacific. You made a deal. I accepted. Now we discuss the terms of fulfillment.”

“Terms of fulfillment?” Priceless. “I’m listening.”

“You offered to be my slave with proper attire.”

I shake my head. “You’re delusional—”

He speaks as though I haven’t. “You will be my personal servant today, and you’ll go with me to a Halloween party in two weeks. I’ll go as Han Solo. You’ll go as Princess Leia while enslaved by Jabba the Hutt.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll never understand why that scene is so popular with hetero men. And isn’t it a bit early for a Halloween party?”

He lifts his shoulders. “It’s tradition for the team. We’re usually on the road at the end of October, so we have it in late September instead. And men can’t explain the phenomenon of Princess Leia. But speaking of slaves, let’s talk about your indentured servitude.”

The way he says indentured servitude makes me pause. There’s no way. It’s got to be a coincidence because I recognize that line. “Personal servant,” I correct. “Explain what it entails.”

“You take care of my every need, call me Master, be suppliant, and so on.”

I’m amazed, and a little turned on. “You read the damn book?”

He snorts out a laugh. “Guilty.”

This football player read a story I mentioned a few days ago in passing. It boggles my mind. Historical romance, at a guess, can’t be the favored genre of any guy. “You skimmed through it.”

“Girl, I read it. I’ve been meaning to ask how you feel about what they did on page three-seventeen. Both parties would have to be fairly flexible to manage that position without pulling a tendon. Don’t you agree?”

The blush crawls up my neck. Well, yes. I’ve often thought those two had to be contortionists. And I cannot get over the fact he read about Thomas St. John and Lady Catherine in Eight Nights of Sin.

“My lord, or Master, works for me, too.”

I drop to the sand away from the water line and laugh. I pat the space next to me, waiting until he sits beside me to ask, “You want me to feed you grapes, wash your back? Be specific or I may renege and run into the waves on my own without drowning my phone.”

“Fair enough.” He taps his index finger against his cheek in thought. “Hmm. I should choose something Lady Catherine did for my namesake.”

That makes me squirm as the mental images of what Lady Catherine did for Sinjin flash in my brain.

He meets my gaze. “A back rub.”

I’m trying to figure out if he has some ulterior motive for this, but I really don’t see any harm in it. We aren’t re-creating the scene, we’re not in a bedroom, I don’t have a feather, and I’m not wearing a shift.

Damn, it’s getting hot on this beach. “Done. Now, about this party. Give me the deets so I can decide.”

“Costume party at Everest’s. The whole team’s invited.”

Hmm. I like the three guys I met at Iguana’s, especially Everest, who keeps texting me riddles. Sinjin wants me to meet all of his friends, a first for me.

This might be fun. I’ve never gone to a party with a guy. Tempting. He hasn’t tried to get into my pants or shove my face into his crotch. Good behavior should count toward his trustworthiness. “I’ll go with you to this party on one condition.”

“Pray tell.”

That cracks me up, but I say in all seriousness, “I get to choose our costumes.”

“Done.” He stands, holds out his hand to help me up. “But Han and Leia will give us the win.”

I place my hand in his and let him pull me to my feet. “There’s a contest?”

He keeps my hand in his as he leads me back to the water. “Winner gets bragging rights. Everest is too cheap to buy an actual prize.”

“I’m guessing with a bunch of athletes the competition will be fierce?”

“Absolutely. If you need any ideas, I’m not averse to dressing as Adam and Eve. Four leaves and we’re all set.”

Four leaves? God. I’ll ask Beau for help. He has an entire network of drama peeps. “I’m sensing a theme.”

“Cheap and original?”

I roll my eyes. “Just cheap.”

“Fold your pant legs so they don’t get wet. Mine will take forever to dry. I promise to behave while you walk into the Pacific for the first time.”

The cold water numbs my feet and reminds me of home. Sinjin and I stand side by side staring out to sea. Boats dot the water further out. The sun shines warm and the weather’s gorgeous. So is the guy standing next to me. Time to get my hands on his back, which is nowhere near his zipper—I’ll point out, if interrogated.

“Come along, Sinjin. I pay my debts.”

We walk back to our blanket and sit. I brush the sand from my feet, waiting for him to make the next move. I’m certainly not going to ask him to take his shirt off. This was his idea, not mine. I’m a little nervous, wondering what he’ll do.

He says, “Do you want my shirt on or off?”

The Eagle Scout is strong in this one. “Off. I’ll use your shirt to brush away any sand.” It’s the humane thing to do—again if anyone asks—that’s my story. The end.

He pulls off his T-shirt, passes it over, and I set it beside me. I was doing my best not to stare at his supreme chest or his six-pack abs. But his ribs are stained a nasty purple-black color, at least six inches in diameter that form a rough circle. “Oh my God, Sinjin. You’re hurt.”

He looks down. “I’m okay. It looks worse than it feels.”

Oh God. With a bruise that nasty, I’d be on the couch with an ice pack, chewing painkillers like candy and crying for Daddy. “Why didn’t you say something? You’ve probably been hurting all day.”

“A couple of twinges. Nothing serious.” He tugs on a curl that worked its way loose from my ponytail. “It’s part of the game, and I haven’t been in pain all day. Promise. Now about that back rub?” He turns face down on his belly, stacks his hands beneath his chin, positions his sandy feet off the blanket, and closes his eyes.

I move to his unhurt side, roll up on my knees, and put my hands on his neck. I knead his muscles using some pressure, but not too hard. His poor body has been through enough strain. I move to his shoulders, pressing and rubbing. He feels warm and solid. A warrior’s build paired with boyish charm.

“Mmm. Faith, you can stop. Sometime next week will be fine.”

I grin and keep massaging, moving toward his lower back. I blank my mind, because touching his body makes my heart speed up. After about ten minutes, his breaths even out. He’s asleep. I lift my hands, not wanting to disturb him and sit beside him, gazing at the waves while he rests. His toes are buried in the sand, while mine point to the sky. I take out my phone, frame our feet, the shoreline, and the boats bobbing in the distance. I want to capture this moment of perfection—before I ruin it worrying about ulterior motives.