“You just gonna let it go at that, man?” Nate leaned forward and put a foot down on each side of the lounge chair. “Let the girl of your wet dreams walk away?”
“You always an asshole this early in the morning?”
Nate chuckled. “That non-answer speaks volumes.”
Outside of Penn, Nate was probably the best friend Cooper had. Nate’s dad, Ed, was a lieutenant in the department, and the two single Rottinghauses often had Coop and anyone else without family to their house for holidays. The bitch of it was that, consequently, Nate knew him well and didn’t hesitate to call his bullshit.
Cooper figured swearing at him some more would just fuel the fire, so he stood, went to the charcoal grill, and pushed around the cool ashes with one of the barbeque tools. He tried to blank his mind, but Nate’s words about letting it go wouldn’t leave him alone.
Was he going to leave it be? Let Zoe go for good?
Could he?
He hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours last night, and those had been restless, dream-filled sons of bitches. No mystery why that was. He’d walked away from her on the beach, tried like hell not to look back, but failed. Just as he’d gotten to the corner of the building, he’d turned around for one last glimpse. He’d caught Zoe watching him, at which point she’d given a minute shake of her head and turned away with purpose.
No.
He wasn’t done.
After thinking about nothing else all night and being unable to erase her from his brain on a run this morning, the truth became apparent to him.
It was better to have a little bit of Zoe, for a short time, than no Zoe at all.
Sunshine. Sea air. Sharks.
The first two were no-brainers for Zoe. The third was a little out of her comfort zone, but bragging rights were at stake today.
She led her mom toward where the Shark Whisperer was docked. The Whisperer and its crew were going to take them on an all-day deep-sea fishing excursion, and Zoe was going to do everything in her power to catch a shark, mostly because Penn thought he could outdo her. As they’d discussed possible activities for today last night at dinner, they’d done what any siblings would do — they’d placed a bet. Whoever caught a shark first won bragging rights and dinner. Their mom had gotten in on it as well, surprising the heck out of Zoe, but she had to admit, this relatively new closeness their family of three had developed since Penn’s back injury was what she’d longed for since, well, probably since her dad had left them so many years ago. It’d just taken them a few too many years and a serious medical emergency to accomplish it. Nadia had gradually become part of it from time to time as she and Penn had grown closer, but she couldn’t get away from her job at her family’s hotel today, so the three Griffins were on their own.
Or so Zoe’d thought.
Why was Cooper here with Penn?
As Zoe and her mom approached the dock, the two men were talking to a couple of guys on the boat, laughing it up like nothing was wrong. Zoe faltered as she fought not to stop altogether and turn around. She hoped like hell she pulled it off as Cooper noticed her and grinned. She could swear there was an edge of smugness to that grin.
Rat bastard.
She was not going to let him see she was shaken by his presence.
“Are we late?” her mom asked as one of the two guys wearing Shark Whisperer caps met them at the plank to embark.
“Nah. You’re fine,” Penn said. “I’m sure you girls needed to rest up to have a snowball’s chance in hell at reeling in a fish big enough to keep.”
Zoe raised her chin in challenge. “Keep talking smack, big shot. We’ll see who wins. As long as these guys weren’t giving you any unfair advantages.” She gestured to the two crew members.
“Nope. Gully and I graduated from high school together,” Cooper said. “Nothing to feel threatened about. I’m here as a neutral third party.”
Two sentences had never been more contradictory.
Zoe didn’t even have to look directly at Cooper to feel threatened — concerning not the shark bet but her equilibrium. Her mental health. Her good mood.
“Hi. Sam Gulliver,” one of the guys, whose shirt read Captain over the pocket, said, holding his hand out to her. “You can call me Gully. Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you. Which one of you is going to help me beat my brother at catching the first shark?”
“That’d be me.” The second guy, who’d been bent over one of the supply boxes, stood and approached their group. “Adam Valdez. I’m your fishing guide, a.k.a. shark-catching expert.”
“A.K.A. lead bullshitter,” the captain said, the corners of his eyes crinkling in good humor and a little sun damage.
