She nodded, then her face fell. “Is it okay that I did that?” she asked, eyes troubled as they jumped between mine. “I just looked at your license. I didn’t look through the whole wallet.”
I shrugged, explaining, “Lookin’ ’cause you wanna know shit about me. I want you knowin’, babe. You can look all you want.”
Tori smiled again, liking my views on her snooping through my shit. “’Kay,” she murmured.
“What else do you like?”
She smiled bigger. I felt her warm hands take hold of my hips.
“Well, just going off your license, I like that you’re six-three and an organ donor,” she shared, stepping closer until I felt the fabric of her shirt against my stomach. “And that you’re a Scorpio. The Aries in me really likes that.”
I slowly shook my head. “Jesus,” I chuckled. “You follow that shit? You sound like Quinn.”
“No,” she giggled. “Not really. I just know which signs I’m compatible with and which ones to stay away from.”
“Yeah?” I dipped my head until our foreheads touched. “Should’ve checked my wallet nine months ago, babe. Saved us the time.”
“No way. Then we never would’ve had our bet.”
“And?”
“And I liked our bet,” she admitted sweetly, rubbing her hands up and down my back. “Didn’t you?”
“Like what we’re doin’ now better.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. Her nose wrinkled. “This is okay.”
My brows grew tight.
Tori watched this happen and laughed quietly, then she linked her hands behind my back. “You have eleven trophies in here and eight in your other room,” she stated.
“Yeah.”
“Plus six in that office downstairs.”
I smirked. Fuck yeah. She’d gone around counting.
“And one in the bathroom,” she continued. “Which, I really don’t understand that placement but I’m assuming it’s there so guests will see it.”
“Piss excellence. Might as well have a trophy for it,” I told her, face serious.
Tori leaned back, studying me. “You did not just say that.”
“Said it. You read the plaque?” I questioned. “Says on there what I won.”
Her eyes shifted away, then her head turned, her brows knitted, and she started biting the inside of her cheek. She was thinking hard. And she looked really fucking sweet doing it.
“Babe,” I laughed, ready to give up the lie.
“It said, East Coast Surf First Place Champion, 2002.” Her head snapped back and she made a face, half smiling, half scowling. “Ha. You did not win that for using the bathroom. Nice try.”
I stared down at her, at her smiling lips and her bright eyes and the freckles splattered on her nose, trying to breathe but fighting against an impossible weight pressing heavy on my chest.
“You know what it says,” I mumbled, sliding my hands to her waist and holding tight there. “What year I won it. Twenty-six trophies, all saying different shit, and you can spit that out like it’s nothin’.” I turned her and started backing her up across the room, taking the four steps to reach my old bed.
Tori gripped my biceps, eyes soft and curious and smile slowly fading. “I have a good memory,” she revealed. “A really good one. Just a glance and—”
“How long you been awake, babe?” I interrupted.
Her cheeks heated. “An hour.”
“Yeah.” I pushed her back, slid my hand around her waist, and hoisted her higher up the bed. I crawled over her body and gave her my weight, forearms on the mattress and hips between hers. “Been lookin’ at ’em. Studying ’em. Wantin’ to know me,” I growled.
Her limbs were warm against my back and hips. She pushed her hands through my hair and held it out of my face.
“I took pictures, too,” her soft voice admitted.
My brows hit my hairline.
She watched this happen, pulled in a breath, met my eyes again, and added, “And a short video, which can totally be deleted if you—”
Hand on her cheek, I slid my thumb over her lips and pressed, shutting her up.
“Got a meet this weekend in Cocoa Beach,” I shared. “I want you comin’ with me.”
Tori’s breaths were sharp as I moved my thumb away. I curled my fingers around her jaw.
“Um”—she wet her lips—“where is Cocoa Beach exactly? Is it close?”
“Florida ain’t close unless we’re flying,” I answered. “Flights already booked, but if you’re down and can’t get one last minute, we can drive. We’ll leave Friday and come back Sunday.”
“I can’t go,” she rushed out. Her eyes heavy with sadness. “I, that’s too last minute for me to get coverage. I work all weekend.”
“Can’t ask one of your girls to help you out?”
She shook her head. “No. They’re all either working or have stuff going on,” she explained. “Syd’s taking Brian up to meet her mom. They’re leaving Saturday. And I know Kali doesn’t have a sitter on Sunday ’cause I’m covering for her.” Tori’s fingers tensed in my hair and gave a gentle tug. “I would love to go. Really. I wish I could.”
“I’ll give you enough time for the next one. It’ll happen,” I shared, not wanting her to feel bad for this since she couldn’t help the conditions. They fucking sucked, but she couldn’t help them.
“But you wanted me at this one,” she said, speaking quietly.
“Want you at all of ’em, babe.”
Tori’s lips slowly parted. Eyes searching, she slid her palms to my cheeks, asking, “Why?” on a whisper that sounded fragile and hope-filled and she must’ve heard it, because she blinked and smiled shakily to cover her truth. “I mean, you’re gonna win with or without me, right?” Her voice was confident now. “You always do. Jamie Carter McCade never loses.”
“Never had my woman watchin’ me either,” I returned. “I’ll give you notice and then I’m gettin’ that, babe. And straight up? Pretty sure that’s gonna feel better than a win.”
Her shaky smile vanished. She stared deep into my eyes.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m your woman,” she stated quietly, not questioning it, but as if she was repeating it for herself, hearing it for the first time and letting it settle inside her.
“Yeah, Legs,” I said on a chuckle. “I thought we covered that.”
“I’m your woman because you claimed me.” Her voice was louder. Quicker. Nearly panicked. Her eyes were wider. “You did it months ago. You were coming to Whitecaps to see me. Everyone knew that. They all saw you claiming me. You did it out in public in front of everyone, Jamie. And I”—she shook her head, whispering—“I didn’t do that.”
“You didn’t do what, babe?” I asked, brow furrowed, not understanding what the fuck she was going on about.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered instead of answering me, eyes falling away. “I screwed it up. I didn’t do it right. No one knows I’ve done it. There was no one else on that beach but us. Nobody saw me. Nobody knows.”
I shrugged, explaining, “Lookin’ ’cause you wanna know shit about me. I want you knowin’, babe. You can look all you want.”
Tori smiled again, liking my views on her snooping through my shit. “’Kay,” she murmured.
“What else do you like?”
She smiled bigger. I felt her warm hands take hold of my hips.
“Well, just going off your license, I like that you’re six-three and an organ donor,” she shared, stepping closer until I felt the fabric of her shirt against my stomach. “And that you’re a Scorpio. The Aries in me really likes that.”
I slowly shook my head. “Jesus,” I chuckled. “You follow that shit? You sound like Quinn.”
“No,” she giggled. “Not really. I just know which signs I’m compatible with and which ones to stay away from.”
“Yeah?” I dipped my head until our foreheads touched. “Should’ve checked my wallet nine months ago, babe. Saved us the time.”
“No way. Then we never would’ve had our bet.”
“And?”
“And I liked our bet,” she admitted sweetly, rubbing her hands up and down my back. “Didn’t you?”
“Like what we’re doin’ now better.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. Her nose wrinkled. “This is okay.”
My brows grew tight.
Tori watched this happen and laughed quietly, then she linked her hands behind my back. “You have eleven trophies in here and eight in your other room,” she stated.
“Yeah.”
“Plus six in that office downstairs.”
I smirked. Fuck yeah. She’d gone around counting.
“And one in the bathroom,” she continued. “Which, I really don’t understand that placement but I’m assuming it’s there so guests will see it.”
“Piss excellence. Might as well have a trophy for it,” I told her, face serious.
Tori leaned back, studying me. “You did not just say that.”
“Said it. You read the plaque?” I questioned. “Says on there what I won.”
Her eyes shifted away, then her head turned, her brows knitted, and she started biting the inside of her cheek. She was thinking hard. And she looked really fucking sweet doing it.
“Babe,” I laughed, ready to give up the lie.
“It said, East Coast Surf First Place Champion, 2002.” Her head snapped back and she made a face, half smiling, half scowling. “Ha. You did not win that for using the bathroom. Nice try.”
I stared down at her, at her smiling lips and her bright eyes and the freckles splattered on her nose, trying to breathe but fighting against an impossible weight pressing heavy on my chest.
“You know what it says,” I mumbled, sliding my hands to her waist and holding tight there. “What year I won it. Twenty-six trophies, all saying different shit, and you can spit that out like it’s nothin’.” I turned her and started backing her up across the room, taking the four steps to reach my old bed.
Tori gripped my biceps, eyes soft and curious and smile slowly fading. “I have a good memory,” she revealed. “A really good one. Just a glance and—”
“How long you been awake, babe?” I interrupted.
Her cheeks heated. “An hour.”
“Yeah.” I pushed her back, slid my hand around her waist, and hoisted her higher up the bed. I crawled over her body and gave her my weight, forearms on the mattress and hips between hers. “Been lookin’ at ’em. Studying ’em. Wantin’ to know me,” I growled.
Her limbs were warm against my back and hips. She pushed her hands through my hair and held it out of my face.
“I took pictures, too,” her soft voice admitted.
My brows hit my hairline.
She watched this happen, pulled in a breath, met my eyes again, and added, “And a short video, which can totally be deleted if you—”
Hand on her cheek, I slid my thumb over her lips and pressed, shutting her up.
“Got a meet this weekend in Cocoa Beach,” I shared. “I want you comin’ with me.”
Tori’s breaths were sharp as I moved my thumb away. I curled my fingers around her jaw.
“Um”—she wet her lips—“where is Cocoa Beach exactly? Is it close?”
“Florida ain’t close unless we’re flying,” I answered. “Flights already booked, but if you’re down and can’t get one last minute, we can drive. We’ll leave Friday and come back Sunday.”
“I can’t go,” she rushed out. Her eyes heavy with sadness. “I, that’s too last minute for me to get coverage. I work all weekend.”
“Can’t ask one of your girls to help you out?”
She shook her head. “No. They’re all either working or have stuff going on,” she explained. “Syd’s taking Brian up to meet her mom. They’re leaving Saturday. And I know Kali doesn’t have a sitter on Sunday ’cause I’m covering for her.” Tori’s fingers tensed in my hair and gave a gentle tug. “I would love to go. Really. I wish I could.”
“I’ll give you enough time for the next one. It’ll happen,” I shared, not wanting her to feel bad for this since she couldn’t help the conditions. They fucking sucked, but she couldn’t help them.
“But you wanted me at this one,” she said, speaking quietly.
“Want you at all of ’em, babe.”
Tori’s lips slowly parted. Eyes searching, she slid her palms to my cheeks, asking, “Why?” on a whisper that sounded fragile and hope-filled and she must’ve heard it, because she blinked and smiled shakily to cover her truth. “I mean, you’re gonna win with or without me, right?” Her voice was confident now. “You always do. Jamie Carter McCade never loses.”
“Never had my woman watchin’ me either,” I returned. “I’ll give you notice and then I’m gettin’ that, babe. And straight up? Pretty sure that’s gonna feel better than a win.”
Her shaky smile vanished. She stared deep into my eyes.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m your woman,” she stated quietly, not questioning it, but as if she was repeating it for herself, hearing it for the first time and letting it settle inside her.
“Yeah, Legs,” I said on a chuckle. “I thought we covered that.”
“I’m your woman because you claimed me.” Her voice was louder. Quicker. Nearly panicked. Her eyes were wider. “You did it months ago. You were coming to Whitecaps to see me. Everyone knew that. They all saw you claiming me. You did it out in public in front of everyone, Jamie. And I”—she shook her head, whispering—“I didn’t do that.”
“You didn’t do what, babe?” I asked, brow furrowed, not understanding what the fuck she was going on about.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered instead of answering me, eyes falling away. “I screwed it up. I didn’t do it right. No one knows I’ve done it. There was no one else on that beach but us. Nobody saw me. Nobody knows.”
