Double Time

“And you have to pass the Ethan test.” No one ever passed the Ethan test. Her heart would be perfectly safe from Trey Mills’s clutches.

“That’s two conditions. You get one or the other.”

Only fair, she supposed. He’d never make it through a platonic day anyway. “Fine. You just have to make it through the day without a single come-on, caress, or stolen kiss. And no flirting.”

“Agreed.” He extended a platonic hand. “Shake on it.”

She took his hand and shook it, surprised when he didn’t try to prolong the clasping of their hands. “It’s a deal then. One platonic day together.”

He released a relieved breath. “Thank God the sun goes down in six hours. You said nothing about a platonic night.”

Why did the man have to be so feckin’ perceptive?

Chapter 6

Trey had never had so much fun not having sex with a woman. They’d had burgers and beers while watching a ballgame in the back of the limo. Had he wanted to steal a kiss, rip off her clothes, f**k her senseless? Every second. But he’d somehow managed to behave. She’d cheered for the San Diego Chargers, and just to get her all up in arms, he’d pretended to be a fan of the opposing team. He hadn’t paid enough attention to the game to remember who had won.

After the game, they’d taken a walk on the beach. Talked. About music. He’d never met a woman who knew so much about music. He’d hung on her every word. Was it because he was thinking about the way her kiss tasted, the heat he’d discovered between her legs, the cute way she squinted in the sunshine when she looked up at him? Only about half the time. She was genuinely interesting. He wasn’t just pretending she was interesting to get laid. He’d talked to women this way when he had no interest in them sexually, but this? This was new for him. This being totally turned on by a woman he genuinely liked blew his mind. Why had he thought this was a bad thing? Because he’d always felt like he was being untrue to Brian, that’s why. Screwing around with people he didn’t care about didn’t feel important. Every time Brian entered his thoughts, Trey still felt guilty for liking Reagan so much. It felt like he was cheating on Brian. It seriously messed with his head so he made an effort not to think about Brian. With Reagan beside him, it was easier than he’d thought it would be.

He and Reagan found a skate park on the beach and she talked a couple of dudes into letting her borrow their skateboards. She ollied and kickflipped like a pro. Trey tried to keep up, but he hadn’t been on a skateboard in about ten years and it showed. The skater dudes were impressed with Reagan’s abilities. Trey knew they were all thinking about f**king her. He could see the hunger in their eyes. Even though Trey spent most of their skate park adventure scraping his bruised body off the ground in a most unimpressive fashion, she left with him—much to her captive audience’s dismay—and they’d continued down the beach.

She spotted a drink shack and lit up with excitement. “I’m thirsty. Are you thirsty?”

He needed a Tylenol and an icepack for his elbow more than a beverage, but how could he say no to that eager look on her face? “Yeah, sure. What do you want?”

“Vanilla shake.”

He bit back a quip about vanilla sex.

A Frisbee landed at Reagan’s feet and a big, slobbery, yellow dog barked at her excitedly. He wagged his tail and nudged the plastic disk with his nose.

“He doesn’t bite! Would you mind tossing that this way?” some guy yelled from near the waves.

Reagan gave the dog a scratch behind the ears and then tossed the chewed up bit of plastic toward the waves. She chased him a couple of steps and then stopped dead in her tracks. She glanced at the line at the drink stand and then at Trey.

“Go play with the dog,” Trey said. “I’ll get your drink.”

Her happy laugh was all the reward he needed as he found the end of the line.

While Trey waited for the cashier to make Reagan’s vanilla milkshake, he watched her throw the Frisbee down the beach for the Labrador retriever again and again. The dog’s owner was watching her almost as closely as Trey was. The dog was in total puppy love as she scratched him behind the ears, took the tooth-marked plastic disk from his mouth, and gave it another toss toward the lapping waves.

“Here you go,” the girl behind the counter said. “One vanilla shake. One cherry slush.”

Trey tore his attention off Reagan long enough to pay for their drinks. When he turned around, drink in each hand, he found Reagan laughing with the owner of the yellow lab. Trey hurried to her side. He wondered how many women the guy picked up this way.

“No he didn’t. Really?” Reagan said to the attractive, tan, and athletic dog owner. She had this way of holding one eye closed when she thought you were full of shit. It made Trey wonder what she looked like when she had an orgasm.

“Yeah. I thought for sure she was going to call the cops on me.”

Trey sidled closer to Reagan. She smiled at him when he handed her the vanilla shake, but she immediately turned her attention back to the dog guy. “So why didn’t she?”

“Riley didn’t mean to hurt her,” he said and turned to his dog. “Did you, boy?”

Riley took several backward steps, his tail wagging, and produced a loud WOOF! in agreement.

“He was just looking for love. Weren’t you, boy?”

Woof! Woof!

Trey slurped his slush as loudly as possible, hoping to regain Reagan’s undivided attention. A harsh, jabbing pain radiated up the back of his throat and pounded incessantly behind his right eye.

“Ah, God. Brain freeze!” Trey yelled and covered his eye with his free hand. “Fuck. Why does that hurt so bad?”

Reagan laughed at him. “Suck it more slowly next time,” she advised.

He had fifteen lines he could have used at that moment, but he had to keep things platonic between them for another hour or so.

“Are you okay?” she asked as she watched him wipe tears out of his eyes. He’d take a broken nose over brain freeze any day.

“I think I need to walk it off,” he said and gave the loser and his dog a pointed look.

“This is Scott,” Reagan said, misinterpreting Trey’s tell-this-guy-to-get-lost look.

Trey nodded at him without taking his eyes off Reagan. He’d never felt so possessive of a woman before. He didn’t even want Scott to look at her. The fact that Scott was using a dog as an excuse to flirt with her made him pretty lame in Trey’s book. Of course, if Scott had a medal of valor, five Olympic gold medals, and a Nobel prize hanging around his neck, Trey would have still thought he was lame. He was hitting on Reagan and Trey couldn’t touch her in such a way to make it clear that she was his. Trey had to be very careful not to give her a reason to blow him off. One more hour to behave. And then once he met her condition, all bets were off. If she tried to push him away again, he’d just have to take the upper hand and see how she reacted. He was starting to understand her signals. Maybe.