Uninhibited
Page 30
Dex smiles. His hair is wet from the shower, and he’s wearing his trademark black T-shirt and jeans. “I always thought LA had beaches down, but this is something else. Wilder, more remote. No crowds of people cluttering up the place or sitting in an hour of traffic every weekend.”
“You must really want the privacy.” I look around thoughtfully. I didn’t see it before, but Dex has created a fortress here. No other house in sight, a private stretch of beach, groceries delivered straight to his door. He could go days without seeing another human being if he wanted —no crazy fans chasing after him to sign their chests. “Is that why you left LA?”
He nods slowly. “It was all too much. After I quit the band, it was madness. Paparazzi, fans camped out. The more I tried to stay out of the spotlight, the more everyone wanted a piece of me.”
I have to bite my lip not to ask what happened—why he suddenly walked away. It’s clear, music means the world to him, and the way he talks about the band, I know they’re like brothers to him, too.
What made him turn his back on his one true passion, music? And why does even mentioning the past bring those terrible shadows back into his dark eyes?
I hold back my curiosity. It’s been a perfect morning, lazing here together in the sun. I don’t want to ruin it now with intrusive questions, and a part of me feels like I don’t have any right to ask in the first place.
He has his heartache, and I have mine. What matters right now is forgetting it all.
“So, what’s in store for me today?” I ask instead. “Want to get your ass kicked again on the pool table?”
“I’m open to doing all kinds of things on that table,” Dex replies with a smoldering look.
I giggle. “Garrett might have a few things to say about that.”
“Screw Garrett,” Dex drawls. “I’m going to hold you to that rematch—but not today. I’ve got something else lined up.” He doesn’t explain any further, but his expression has a mischievous edge.
“Do I get a hint?” I ask, wondering what he’s planning. “What should I wear?”
“Something that’s easy to take off.” Dex gives me another wolfish look, and I feel my pulse kick.
“That doesn’t narrow it down,” I tell him, mock-scolding. “Something tells me you could get me out of a corset in five seconds flat if you put your mind to it.”
“Good theory,” Dex throws back. “Wanna test it?”
I laugh. “Come on, seriously.”
He grins at me. “Wear something comfortable, and bring your bathing suit too. We leave in ten minutes. Unless you need to make some calls?” His expression turns quizzical, and I realize he saw me on my phone before, texting Hunter.
“No, I’m good,” I reply quickly, feeling that twist of guilt. “I told my office I’m on vacation,” I add. “Everything can wait.”
I head back to the bedroom and dress quickly, slipping on my bikini under a cotton shirt and cut-offs and tying my hair back in a loose braid. I still don’t know what Dex has planned, so I err on the side of caution: packing my tote bag with sunblock, a spare sweater, makeup and a hat. When he sees the size of the bag I’m hauling around, he laughs.
“I knew you were a pack-rat,” he teases. “But we’re only going out for the day—not a month!” He takes the tote and swinging it into the back of the car.
“I like to be prepared!” I protest.
“That makes two of us.” He winks at me, and I remember the scene at the drugstore with a blush.
“You still won’t tell me where we’re going?” I change the subject as I climb in the car. Dex settles in the driver’s seat, giving me an affectionate eye-roll.
“Don’t you want to be surprised?”
As a rule, no. I like to know exactly what’s coming down the road—so I can research, and schedule, and make sure everything’s going according to plan. But as Dex starts the engine and turns out of the driveway, I’m surprised to feel a bubble of excitement in my chest.
It’s fun not knowing what to expect. I’ve always been the organizer of whatever group of friends I’ve found myself in—even back in grade school, I was the one throwing sleepovers and deciding who was going to do what in class projects. It’s not that I’m a control freak, I just like getting all the details straight, but I have to admit, I’m enjoying being unburdened of responsibility here. Dex knows exactly what’s happening, and there’s nothing for me to do but relax into the passenger seat, feeling the warm summer breeze dance on my skin, sunshine bright overhead.
He’s in control, and I like it. Whatever that says about me, I won’t worry about it now—I’m just going to sit back and let the day unfold, whatever he has in store.
16.
Dex follows the road back into Beachwood Bay, and pulls in to park at the marina.
“We’re going sailing?” I exclaim, happy. “My college roommate was on the sailing team, she taught me my way around a topsail.”
I realize it’s ironic that heading out on the ocean might give me my first taste of solid ground since arriving in Beachwood Bay, but I’m just excited to show I’m capable of something after twenty-four hours feeling like I’m spinning off-balance every time I so much as glance at Dex.
He grins, still not saying a word. “You’ll see.” Dex grabs my bag and a cooler I didn’t see him pack and leads me down the wooden dock, to where sailboats are moored, bobbing gently on the tide.
“You must really want the privacy.” I look around thoughtfully. I didn’t see it before, but Dex has created a fortress here. No other house in sight, a private stretch of beach, groceries delivered straight to his door. He could go days without seeing another human being if he wanted —no crazy fans chasing after him to sign their chests. “Is that why you left LA?”
He nods slowly. “It was all too much. After I quit the band, it was madness. Paparazzi, fans camped out. The more I tried to stay out of the spotlight, the more everyone wanted a piece of me.”
I have to bite my lip not to ask what happened—why he suddenly walked away. It’s clear, music means the world to him, and the way he talks about the band, I know they’re like brothers to him, too.
What made him turn his back on his one true passion, music? And why does even mentioning the past bring those terrible shadows back into his dark eyes?
I hold back my curiosity. It’s been a perfect morning, lazing here together in the sun. I don’t want to ruin it now with intrusive questions, and a part of me feels like I don’t have any right to ask in the first place.
He has his heartache, and I have mine. What matters right now is forgetting it all.
“So, what’s in store for me today?” I ask instead. “Want to get your ass kicked again on the pool table?”
“I’m open to doing all kinds of things on that table,” Dex replies with a smoldering look.
I giggle. “Garrett might have a few things to say about that.”
“Screw Garrett,” Dex drawls. “I’m going to hold you to that rematch—but not today. I’ve got something else lined up.” He doesn’t explain any further, but his expression has a mischievous edge.
“Do I get a hint?” I ask, wondering what he’s planning. “What should I wear?”
“Something that’s easy to take off.” Dex gives me another wolfish look, and I feel my pulse kick.
“That doesn’t narrow it down,” I tell him, mock-scolding. “Something tells me you could get me out of a corset in five seconds flat if you put your mind to it.”
“Good theory,” Dex throws back. “Wanna test it?”
I laugh. “Come on, seriously.”
He grins at me. “Wear something comfortable, and bring your bathing suit too. We leave in ten minutes. Unless you need to make some calls?” His expression turns quizzical, and I realize he saw me on my phone before, texting Hunter.
“No, I’m good,” I reply quickly, feeling that twist of guilt. “I told my office I’m on vacation,” I add. “Everything can wait.”
I head back to the bedroom and dress quickly, slipping on my bikini under a cotton shirt and cut-offs and tying my hair back in a loose braid. I still don’t know what Dex has planned, so I err on the side of caution: packing my tote bag with sunblock, a spare sweater, makeup and a hat. When he sees the size of the bag I’m hauling around, he laughs.
“I knew you were a pack-rat,” he teases. “But we’re only going out for the day—not a month!” He takes the tote and swinging it into the back of the car.
“I like to be prepared!” I protest.
“That makes two of us.” He winks at me, and I remember the scene at the drugstore with a blush.
“You still won’t tell me where we’re going?” I change the subject as I climb in the car. Dex settles in the driver’s seat, giving me an affectionate eye-roll.
“Don’t you want to be surprised?”
As a rule, no. I like to know exactly what’s coming down the road—so I can research, and schedule, and make sure everything’s going according to plan. But as Dex starts the engine and turns out of the driveway, I’m surprised to feel a bubble of excitement in my chest.
It’s fun not knowing what to expect. I’ve always been the organizer of whatever group of friends I’ve found myself in—even back in grade school, I was the one throwing sleepovers and deciding who was going to do what in class projects. It’s not that I’m a control freak, I just like getting all the details straight, but I have to admit, I’m enjoying being unburdened of responsibility here. Dex knows exactly what’s happening, and there’s nothing for me to do but relax into the passenger seat, feeling the warm summer breeze dance on my skin, sunshine bright overhead.
He’s in control, and I like it. Whatever that says about me, I won’t worry about it now—I’m just going to sit back and let the day unfold, whatever he has in store.
16.
Dex follows the road back into Beachwood Bay, and pulls in to park at the marina.
“We’re going sailing?” I exclaim, happy. “My college roommate was on the sailing team, she taught me my way around a topsail.”
I realize it’s ironic that heading out on the ocean might give me my first taste of solid ground since arriving in Beachwood Bay, but I’m just excited to show I’m capable of something after twenty-four hours feeling like I’m spinning off-balance every time I so much as glance at Dex.
He grins, still not saying a word. “You’ll see.” Dex grabs my bag and a cooler I didn’t see him pack and leads me down the wooden dock, to where sailboats are moored, bobbing gently on the tide.
