It's in His Kiss (6 page)

The nickname of course had jackshit to do with her eyes—though they were indeed big and luminous. They were also a warm, melted milk chocolate, and filled with more than a little trouble.

Sam wasn’t opposed to trouble. In fact, he was absolutely all for it.

When
he
was the one causing it.

But this woman was trouble in her own right. He’d been amused at catching her watching him from her window—several times—but it wasn’t amusement he felt now. Because this was the second time he’d been within touching distance, and it was now two for two that she’d sucked him in. It wasn’t her looks, though she was pretty in a girl-next-door way. Nor was it her feistiness and ability to laugh at herself.

Instead it was something else, something he suspected had to do with the singular flash of vulnerability he’d caught in her eyes.

She wasn’t quite as tough as she wanted the world to believe.

And hell.
That
drew him. Because Sam knew all too well what it was like to not be nearly as tough as you needed to be. Something he didn’t like to think about. “We doing this or what?” he asked the guys. “We have shit to decide.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a fun sucker?” Tanner asked.

Sam slid him a look, and Tanner blew out a breath. “Shit. Yeah, we’re doing this.”

Cole lifted a shoulder and nodded.

Neither of them liked these weekly business meetings, but if they didn’t have them, then all the hard decisions were left to Sam. He was good at making hard decisions in his life—he’d had to be—but this was about the three of them, equal partners. “So we agree,” he said. “We’re hiring someone to take over the crap none of us wants to do.”

“Told you,” Cole said. “Ad’s in the paper.”

“You get any calls yet?”

“Yes,” Cole said. “Lucille.”

Lucille was a thousand years old and the local gossip queen. She had a heart of gold, but a nose made for butting into other people’s business. “No,” Sam said. Hell no.

“Way ahead of you,” Cole told him. “Especially after she said she couldn’t wait to sit on the beach and take pics of us on and off the boat for her Pinterest Sexy Guys page. She thought she could manage our phones and scheduling in between her photography. She said something about hoping we go shirtless, and us signing something that allows her to use our images for—and I’m quoting here—the good of women’s mental health everywhere.”

“Christ,” Tanner muttered.

“I told her we had an age requirement,” Cole said, “and that our new admin had to be under the age of seventy.”

“How did she take that?” Sam asked.

“She was bummed, said even her fake ID showed seventy-five, but that she understood.”

Becca arrived with their pitcher of beer, except it wasn’t beer at all; it looked like . . . strawberry margaritas.

“You all decide on your order?” she asked, setting down three glasses.

“New Orleans,” Cole said, watching Tanner pour himself a strawberry margarita.

Becca looked startled. “What?”

“You’re originally from New Orleans,” Cole said.

She stared at him. “How did you know that?”

“You’re good, but I’m better,” Cole said. “I can hear it real faint in your voice.”

“Ignore him,” Tanner said, toasting her with his glass. “He’s a freak.”

“A freak who knows we didn’t order a chick drink,” Cole said as Tanner sipped at his strawberry margarita.

Becca gasped. “Oh, crap. This isn’t yours.” She nabbed the glass right out of Tanner’s hand. “I’m sorry. Don’t move.”

She snatched the pitcher as well and vanished.

“She
is
cute,” Cole said. “Not much of a waitress, though.”

“She’s not as bad as Tanya,” Tanner said. “She stole from you.”

“Borrowed,” Cole corrected. “I let her
borrow
some money for her mom, who was going to lose her home in Atlanta.”

“Did you ever get your money back?” Tanner asked mildly.

Cole pulled out his phone and eyed the dark screen as if wishing for a call.

Tanner rolled his eyes. “You didn’t. You let her walk with three grand of your hard-earned money. Oh, and by
the way, I’ve got some land to sell you. Swamp land. It’s on sale, just for you.”

Sam shoved his iPad under their noses before a fight could break out. He didn’t mind a good fight now and then, but Jax and Ford, the owners of the Love Shack, frowned on it happening inside their bar. “If you two idiots are done, we’re in the middle of a financial meeting here.”

“You’re right,” Tanner said, and straightened in his seat. “Give it to us, Grandma.”

Sam gave him a long look. “It’s a good thing I’m too hungry to kick your ass.”

He’d been in charge of their money since their rig days. Back then, there’d been four of them: himself, Tanner, Cole, and Gil, the lot of them pretty much penniless. But thanks to his dad’s unique ability to squander his every last penny, Sam had learned to handle money by the age of ten. He’d been tight-fisted with their earnings, squirreling them away—earning him that
Grandma
moniker. He’d shut his friends up when, at the end of the first year, he’d shown them their savings balance.

They’d had a goal, their dream—the charter company, and their seven years at sea had been extremely profitable.

And deadly.

They’d lost Gil. Just the thought brought the low, dull ache of his passing back as a fresh knife stab, and Sam drew a breath until it passed.

They’d nearly lost Tanner in that rig fire as well. Tanner still limped and was damn lucky to have his leg at all, something Sam tried not to think about. “We talked about expanding,” he said, “hiring on more people and buying a new boat.”

“When we have the money for it,” Tanner said. He was their resident pessimist. Never met a situation he liked. “We said we’d revisit the issue when we were ready. No loan payments.”

Sam hadn’t been the only one to grow up on the wrong side of the poverty line. “No loans,” he said.

Cole hadn’t taken his eyes off Sam. “You already spend all your time bitching and moaning about not having enough hours in the day to make your boats,” he reminded him. “You’d have heart failure if we expanded our business right now. Have you updated your will? You left everything to me, right?”

“We start with more staff,” Sam said, ignoring him. “Office help first, then hire on an additional crew.” He pointed at both Cole and Tanner. “You guys are in charge of that.”

“Why us?” Tanner asked.

“Because I’m busy making you rich,” Sam said.

Becca was back, with a pitcher of beer this time, and a huge plate of nachos, chicken wings, and pesto chips. “Your order,” she said.

The guys all looked at each other, and Becca paused. “What?” she asked.

“We didn’t order yet,” Sam said.

“Oh for the love of—” She slapped Tanner’s hand before he could snatch a nacho, picked up the platter
and
the beers, and once again vanished.

She was back a breathless moment later, looking flushed as she held her order pad. “Okay, let’s start over. I’m Becca, your server for tonight.”

“You sure?” Sam asked.

She let out a theatrical sigh. “Listen, I’m not exactly in
my natural habitat here.” Suddenly she straightened and gave them a dazzling smile as she spoke out of the corner of her mouth. “Quick, everyone look happy with your service. My hopefully new boss is watching. I made a bet with him that I could handle this job and I have tonight to prove it.”

Sam craned his neck and saw Jax at the bar, watching Becca. “It’d help if you were actually serving,” he said.

“Working on that,” she said, and vanished.

The three of them watched her go for a moment. She went straight to the bar, smiled at Jax, grabbed a tray of drinks, and then brought them to a table. That she had to take drinks right out of a few people’s hand and switch them to someone else’s made Cole and Tanner chuckle.

“She can’t serve worth shit,” Tanner said. “But she does have a great smile. And those eyes. Man, it’s like when she looks at you, you’re the only one she sees.”

Sam watched her take an order from the table. One of the customers said something and she tossed her head back and laughed. Not a fake I-want-your-tips laugh, but a genuine, contagious one that made everyone at the table join her.

Cole and Tanner were right. She
was
cute. And as he already knew from catching her staring at him several times now, she absolutely had a way of making a guy feel like he was the only one she saw.

She left the table and vanished into the back, coming out a moment later with a tray laden with plates of food. The muscles in her shoulders and arms strained as she moved, and Sam found himself holding his breath. Maybe she did suck as a waitress, but no one could deny
that she was working her tail off. She got all the way to the back table before she dumped the tray.

Down the front of herself.

The man closest to her must have gotten sprayed because he flew to his feet and held his shirt out from his body, jaw tight. He said something low and undoubtedly harsh given the look on Becca’s face as she bent to clean up the mess. Grabbing her elbow, he gave her a little shake, and before Sam gave it a second thought, he was on his feet and at Becca’s back.

“You’re the worst waitress I’ve ever seen,” the guy was yelling. “You are nowhere near good enough for this job.”

The barb hit. Sam could tell by the way Becca took a step back as if slapped, bumping right into him.

“You’re going to pay for the dry cleaning of this shirt, do you hear me?” the guy went on.

“Hard not to,” Sam said, steadying Becca. “Since you’re braying like a jackass.”

Becca slid Sam a look that said she could handle this. When he didn’t budge, she made a sound of annoyance and turned back to the pissed-off customer. “I’m sorry,” she said. “And of course I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.” Then she bent again to clean up.

Sam crouched down to help her scoop the fallen plates onto the tray, but she pushed at him. “I’ve got this,” she whispered. But she was trembling, and her breath hitched. “Stop, Sam. I don’t need you to help,” she insisted when he kept doing just that.

He’d disagree with her, but that would only back her into a corner. So he continued on in silence, and then when she vanished into the kitchen, he went back to his table.

Tanner and Cole were grinning at him.

“What?”

“You tell us what,” Cole said.

“I was just helping.”

“No, helping would be going into the kitchen and wrangling us up some burgers,” Tanner said, rubbing his belly. “I’m starving.”

Sam shook his head and turned on his iPad again. “Where were we?”

“You were playing hero,” Tanner said.

Sam ignored this. “Our boat fund will hit its projected mark this year,” he said.

Both Cole and Tanner blinked at him.

“You’re serious,” Tanner finally said. “You really did manage to pay us and save a mint while you were at it.”

“Do I ever joke about money?” Sam asked.

“Holy shit,” Cole said. “Just how much are we making anyway?”

Sam thumbed through the iPad, brought up their receivables, and shoved the screen across the table.

They all stared at the numbers and Tanner let out a low whistle.

“Why the hell are you so surprised?” Sam asked, starting to get insulted. “I send you both weekly updates. Between all the chartering and the profits from the boats I’ve been building, we’re doing good.”

Both Cole and Tanner still just stared at him, and Sam shook his head in disgust. “I could be ripping you guys off, you ever think of that?”

“Yeah,” Cole said. “Except you’re a terrible liar and you’re not nearly greedy enough.”

Needing the beer Becca had taken away, Sam went to
the bar for a pitcher. The bar was crazier than usual, and Sam realized he saw only a hungry crowd and no sign of Becca at all. He took the pitcher back to his table and poured.

“To Gil,” Cole said, and as they always did, they drank to Gil’s memory.

A few minutes later, wondering if maybe Becca had gotten her sweet ass fired, Sam stepped into the hall and found her standing there with her back to him, hugging herself with one arm, the other hand holding her cell phone to her ear.

“No, I can’t come play at your concert,” she was saying. “I’m— They’re paying
how
much?” She paused. “Wow, but no. I can’t— Yeah, I’m fine. In fact, I’ve got my toes in the sand right this very minute, so you just concentrate on you, okay?” She paused. “The noise? Uh . . . it’s the waves. It’s high tide.”

This was when she turned and caught sight of Sam standing there. Flushing a deep red, she held his gaze. “Gotta go, Jase. The whitecaps are kicking up and it’s making my muse kick into gear.” She lowered her voice and covered her mouth and the phone, but Sam heard her whisper, “And
don’t
come out here. Okay? I’m good. Really, really good. So just stay where you are.” She disconnected and made herself busy stuffing the phone into her pocket before flashing Sam her waitress smile. “I think your order’s almost up.”

“How would you know? You’ve got your toes in the sand.”

She drooped a little. “Yeah. I’m probably going to hell for that one.”

“Jase?” he asked.

“My brother.” She sighed. “You know families.”

Yeah, Sam knew families. He knew families weren’t necessarily worth shit, at least not blood families. He wondered what her story was, but before he could ask, she sent him one last shaky smile and walked away.