That was her plan. She was going to have a fling with her kitchen-mate. She just had to think of the right way to seduce him.
3
CHRISTY WATCHED JASON explode out of the water. He was like Adonis rising from the depths even though it was really the shallow end of the swimming pool. His golden body shed the water in sheets while errant drops clung and sparkled in the sunlight. It was a sight that could have been shot in slow mo and aired on movie screens all over the world. But you couldn’t tell that from his face.
No, despite the fact that Christy was only one of several women ogling his taut body and skimpy Speedos, Jason looked furious. It was a tightly controlled anger. He was a marine, after all, and she suspected he rarely lost control. But as he grabbed a towel and collapsed onto a beach chair, Christy felt his frustration as clearly as if it were tattooed across his rippling pecs.
So she did what she always did when she felt someone was in pain. She grabbed a bribe and waded right in.
“Hey,” she said.
He looked up and squinted at the bowl in her hand. “Hey,” he said.
“I brought this for you. It’s my specialty.” She tucked her sundress skirt beneath her as she settled into the chair beside him.
He took the bowl from her hand, probably more out of politeness than interest. But his eyes had lightened with humor as he looked back at her. “Ice-cream soup?”
She nodded. “I figured after that workout, you needed the calories way more than I did.”
His gaze traveled to the pool and his frown returned. “Yeah. Thanks.” He said it as if he meant it, but he set the bowl aside.
“Punishing yourself isn’t going to help anything.”
His gaze cut to her and there was a coldness there that would have been daunting to anyone who hadn’t grown up with two brothers. But she had, so she wasn’t fazed when he spoke in a clipped tone. “What did you say?”
She shrugged. “Yes, I know I’m being pushy and a busybody, but after that display, I figured someone had to talk to you before you ended up back in the hospital.” She’d done some subtle checking on her kitchen-mate since this morning. She hadn’t learned much. Just that he was here recovering from a medical problem. Since he wasn’t obviously limping or anything—though some of his scars looked very new—she guessed he was on the tail end of his physical recovery. About the time when the psychological stuff became really brutal.
His stare threatened to become a glower, but he held it back. Again, probably because he was being polite. “What display?” His voice was low and quiet, and it sent shivers down her spine.
She tried to speak gently. “You were attacking the water like a boxer might do to a punching bag, but it was water. And you were mad.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but she held up her hand. She already knew he was about to tell her to go to hell. But she had extremely macho brothers, which gave her experience, and a need-to-help heart, which made her super-nosy. She couldn’t help it. It was how she was wired. “Summer of change” or not, that part of her personality wasn’t going anywhere.
“I know I’m butting in, so let me be short and sweet. My guess is that you’re pissed off because you somehow think your body has failed you. Logic doesn’t matter. Reason doesn’t make a dent. You’re a guy and a powerful one at that. Something happened and you realize that you can’t will your body into submission. So you’re mad and you’re punishing yourself—or rather your body—because of it. And again I say to you, that’s not going to get you where you want to go.” Then she picked up the ice cream and shoved it back into his hands. “So get some sugar into your blood, and then—after you’ve finished that bowl—you can tell me what I can do with my advice.”
He just stared at her. She’d seen the look before. Her brothers or her father would glare just like that when she managed to bully them into submission. She, the one who some days could barely walk, still had the spirit—and the mouth—to corner them. Annoyance was always clear on their faces, but also resignation. And a grudging respect. That was the best part: when her big bad brothers gave her a little respect.
Thankfully Jason was no different. He started to speak, but she quickly pointed to the bowl. So he lifted the spoon and began to eat her ice cream. And since he couldn’t talk, she decided to fill the silence with chatter.
She knew from experience that crowing about her victory was a bad choice. So she leaned into her chair and looked out across the crowd at the pool. “I didn’t spit in it or anything,” she said. “You probably weren’t thinking that, but my brothers would be. No, I just shared hot-fudge sundaes with my new student Judy. That’s her over there.”
She gestured across the pool to a freckle-faced twelve-year-old with strawberry-blond curls and a stick-thin figure. Jason followed the gesture, his eyes narrowing as he took in the girl who was hanging out at the side of a group of preteens. Judy’s whole posture screamed awkward, especially as she perched a half step back from the group, neither fully engaging nor backing away. Christy’s heart broke seeing the girl hovering there, watching life go by without grabbing hold.
“I’m tutoring her in algebra. Not my most favorite subject, but I’m beginning to realize math isn’t the real problem.” She fell silent, watching as Judy laughed too loud at some joke.
“What is?” Jason’s voice didn’t startle her as much as abruptly bring her attention back to him.
“What?” she asked.
“What is her problem if it’s not math?”
“Oh. Well, what is everyone’s problem at twelve? ‘How do I fit in? I’m ugly. They think I’m a dork. I am a dork.’ You know how it goes.”
She glanced over at him, seeing his thoughtful gaze on the girl. He didn’t say anything, and Christy noted with approval that he had indeed finished all the ice cream. Then she realized what she’d just said. He wouldn’t have been an awkward twelve-year-old. More likely, he’d been the scrappy kid everyone allowed into whatever group simply because no one could ever say no to him.
“Oh,” she said out loud. “You probably don’t remember an awkward phase. That wouldn’t have been your problem.”
His gaze cut hard back to her. “And what would have been my problem?”
“Not failing at anything you put your mind to.”
His eyebrows arched. “That’s a problem?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, it is, the minute you hit an obstacle you can’t will your way through.”
He snorted. “I’m a marine. I’m used to impossible obstacles.”
“Which you overcome. Until you hit the one you can’t.”
He shrugged, but the gesture appeared forced. “There’s always a way through or around something. And if there isn’t, you learn how to accept and go on.”
She stretched out her legs in front of her. “So how’s that going, big guy? The accepting part?”
He didn’t answer and in a moment, she wasn’t surprised when he turned the conversation to her. Conversational aggression, a patented guy technique to avoid facing more personal issues. “So what are you going to do about Judy?”
She looked at him. “Do? What do you mean, do? I’m going to tutor her in algebra.”
“But you said that’s not her real problem.” He gestured again to where the girl was still half attached to the group as the others gathered their stuff to go somewhere. Even from here, she could hear the girl thinking: Do I force myself on them? No one invited me to join. Am I pushing in where I’m not wanted? I should just go home. No one wants me here anyway.
Sure