“So, you’re the one he’s been keeping tucked away from us,” a voice to my right says.
I turn to find his friend, Prisha, taking a seat beside me. Her ink-black hair shimmers in the firelight, and her dark brown eyes are warm and inviting.
“No.” I smile. “I’m not anything. We’re . . . just friends. I mean, we’ve only really known each other for a week. He’s helping me out with a work thing this week.”
“Ah, the retreat.”
“Yes,” I say, surprised that he told them anything about it.
“He’s almost too good to be true, isn’t he?” she murmurs, and our gazes hold for a beat.
“What do you mean?”
“Guys like him—genuine, courteous, respectful—are few and far between.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I say, my eyes back on Slade. He runs across the sand, arms up, asking for the pass before leaping in the air to snag it one-handed with a natural athleticism.
“I was always looking for the catch when I first met him. Most people aren’t as generous as he is with his time or help or . . . anything really without wanting something in return. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.” She lifts her beer to her lips. “In five years, it never has.”
We watch the men running and tackling each other on the beach, a smile on my lips as their laughter and antics carry back toward us.
There has to be a point to her telling me all of this. Maybe it’s because he treats everyone like this and she doesn’t want me misreading his kindness and getting my hopes up for more.
The question is, how do I ask her without coming off as a bitch when I really think she’s being sincere?
“He’s had a tough few months at work. Maybe your retreat will give him time away from it all.”
“I’m not sure how.” I laugh. “Being forced to bond with pretentious people isn’t exactly what I think of as relaxing.” I lean back on my hands and put my face up to the sky and close my eyes.
“Anything is better than the endless waiting for him to be reinstated from his bullshit suspension. How can you discipline a doctor for caring about his patients?”
“I completely agree,” I murmur, glad my eyes are closed because it hides the surprise on my face. He told me he is on a sabbatical, not a suspension.
“He’s a good guy. One of the best.”
I angle my head over toward her. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’ve watched many women come along for the ride with Slade. I’ve watched them go googly-eyed and fall head over heels in love with him because of who he is and how well he treats them. Then I watch them get crushed when he moves on without realizing how attached they’ve become.”
“So, you’re warning me, then?”
“Not really.” She laughs when Slade tackles John. “Yes, maybe.” She smiles. “I just want you to know what you’re walking into, is all. I can already see it when you look at him, and us women should look out for other women.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly. “Warning heeded.”
Her laugh is sudden. “Oh my god. I get how that just came off. That I’m interested in him and jealous.” She covers her eyes with her hands and groans. “That couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s a brother to me. I promise. You must think I’m a total bitch.”
“Not at all.”
“Look.” She takes a sip of her beer, and I can see her struggle with finding her words. “Slade is such a good guy that he doesn’t realize why people are so taken by him. It never crosses his mind. He’s generous and scattered and brilliant and caring and goddamn gorgeous, but he’s just . . . being him. That’s all he knows. He isn’t reeling in women to notch a bedpost or boost his status as being a player . . . he’s just that magnetic. So, I guess what I’m saying is—”
“Don’t mistake who he is—how he is—and think he’s more into me because of it?”
“I guess, but less harsh sounding,” she says and laughs.
“I get what you’re saying, and I appreciate the insight. He’s a great guy who has brightened up my days a bit. I’m just taking it for what it is.”
Her smile is soft. “If I were in your shoes, I’d still think I’m a bitch.”
I laugh and then turn to find Slade and the rest of the guys walking up to us. “Nice moves,” I tease.
“Pathetic is more like it.” His grin tells me he knows they weren’t, and he liked that I noticed. “It’s closing time,” he says as he plops down on the sand beside me.
“Then why are you sitting?”
“Because it’s my turn to make sure the fire dies down before we leave it.” Someone tosses a cup of water onto the fire, and it sizzles. “You cold?” he asks.
“I’m fine.”
“Come here,” he says and wraps an arm over my shoulders and pulls me against him. I freeze at first, my need to fight my attraction more ingrained than the resolve I have to go with the flow. But the heat of his body, the scent on his skin, and way his thumb keeps brushing back and forth over my shoulder makes me want to melt right into him. “Better?”
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur as I rest my head against his shoulder.
His friends finish packing up and say their goodbyes, and moments later, an engine revs to life before it fades into the distance. Then we’re left with only the crackling of the fire and the roar of waves as they land on the beach.
But there’s a comfortable silence between us, an ease as we soak in the atmosphere. We don’t talk about the part we have to begin to play tomorrow. We just sit and enjoy each other’s company without pressure or expectations.
“You were awfully quiet tonight,”
