“I’ll show you a hot, young fantasy!” With that declaration, I pull him up from the couch. “Let’s go. I want the full Stryker experience.”

  “Where are we going?” he questions, smiling at my antics but also looking a bit perplexed that we’re not just going for it on the couch. I almost reconsider and shove him toward the bedroom before he can change his mind about this whole thing, but I really do want everything.

  At least once. So I shove him toward the door instead.

  “Where are we going? I don’t have shoes!” he argues.

  I grin and keep pulling. “To complete a dare from your daughter!”

  Chapter 15

  Daniel

  When she starts pulling me toward the door, I have no idea what to expect. I’m just glad I can shove my feet into tennis shoes before we’re out the door. Hell, it’s been months since I’ve been on anything that can be construed as a date, and that was to a dry and boring business dinner event that required a ‘plus one guest’. I took one of the female executives, and it was totally platonic.

  So forgetting what dates entail isn’t exactly a surprise, but this might qualify as more of a kidnapping than a date. Tiffany pulls us downstairs and hustles to my car, taking the keys from me and shoving me into the passenger seat before getting behind the wheel.

  She’s been driving like a woman on a mission ever since. I really don’t know how long I can put up with the tension. “Are we almost there?”

  “Getting close. It’ll be worth it,” she promises for the fourth time. “Would’ve been faster in Cammie.”

  She cuts her eyes my way before leaning forward to peer at the sky. Something she sees there puts an extra urgency in her foot, and the speedometer creeps up another five miles per hour. My dependable, reliable engine whines a little, not used to being driven like a sportscar, but it settles in without too much complaint.

  Oddly, though I’m used to being the planner who leads, I find that watching Tiffany’s excitement is enough, keeping me in the moment and not worrying about where we’re going. I’m curious, of course, but more so because of the insight it’ll give me into her mind.

  “So, what exactly did Elle dare you to do?” I ask her, trying to find something to do besides sound like a kid on a long car ride. “Kidnapping?”

  Tiffany chuckles, keeping her eyes on the road. “Totally. And grand theft auto. Sort of a simultaneous, two-for-one felony thing.”

  “Very funny.”

  Tiffany shrugs, going a bit more serious. “Elle dared me to live a little and be spontaneous, and you’re coming along for the ride. Literally. I figure this is a good way to start an ‘us’, because of anyone, you need to let loose even more than I do.”

  Ten minutes later, Tiffany turns off the highway, and I realize where we’re going. When we park at the beach and she turns off the engine, I look around in appreciation, my eyes eventually landing on her. “This is a good view.”

  “And no shoes needed,” she points out, glancing at my untied shoes as she pulls her heels off to reveal white painted toenails.

  “Nope.” I laugh and push my shoes off, shaking my head. “It’s been years since I’ve been here.”

  “Me too,” Tiffany says. “I wanna say . . . two years, maybe? Maybe more . . . yeah, it is more. Last time I was here, Elle was still living in the States.”

  “Well then,” I tell her, getting out of the passenger side, “maybe we can remember what beach dates are like?”

  It’s impromptu, it’s silly . . . and I can’t think of a better way to break out of our own ruts and get into new territory together.

  “Here,” I tell Tiffany, reaching down to snag a shell. “You find a partner for it, and we can make earrings to commemorate our first date.”

  Tiffany holds the small white shell to her ear. “What do you think?” I push her hair behind her ear to see better and smile in answer. Then she gently presses the shell to my throat. “Or we can turn them into necklaces, one for each of us.”

  “I can definitely say I’ve never considered wearing a puka shell necklace, but you make a compelling argument for them.” I trace a line down her throat, imagining it adorned with white . . . shells.

  I lean forward, planning to meet her lips for a kiss, but she hops out of reach. Leaning down to splash a bit of water at me, she teases, “I don’t kiss on the first date.”

  “Tiffany,” I growl, both at the loss of the kiss now and the promise of her withholding them.

  “Am I in trouble, Sir?” Her eyes sparkle with delight and then she squeals before taking off. The waves splash around her ankles, spraying me as I chase her down the beach.

  She dodges me, laughing wildly, but I catch her a few steps later. I grab her around the waist, picking her up and spinning her in the low water. “I should throw you in,” I threaten.

  “No!” she shrieks, squirming in my arms.

  “Are you going to splash me again?” I ask darkly.

  “Maybe . . .” she drawls out. I bend down an inch, getting her that much closer to the waves, and she corrects herself. “No! I won’t. I promise.”

  Slowly, I lower her feet to the sand and hold up my hands to offer a peace treaty.

  Her grin is brilliant, mirroring my own. “That was fun,” I say at the same time I realize it. I’m not sure when I last had fun.

  Tiffany pats my chest. “You have no idea how much fun I can be.”

  “What do you do for fun?” I ask, not sure if I want the answer. Based on some of the things I know about what she and Elle used to get up to, she might say she rock climbs without safety gear, hops on a plane with no idea of its destination, or something I don’t even know exists, like swimming with electric eels. Is that a thing people do?

  Tiffany looks down, almost seeming shy suddenly. “Don’t laugh, okay?”

  My interest is infinitely piqued. “I promise to try not to laugh, but I’m nervous you’re about to tell me you crochet cock covers that look like giraffes.”

  Her bark of laughter explodes, surprising us both.

  “No, definitely not. Although that sounds like something worth researching.”

  I take her hand, and we start walking, that simple gesture meaning so much because it’s easy and comfortable.

  After a moment, she says, “I create capsule wardrobes online. It started with pinning outfits on Pinterest, but it quickly reinvented my approach to clothes. I posted my own outfit pictures, and people started following me. Eventually, I started doing seasonal collections, for myself and for other people. I basically shop through websites to discover the best items and then mix and match them up so people don’t waste their money on a bunch of junk and still have nothing to wear.”

  I blink. “That is not what I thought you were going to say, but I guess that makes sense. I mean, I have black, blue, and gray suits and shirts in a handful of colors. I can throw any of it on and be good to go.”

  “Guys have it so easy,” she faux-whines with an eye roll.

  We walk along, carefree and relaxed, with no agenda, just swapping bits of information about each other that we don’t already know . . .

  Like her favorite dessert, Thai mango sticky rice, and mine, green grapes tossed in lime-watermelon Jell-O powder. She makes a horrified face at that, not because it sounds gross but because even my treats are fruit, something she deems unacceptable as she vows to discover something completely unhealthy that I enjoy.

  And her current Netflix binge watches. I had to hold my tongue when she told me she’s still trying to watch the rest of Squid Game, but she has to do the same with me and Money Heist.

  “I don’t watch much TV, mostly a bit of football when I’m on the recumbent bike.”

  “Recumbent bike?” she asks.

  I huff but smile. “Long story, but basically, I had a cyst in my ankle that was putting pressure on a nerve and had a quickie outpatient procedure for it. Billy heard ‘surgery’, and bam, he forbade me from running or doing weights. The recumbent was a compromise.”

  “But your ankle’s fine now, right? I mean, you run all the time.”

  “One hundred percent recovery, but—and don’t you dare tell Billy this—I fell in love with that damn bike. I don’t ride often because it’s my relaxation treat—TV with a side of cycling.”

  “Grapes as dessert, and a bike as relaxation. I’m not sure you know the definition of the word ‘treat’, Daniel.”

  She’s insightful, and I shrug, not disagreeing with her. “Maybe. At least it’s a good way to yell out my frustration at Jacksonville.”

  “Jacksonville?” Tiffany asks. “The city or the team?”

  She’s teasing, but I answer her anyway. “The team. I’ve got a college classmate who works in their front office,” I explain. “Smart people, but still can’t seem to get a team that can win it. But Jeremy and I like to give each other a hard time about things, football and business, mostly . . .”

  My voice drops off, and I come to a stop, blinking. Tiffany slows and turns to me, her eyes worried. “What is it?”

  “I just . . . I remembered how Jeremy and I first met,” I tell her. “We were at a party when we both saw the same blonde girl. He danced with her first, but she left the party with me. That Monday, he tried to give me shit about it, but I joked that it was his ‘stellar’ dance moves that sent her straight into my arms. Before long, we were both laughing, and any argument was done with. Anyway . . . he was one of my groomsmen when I married that girl. She was Elle’s mother.”

  I blink the fog of the past out of my eyes and say, “I’m sorry. That’s awful first date conversation, isn’t it? I’m a bit rusty.”

  “It’s okay. I mean, I obviously knew you were married before, and Elle has told me some things, but her experience as the daughter is very different from yours as the husband.”

  “It was a long time ago, and mostly, I don’t even think about it—about her—anymore. Other than the fact that she’s missed out on knowing Elle and Neve, and that’s the worst thing I can imagine. But back then, some days were harder than others,” I admit. “After she left, I buried myself in my work and my daughter. I haven’t had . . . well, anyone serious since she left. That’s a lot of years.”

  “Why?” she asks. “I mean, not being serious?”

  “I don’t really know,” I admit. “At first it was because it hurt too much. Then I told myself it was because I didn’t want things to be weird for Elle. After that . . . well, I guess it was just habit. Or at least that’s what I told myself.” That’s an uncomfortable thought I’ll have to unpack and examine later, so I purposefully move the spotlight to Tiffany. “Uhm, what about you? I heard you haven’t been dating seriously either.”

  Tiffany lifts an arched brow. “Oh, you heard, did you?”

  “Let’s just say it wasn’t so much a little birdie as two big peacocks who told me.”

  “Hmm, well I might have to pluck some peacock feathers and wear those as earrings if Ricky and Billy can’t keep their mouths shut,” Tiffany jokes. Or I think she’s joking. “But no, they’re not wrong. I haven’t exactly been sitting at home like a nun. I’ve dated here and there, but I . . . well, once I met a certain someone, I knew he was the right man for me. That was years ago. It just took me awhile to say something about it.”

  The look in her eyes flattens me. “I’m sorry. I had no idea you thought of me as anything other than Elle’s dad.”

  “That’s low on the list of things I’ve thought about you. I guess you’ve always thought of me as Elle’s friend, though,” she says.

  She pauses, but I don’t contradict her because that’s the truth.

  “Maybe it’s a good thing that it took us this long to get to this point,” she says. “I think I needed the time to grow up, and you needed the time to let go.”

  I pull her into my arms, her body pressing against mine as she lifts her chin to look at me. “I think you’re right. We both needed time. But I see you now.”

  “Finally.”

  We simply stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment, and I’m surprised at how much I missed about this amazing woman. But no more. I want to learn everything, so we begin walking once more.

  Up ahead, there’s a picturesque dune that’s gently sloped on top, and we climb to the top before sitting down. I shift, and she sits between my legs, her body leaning back against mine as we watch the sun go down.

  It’s amazing. For a few minutes, there’s no thought of the future or the past, of work or family, of anything at all. There’s only this moment, the feeling of Tiffany in my arms, her back pressed against my chest, the rumble of the waves, and the colors of the sky.

  The sun finishes going down, and I realize how late it’s gotten. Checking my watch, I whistle softly. “Wow. I didn’t think we’d be out this long. We should probably head back. Want me to drive?”

  Tiffany looks over her shoulder, giving me a seductress’s smile. “Or we could find a hotel?”

  Her meaning is obvious, and sexual tension reignites between us. Nervously, I swallow. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “Why? Because you know I’m going to attack you as soon as I get you alone in a room with a bed?” she asks aggressively, running her hands along my arm. “That’s not a bad thing, Daniel.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe I don’t trust myself to not do that,” I reply as my body instinctually arches into her touch, feeling a deep yearning. “But I’ve got an admission. As long as it’s been, I might . . . lose control too quickly.”

  I hate having to say that, but it’s up to me to manage some expectations here. I’m a bit afraid that one thrust into her and I’ll be a goner.

  Tiffany’s smile gains approximately one hundred watts of pure ‘challenge accepted’, and she wiggles in the sand. “I am ridiculously excited about the prospect of making you lose control. And if it is fast? Then we’ll go again . . . and again, if need be.”

  “Then hotel it is,” I tell her, and Tiffany claps her hands in anticipation. “I hope I live up to that round of applause,” I tease.

  “I’m certain you will,” she says confidently, licking her lips as though she can’t wait to get at me.

  Shit, I’m already rock hard for her.

  We go back to the car, finding the first highway hotel that we come across, following our hunger to get somewhere private with a horizontal surface that won’t get us arrested for indecent exposure. Trust me, I seriously considered fucking her on the dune, but the idea of sand chafing on delicate parts is not sexy.

  I’m so excited I even forgot to put my shoes back on, so the desk clerk gives us a raised eyebrow when we walk in.

  “Help you folks?” she asks, giving my feet a long look.

  Tiffany grins. “Hell of a day. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

  “Well, I’m always willing to listen,” the clerk says. “Not like I’m busy.” She gestures to the empty lobby and her perch behind the desk where she’s watching Netflix on what I’m guessing is her private laptop because it’s covered in stickers. The one that sticks out the most proclaims ‘I haven’t stabbed anyone today . . . Oops!’ with a cat in an Edward Scissorhands costume, complete with blood-dripping bladed paws and a pile of X-eyed fish at his feet.

  “Quicksand,” Tiffany says in totally serious tones. “We were at the beach, and suddenly, we were both sinking into the sand. Daniel told me to move my feet like this . . .” She holds her hand up with two fingers pointing down, quickly wiggling them back and forth like legs. “By some miracle, I was able to get out alive, but he was sinking fast. I yanked Daniel’s belt off—” Tiffany pauses dramatically, checking that the clerk is totally on her hook, which she is. I am too. “And I used that to drag him out. But the quicksand just sucked the shoes right off his feet. Slurrrp.”

  The clerk gives Tiffany a wide-eyed look, then laughs, shaking her head. “You had me for a second there. Quicksand.”

  “Cross my heart,” Tiffany says, dead serious. “You mark my words, someone’s going to get swallowed up by that quicksand if folks aren’t careful.”

  She sounds so convincing, so pure about it, the clerk’s laughter dries up and she gasps. “Really?”

  I’m trying my damnedest to keep a straight face, but it’s hard. I can’t believe how quickly she popped off with this story and how believable she is in telling it. How does she even know how to escape quicksand?

  “Yup,” Tiffany says. “So, we’re really hoping you have a room so we can get some rest?” She adds in a huge, fake yawn and stretches her arms overhead like she’s exhausted from fighting for her life against . . . a killer beach.

  The clerk does, and five minutes later, we’re inside, staring at the single king-sized bed. Looking at the large expanse of mattress, with its brown bedspread and four pillows, I realize this has all become very real, very fast.

  In my jeans, I feel myself swell as my balls start to ache in anticipation of what we’re planning.

  Tiffany must be feeling something like excitement, lust, and nerves too, because she suddenly turns to me, her eyes big and slightly worried. “Daniel, are you a sex on the first date type?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that,” I admit. “If I say yes, you’ll think I’m overly casual. If I say no, I think I’ll miss out on something amazing. Besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve been in this position. I can’t honestly say the person I was the last time I had to answer your question is the man I am now.”

  Tiffany smiles. “I didn’t mean it to be a trick question, but I’ll happily take the ‘amazing’ compliment. So the way I see it, we’re already breaking all the rules, so what’s one more?” Her shrug is one of certainty. “Besides, I fully expect you to freak out and re-evaluate this whole thing tomorrow, so on the off chance this is all I get, I plan to make it amazing.”

  I want to laugh. She’s so insightful, but at the same time, I look at her in wonder. “How do you plan to do that?”

  “More ways than you can imagine,” she says, giving me a naughty smile. “Think you can handle it?”