Without Promises (Under the Pier) Read online

  “Sorry, Dad. I’ll spend more time down there this week and see what’s going on.”

  “Either you’re failing miserably or someone’s skimming, Trent. These numbers don’t add up. And frankly”—he paused for dramatic effect—“it should be you calling me to talk about this. You should have been the one to notice.”

  “You’re right.” I treated the club more like a fun place to hang out with my friends than an actual business I was responsible for. Part of that was because if I cared too much, there was a pretty solid chance I’d fuck it up anyway. “I’ll be down there this week. I’ll get it worked out,” I told him.

  “Let’s talk this weekend,” he said. “You can come up to the house. Your mother misses you.”

  “Sure.” It was impossible to hide my complete lack of enthusiasm.

  “Saturday, Trent,” he said, and hung up without a goodbye.

  I ran for the better part of an hour, working hard to recover my enthusiasm for the day. My dad had a way of winding into my confidence and pulling little pieces out, making everything unsteady. Unfortunately, today, it had me worried about my date with Amy.

  …

  Amy was standing outside Mission Brew when I pulled up, and I took a minute to watch her. Dark aviator shades covered most of her face, but the confident posture and gleaming straight hair made her easy to recognize. She wore a sleeveless sundress that exposed a long expanse of thigh above the knee, and I thanked the fashion world for short skirts. Damn, she’s hot.

  I took a deep breath and got out of the car. Keep cool, man.

  “You’re late, FT,” she told me, shaking her head.

  “Fashionably, I hope.” I leaned in to give her a quick hug and inhaled the scent of Honeycomb cereal, something floral, and vanilla ice cream all rolled into one. “Shit, you smell good.”

  She raised an eyebrow at me, pulling the shades from her face as her lips quirked. “Um, thanks?” she said.

  Shit. Profanity and compliments don’t mix, moron.

  So far, I wasn’t scoring any points.

  We ordered and found a table, and Amy let me pay for her muffin, which felt like some kind of small win.

  Talk to her, loser. Deep breaths. And words. Actual words would be good.

  I wasn’t used to being off-balance with women. I took a deep breath and dove back in.

  “So what have you been up to? Handing out drugs and killer smiles to doctors all over the county?”

  She narrowed her gaze at me. “Sure. That’s what I do.” She took a bite of her muffin, watching me as I debated how to approach again. She wasn’t making it easy.

  I decided to lay it out. “So you agreed to meet me for coffee.” I watched for signs that she was about to give up on this altogether. “But I’m not really getting the sense that my witty conversation is drawing you in.” I rubbed my hands together. “You’re making this pretty tough for me,” I said.

  She took a moment to answer, squinting one eye as she considered this as if she was trying to figure me out. “Do most girls make it easy for you?”

  “Honestly?” I said, spreading my hands on my thighs. “Usually, yeah.”

  She nodded like I’d just confirmed all her worst suspicions. “Then maybe you need a challenge, huh?”

  I shrugged. Did I really want a challenge? I spent most of my time avoiding challenges. But this particular challenge smelled so good and looked so hot sitting there nibbling on that muffin. God, I’m jealous of a muffin. “Maybe I do.” I let a slow smile spread across my face.

  She nodded again. “I bet it is easy for you,” she said, almost talking to herself. “I mean, you’ve got that tanned-beach-god thing happening, the perfectly messy hair. And the whole firefighter persona…” Her gaze left mine and trailed across my chest, landing on my biceps, which I felt flex slightly as I held my coffee cup to my lips. “I mean, seriously”—she lifted a hand and actually poked at my biceps with a finger—“can these even be real?”

  I put down my cup and sat up straight. “You’re never supposed to ask if they’re real,” I said in a hushed voice. “What if they were silicone implants? Then I’d be embarrassed.”

  Amy laughed, and every other sound in the world stopped. The ocean outside and the happy chaos of the coffee shop were muted beneath the sound of Amy’s laugh, which was honey and light and a breathy bit of rasp that made every part of me stand to attention. Every part. And just like that, we’d moved forward.

  Yes. Finally.

  “So we’ve established they’re not silicone?” Her eyes shone with laughter.

  I purposely let my gaze drop to her chest. “I would never ask you if yours were real.” I did my best to pretend to be offended.

  “You’d better not.” She laughed. “But I can assure you that implants aren’t high on my list of things to spend money on.”

  “Well, we’d probably better talk about more appropriate first-date things,” I said. “But I should just add that you don’t need implants.”

  “Thank you?”

  I tore my eyes away and tried to think of something else. How the hell did we start discussing her rack? I took a huge bite of muffin to keep myself from saying anything more.

  “So how did you get into firefighting?” She tilted her head to one side and her hands slid back around her coffee cup.

  Good. Safe ground. “I applied to the recruit program after college. When I was in high school my parents’ house caught fire, and I watched the firefighters come out to handle it, and I guess I kind of decided then. I thought those guys were real-life heroes.”

  Amy nodded, her gaze fixed on my face as I spoke. She pulled one side of her lip between her teeth, and I couldn’t help but stare. She was beautiful, but there was something vulnerable there, like her confident-girl disguise slipped now and then, and I got a peek behind it. I liked that hidden girl even more than the self-assured, sexy Amy.

  I sipped my coffee, trying to figure her out. “Where did you grow up?”

  “East County mostly,” she said. “Well, ten years. And then in the house I live in now, near downtown.”

  “That’s cool, to be in the same place for so long.” I didn’t want to push. Rob had given me enough information to know asking about family could be a sensitive spot, since they’d grown up partially in the foster system. Keep it light. Heavy and dramatic gets guys lassoed into relationships. And rings.

  “Let’s get a drink,” I said, standing and leading Amy back outside.

  “Um, it’s two o’clock in the afternoon. On a weekday.”

  “You don’t have to make arguments in favor, I’m already convinced.” I took her hand and pulled gently, but Amy was heading back to the parking lot.

  “I have to get some things done,” she said, shaking her head and laughing because she thought I was kidding.

  Damn. It was worth a shot. “Meet me here tomorrow,” I suggested as I walked her to her car. “We’ll drink then.”

  “Don’t you ever have work? Like at the bar? Or the firehouse?”

  “I’m not on at the firehouse all week.” I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck and squinted out at the water before continuing. “And the club…yeah, I should be there. My dad definitely thinks I should be there.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  I sighed. “My family means well, I guess.” Don’t get into this now. Just kiss her.

  “It’s always been my experience that when I’m told someone ‘means well’, they usually don’t.”

  I laughed. “I guess it’s an arguable point then. They just have a pretty specific vision for how my life is supposed to go. And so far I’m not really living up to it.”

  “Aren’t they proud of you? Being a firefighter is a pretty big deal.” Amy looked genuinely surprised. “It’s crazy competitive, isn’t it?”

  “It is…” I trailed off. Why are we getting into this? This was not where today was supposed to go. Not exactly flirtation conversation. I swallowed hard. “It just is
n’t quite what they’d hoped. That’s why I manage the club. Dad is trying to train me up to replace him at the company.”

  “So he has a few clubs?”

  “You could say that. McNeil Management has a ton of properties—hotels, clubs, restaurants. I swear he’s opening something new every time I turn around.” I didn’t know how to explain it without sounding like a prick.

  “It’s a big company,” she said. “That’s gotta be a huge job.” Amy stood in the open door of her car, and I leaned next to her against the side of the car, my eyes on the beach beyond.

  “I interned for him in high school. That was supposed to be the first part of my training. I was going to take on more responsibility through college, a couple management roles, and then a VP role sometime around now.”

  “But you didn’t.” Amy watched me, waiting for me to explain.

  Just tell her.

  “I didn’t,” I said, letting out a long slow breath. “I didn’t because I suck at doing what my dad does. When I was working for him in high school, I fucked up a huge deal. Dad totally trusted me, and I completely screwed the pooch. I wasn’t even in charge of it, but I cost him a chain of restaurants he was trying to invest in up in LA.” I glanced over at her.

  Amy shook her head. “Doesn’t seem fair to have put so much on you in the first place.”

  I flashed my easy smile. Change the subject. “Not a big deal.”

  “Right,” Amy said, smiling but clearly not agreeing with my assessment.

  “So,” I said, stepping back. “Tomorrow?”

  She laughed. “Okay. But not everyone can live on your schedule. I’ve gotta work. How about six?”

  Yes. She said yes. My little walk through family failure didn’t wreck things.

  I tried for a relaxed grin. “Cool.”

  I wanted to kiss her, but she was already sitting down, so I leaned forward to give her a hug instead…at the exact moment she decided to stand up again. Our faces crashed together, and for a minute, I saw stars.

  Smooth move, Trent. She’ll definitely be impressed when you bleed on her.

  “Oh shit, are you okay?” she asked, her hand over her mouth.

  “I think you broke my nose,” I joked, rubbing at it and shaking my head.

  “I’m always good for a memorable first date,” she said. “Sorry.”

  I leaned in carefully and kissed her cheek. “That wasn’t your fault, and you definitely are.”

  I watched Amy back out and drive away, her little silver Honda disappearing from the parking lot. Excitement bubbled in my gut, and I had to restrain myself from doing a little jump of victory. Why do I care so much? What’s so different about Amy from the other girls I’ve picked up at the bar?

  I didn’t have a clue, but I was going to find out.

  Chapter Four

  Amy

  Trent may not be a serious guy, but he’s seriously good looking.

  We sat in a bar on Mission Beach the next day facing the water, margaritas before us, and skittered through a dozen light topics. He seemed averse to talking too long about anything meaningful today, despite the insight he’d given me the day before. It had been that little revelation, actually, that made me realize Trent was more than just a hot fireman. There was something genuine and good about him, a little mysterious even, something that came across in his deep brown eyes, the easy way he laughed. But there was nothing mysterious about why I was attracted to him—the rock-solid body, the chiseled jaw with just a touch of scruff… It was almost too perfect.

  I’d given him a hard time the day before, but today I’d decided to just enjoy the time. It was actually a nice change to take in the end of a sunny day with a hot guy and a drink and not stress too much about everything else. There’d be plenty of time for that.

  We debated the merits of the Big Dipper rollercoaster at the nearby amusement park for a few minutes and were interrupted when Trent’s phone rang.

  “Hey,” he said, giving me a wink and turning slightly away.

  A strange feeling churned in my stomach. God, is that jealousy? I’d known the guy a few days, but some misguided part of me was jealous when I considered it might be a girl on the phone with him. This. This is why you don’t date. I shoved down the misplaced jealousy and looked out at the beach. Trent was a player, I already knew that. He hadn’t tried to make me think anything different, so I couldn’t hold it against him. He wasn’t my boyfriend, after all.

  “Elyse,” he said, confirming my suspicion. “You’re not thinking about this clearly.” I couldn’t hear what he said next because he lowered his voice. He turned back to me, rolled his eyes, and then made a rolling motion with one finger next to the phone.

  Seriously? He’s talking to another girl and making fun of her to me? I stood, pushing my chair back abruptly. Taking the call was one thing, trying to make me a party to mocking some other poor girl was something else. Trent’s hot as hell, but he’s clearly an asshole.

  He stood and took the phone from his ear. “Don’t go,” he said, looking honestly upset. “I just need to get my little sister settled, and I’ll be all yours, I promise. I’m so sorry.” He smiled. His sister. His little sister? This was a new side of Trent, and I couldn’t help nodding and retaking my seat.

  “I get why Mom wouldn’t want you to paint blue streaks through your hair, though,” he was saying. “Your hair is gorgeous like it is. And it’s so light, don’t you worry the blue might wreck it?”

  He was shaking his head as she responded on the other end.

  “Do they even allow that at your school?”

  He rolled his eyes again and smiled apologetically at me. Then he turned to face me fully. “Wait, Elyse. Let’s get a second opinion, okay? I have a drop-dead gorgeous girl here with me, who is also ridiculously intelligent and has excellent fashion sense.”

  I resisted the urge to look around to see who he was talking about.

  Trent put on the speakerphone and set it on the bar between us. “Amy, say hello.”

  “Uh, hi?”

  “Hi.” Elyse sounded annoyed. And young.

  “So,” Trent said. “Elyse is sixteen and wants to dye some blue streaks through her very light blond hair, but our mother says it’s a bad plan.”

  “She said she would disown me,” Elyse corrected.

  “Amy, what do you think about this plan? Blue streaks yes, or blue streaks no?” Trent looked at me expectantly.

  “I mean,” I fumbled. “I don’t even know you, Elyse.”

  “Right,” Elyse chimed in. “She doesn’t know.”

  “But,” I continued, not liking her snippy tone at all. “If you were my sister, I guess I’d have to consider whether they were permanent or temporary. And I’d want you to test on a little piece first, to make sure there weren’t any horrible long-term effects. I mean, what if the blue ends up being closer to green, right?”

  “Hmm. I guess that’s a good point,” Elyse said, sounding reluctant to agree to anything. Ever.

  “I’m not really a good person to ask, though,” I said, mostly to Trent. “When I was sixteen, I dyed all my hair jet black and pierced my tongue.”

  Trent’s eyes widened, and he picked up the phone, switching off the speakerphone as Elyse shrieked with laughter on the other end. “Great, thanks for that helpful bit of advice, Amy,” he said, putting the phone back to his ear.

  A couple minutes later, he hung up and apologized. “She’s in a bit of a rebel phase. My parents are struggling to handle it.”

  I nodded. I’d been the definition of a rebel, and Dani and our grandmother had suffered through it with grace. I hoped Elyse’s parents were as understanding.

  “So,” Trent said, turning to face me. “A Goth, huh?” His voice softened.

  A sexy smile slid across his face as he looked at me, maybe picturing me with jet-black hair, and then his eyes dropped to my lips, causing a little jolt of energy to dance in my stomach. I didn’t do it on purpose, but I licked my bottom lip,
and his eyes widened slightly.

  What the hell was that? Now he thinks I’m trying to seduce him or something. God, I’m terrible at this. This. This is why I don’t date.

  I stiffened, but Trent’s smile didn’t fade. He was still watching me, and his hand found mine where our thighs touched beneath the edge of the bar. His strong fingers wrapped around mine, and I felt my breath catch at the contact.

  “Can I kiss you, Amy?” His voice was sandpaper.

  Oh my God. Say yes.

  I nodded, and he gently wrapped his other hand around the back of my neck and pulled me toward him, his mouth lingering just centimeters from mine. I closed the distance, curious to feel his mouth on mine, to taste those perfect laughing lips, to press myself into this easygoing playboy and absorb a bit of his light.

  Trent’s lips met mine softly, and they stayed pressed gently there for a beat, and then he moved, slanting his mouth against mine, pressure building. We were facing each other fully now, and I let go of his hand and slid my palms up his arms, lingering on those swollen biceps. Trent rose to stand between my knees where I perched on the high stool, deepening the kiss. For what felt like long moments, I was lost in the push and pull. It was like being taken out by a wave, giving myself to the undertow and letting go, being sucked under into sweet, cool, dark water.

  When he broke the kiss and pulled back to look at me, a wide smile spread across his face. “Exactly what I expected,” he murmured. “Fucking perfect.”

  This isn’t you. You don’t go to bars on weekdays and make out with men you barely know. But it feels good. Incredible. So I let go. And when he took his seat again, running a tanned hand through his mess of blond waves, I couldn’t form a cohesive thought.

  He gave me a long look and took an even longer drink from his margarita before turning back to me. “I’m not really the relationship type. But if you’re game, I think we might need to see where this goes.”

  What does that mean?