THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,278

to me and then adds, “Oh, and Shoots like a Star called. She said she’ll be in Virginia Beach this weekend. She wanted to get together.” I cringe because I know what face Molly is making right now. Lainey and I have been in contact with each other since our meeting in NYC. Phone conversations have been polite and platonic. It’s been new and a distraction from my work. I turn around too soon and see the last of the children exit the room. A little boy who can’t be more than two years old turns and meets my eyes. I swallow and it sticks there. His face is dirty and his feet are bare and he clutches a rag like his life depends on it. I smile and wave, but his gaze faces forward as he continues his freedom walk. I want to tell him that I can empathize, that he’s safe now, but to him those are just words. I radio for Van to get the kids out of here first and as quickly as humanly possible. I can’t look at the little boy again until the vacancy in his eyes is replaced by something…anything else. It’s too familiar.

“Thanks, Molly,” I mutter, ending the call. I’ll need a lot of distraction as soon as possible. Lainey wants to get together. With me. I wipe the blade of my knife on a cloth and head for the exit. I don’t smell the sweat, the iron tang of blood, or even the stale cigarettes anymore. I smell her.

_______________

I hate the beach and seawater. Lainey knows it. The years of having a profession that requires early mornings dunked in cold water blossomed the hatred. She wants to get together at the beach. I know her game. She thinks if she invites me to the beach, I’ll be the old miserable, complaining stodge from the past. The thing about having years of your life stolen by captivity is that once you’re free, you don’t take a millisecond for granted. I live every one of them. Even the ones that coat me with a fine sheen of gritty sand.

Of course I see her before she catches sight of me and, oh my, what a sight she is. Her tight black shorts do everything for her. As does the form-fitted tank top. All her perfect curves are hugged, tight, and exactly where I left them. While I scrutinize every nuance that is Lainey, I can’t forget that all of her perfection isn’t mine anymore even if every ounce of testosterone in my body says otherwise.

Lainey smiles a cheek-splitting grin when she sees me waiting for her with a hot pink yoga mat tucked under my arm. Oh, yes, this woman knows exactly how to play the game.

She whacks me with her rolled up mat. “Mornin’!” Lainey looks me directly in the eye like she’s trying to convey so much more than a greeting.

I take in a deep breath. “Good morning. Man, do I love the ocean air. It’s so…fresh.” She narrows her eyes as she very obviously appraises me from head to toe.

“You hate the beach.”

“Do I?” I ask, raising one brow. Lifting the bottom of my black T-shirt, I pull it over my head. She ogles. I look away.

I hear her shift uncomfortably next to me. “Thanks for coming. I figured we could both use a little Zen in our lives.” Lainey clears her throat. I let my gaze wander to hers. Enough time has passed that I’m sure she’s looked her fill.

“How can I possibly tell you no?” I ask. Her clear, blue eyes grow wide. I’ve said what we both know as truth. I can’t, nor will she tell me no, either. “Shall we?” I extend my arm toward the water and the deserted beach.

Walking toward the ocean and the firmer sand, I unroll my mat and look at her. “You lead?” She tucks a wayward strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. She has these graceful fingers, long and feminine. When we were together she never had them polished. Each time I’ve seen her recently they’ve been a different shade of pink. After she rights her hair, she moves her hands down her body self-consciously.

Lainey swallows, smiles crookedly, and nods. She’s nervous. “Sure, I’ll lead,” she says.

“We’ve done yoga together a thousand times. It’s no big deal. We’re two friends hanging out. Don’t worry, I’m going to stay on my hot pink slice of beach and you’re going to