One More Step - Colleen Hoover Page 0,44

we compromised. In return for me being here while Dad recovers, I have to give surf lessons for a PR boost.

Which means instead of hitting up Dante’s for a ham, egg, and cheese sandwich with my boys, I’m sprawled out on my back in the hot sand waiting on what’s sure to be some grom that doesn’t know a nug—a good wave—from mush.

Even worse than that scenario, I could be waiting on some superfan who wants to collect a lock of my hair or some shit. Then again, said fan could be a fangirl, which I am totally down with. Especially if she’s down to fu—a shadow falls over me, abruptly ending my train of thought.

“Here for lessons?” I ask, looking up toward the interloper. The sun shines brightly behind them, making it impossible for me to really see them. Details, sure. Like it’s a she—a short and curvy she with tits to rival a porn star. Huh—maybe that train of thought won’t be derailed after all.

“Yup. So maybe quit staring and start teaching.”

Fuck. That voice. “Dots,” I say before I can stop myself. I straight up acted like I didn’t remember her the other night and here I am calling her by her old childhood nickname.

“Oh, now you know me?” Her tone drips with indignation.

I shrug, trying to come off as careless, relaxed even. “Knew you then too,” I murmur fully prepared for her to yell.

What I’m not expecting is a face-full of sand. I’m so shocked when she kicks a mountain of it my way that I don’t even think to cover my head. “You piece of shit! Do you have any idea of how you made me feel?”

Blindly, I fumble for my towel. “Fuck!” I yell spitting out granules of sand. “What the fuck Dots?”

She waits until I’ve removed as much of the sand as possible before answering me. “It’s Thea now and let’s not act like you didn’t deserve it.”

I scrub a hand over my face and through my hair, finding even more sand there. “Yeah, you’re right. Shit.”

“Why?” she asks, tapping her foot, the movement drawing my gaze to her breasts.

Momentarily, I lose my words as I watch the twin mounds jiggle beneath the yellow rash guard she’s rocking like a second skin.

“Why?” she asks again, snapping her fingers in front of my face, freeing me from my titty-trance.

“Why what?”

Dots huffs and clenches her tiny fists at her sides. “Why did you pretend not to know me?”

“Honestly? At first, I really didn’t recognize you. I mean, you’re all grown up, if you catch my drift. By the time I realized you were you, I…” I shrug my shoulders, feeling helpless—which is a foreign feeling when talking to a woman.

“You what?” she asks, her hands on her hips. My Dots was never one to back down from a fight, and while it seems like a lot about her has changed, a lot has also stayed the same. “Because I can’t think of a single way to end that sentence that will justify your behavior.”

“Fuck Dots—”

“Thea.”

“—Dots. You want me to be honest, fine. I’ll be honest. I don’t know why I acted like an ass. At first you were just some girl, some crazy hot chick I wanted to take a spin on my dick. When I recognized you, it threw me for a loop. I mean, you’re you and even knowing that, I was still imagining sliding inside you and fucking you senseless. I didn’t know how to handle it, so I slid into ‘Douchey Dane’. It was shitty and I’m sorry. Okay?”

Dots stares blankly my way. Thanks to her reflective sunglasses, I can’t tell if she’s actually looking at me, much less what she’s feeling. Finally, after eons have passed, she says, “Douchey Dane? What does that even mean?”

I sigh. “It’s what my PR team calls my public persona. It’s how I keep most people at an arm’s length.”

“Let me get this straight. You have a douchey alter ego you adopt to keep everyone at a distance and decided to try it out on me, because you were imagining fucking me and it made you uncomfortable?”

I shift on my feet. “Well, when you say it like that…”

She huffs out a breath. “There’s no good way to put it. But whatever, you’ve always been a little bit of a d-bag, so I’m not really surprised.”

Now I’m huffing, because what the fuck? “Me? How?”

Another stare down—I think, damn tinted lenses—ensues before she says, “Uh, does the summer

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