No Strings Attached (8 page)

She held up her hand, stopped him. “Too much information.”

“I have a lot to share.”

She’d had enough of him. “Pay up so you can go pass out.”

“I don’t drink to pass out,” he said. “But I still get hang-overs.”

“Hangovers are a waste of a morning.”

“All depends on who you’re spooning.”

“I’ve never known sex to fix a hangover.”

He grinned. “I have. It’s all about blood transfer from the brain to the penis. Pain shifts to pleasure on climax. Headache’s gone.”

Jenna Cates stared at Mac James. There was something about him that irritated the hell out of her. He was too good-looking and he flipped off life. Chiseled and athletic were a dangerous combination. He seduced by breathing.

Sex was as much a sport to him as volleyball. Town gossip had him in and out of a relationship before a woman could pull up her panties. Commitment gave him hives.

He was an amazing volleyball player, according to her cousin Dune. When Mac was “on,” he was unbeatable. He’d never played in Dune’s shadow. Focused and honed, he had years of greatness ahead of him. Should Dune retire, Mac would be in demand as a partner.

Jen had watched countless games on television. The Cates clan followed Dune religiously. Beach Heat and Ace-hole dominated. The moment a game ended, Mac embraced his fans before accepting his trophy. Men shook his hand and women grafted themselves to him. The beach babes consoled him when he lost. The night was one big party when he won.

His lifestyle went beyond what she’d ever known. He lived life large and, for some unidentifiable reason, that grated on her last nerve.

Perhaps she was a little jealous, she forced herself to admit. Men didn’t flock to her. The few guys she dated lied to her without remorse. She’d become a spinster with four cats at twenty-eight. She told herself that didn’t bother her overly much. She had the T-shirt shop to keep her busy.

She glanced at Mac. “Cash or plastic?” she asked as she rang up his sale.

“Put everything on Dune’s account.”

“Mooch.”

“I don’t carry money or credit cards with me.”

“That’s because you travel with Dune and he always pays.”

“Eventually I pay him back.”

She handed him the receipt to sign.

He wrote
Dune Cates
.

“You’ve got my cousin’s signature down pat,” she noted.

“Should have, I’ve forged it enough.”

“What a good friend you are.” She knew she sounded snarky.

His jaw shifted and he was suddenly serious. “Dune accepts my idiosyncrasies.”

“Idiocy is more like it,” she said as she slid his items in a plastic bag. She passed it to him.

He didn’t immediately pick it up. Instead he flattened his palms on the counter and leaned in. His gaze was narrowed, deep blue and questioning. “Are you a man-hater or is it just me?” he asked.

“It’s you and men like you.” She was honest.

“What exactly am I like?” he pressed.

She didn’t hold back. “You’re irresponsible, unpredictable, into yourself—”

“You know this how?” he cut her off.

“Through my best friend.”

“Which friend?” He appeared genuinely curious.

“You dated Bree Bennett a year ago. Dated her twice, then never called again.”

“Bree?” His brow creased. It was obvious he didn’t remember her.

She jarred his memory. “Redhead, dimples. She manages Petals on the boardwalk.”

“The flower shop chick.” He took it all in, then said, “She had issues. Gossip ruins reputations. Your conversation with Bree was preconceived and one-sided.”

“I say she’s right.”

“I say she’s wrong.”

Her chin came up. “Prove it.”

“Why should I accept a dare to prove I’m a nice guy when I don’t much care what you think of me?” He shook his head. “No motivation, babe.”

He shot her down and she sent him on his way. “The booze cruise waits,” she said. “Go spread yourself around.”

He eased back, scooped up his plastic bag. “I give good spread.”

Her heart gave an odd little squeeze.

He walked toward the door, only to turn at the last minute. “Feel better?” he asked.

Surprisingly she did. Her breakup seemed ages ago. Mac had a way of moving time forward. “I’ll live,” she said.

“Then my work here is done.” He was gone.

His departure left a gaping hole in her afternoon, one she didn’t want to dwell on. Over the next four hours customers came and went. The UPS driver dropped off two big boxes. She unpacked the shirts, steamed the wrinkles, then hung them on the front racks.

A particular slogan fit her well:
No Outfit is Complete Without a Little Cat Fur
. The story of her life.

Another motto described Mac James:
On the Eighth Day, God Created Volleyball.
She knew Dune would like the shirt. She set one aside for her cousin.

She went on to choose a few items for the sale rack, items that hadn’t moved for months. She then decided to rearrange the display of flip-flops. Her part-time sales associate would clock in at six to work the evening shift. Jen had two hours before she closed out her day.

She took a short break, returning to the storeroom to grab a Cherry Dr Pepper from the mini fridge. A café table, small desk, and narrow set of cabinets fought for space amid boxes of Barefoot William key chains, baseball caps, and waterproof wallets. Her ex-boyfriend’s presence still lingered. Stan Caldwell had always worn too much cologne. She sprayed Lysol to remove his scent, then returned to the main shop. The man was dead to her.

She popped the tab on her soda, took a sip, and grew thoughtful. She wished she had a date for the Sneaker Ball. But there was no longer anyone special in her life. Stan had turned out to be a prick.

Her days revolved around T-shirts and shorts. Her work attire was casual as well. The Ball was her chance to feel glam and girly. She’d chosen a dress by Daze, a strapless black silk with a fitted bust and tapering pleats from the waist down. The designer’s creations turned a man’s head and made his jaw drop. Her sneakers were silver with gold ties.

She was co-chairwoman and had a couple’s ticket for the event. She’d now rip the ticket in half. She knew Mac James’s invitation rose from sympathy. She refused to be his pity date. They had nothing in common.

She finished off her soda, then swept the hardwood floors. Customers had tracked in sand. Dusting came next. Five-fifteen. Customers swarmed her shop. Beachgoers were headed home and wanted to buy last-minute souvenirs. T-shirts were always on their lists.

Jen assisted each one. She helped find the perfect shirt to keep Barefoot William alive in their hearts and minds for months to come.

Her skin suddenly prickled in warning. She glanced toward the door just as Mac James and his crocheted-bikini date walked in. The woman was sunburned from her day on the party yacht. Mac’s tan had only darkened.

He found her in the crowd. His gaze was sharp and very blue. Too sharp for a man who’d partied on
Tide One On
. His hair was wind-blown. He wore the
Psycho
shirt she’d chosen for him earlier as well as the brown shorts. He was barefoot. He looked lean and masculine; his expression, smug. A man soon to get laid.

His date appeared a little tipsy. Mac’s peach-colored towel wrapped her hips and the knot kept slipping. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she kept licking her lips. Jen figured her mouth was dry and she needed lip balm. She sold it in several flavors. Mac could pick out the one he’d like to kiss. Jen took him for a cherry or pineapple taste tester.

“Excuse me for just a minute,” she said to a barrel-chested male tourist from Wisconsin who’d taken thirty minutes to choose between T-shirts that read
Body by Buddha
and
Beer is my Best Friend
. Jen suggested he take both.

She crossed to Mac. His arm draped the brunette’s shoulders and they appeared joined at the hip. The woman clung to him as if she were afraid he’d wander off.

Jen faced him, raised one eyebrow. “Party over so soon?”

“I had Dune’s speedboat so we left the yacht early,” he said easily. “Kami liked my shirt so much that she wanted to check out your shop. Jen, Kami,” he introduced them.

Jen forced a smile. “Look around. My store has the largest selection of shirts on the boardwalk.”

Kami stroked Mac’s chest. Her fingernails were painted licorice black. “Find me one,” she said.

She couldn’t make her own decision?
Jen cringed inwardly. Mac was not a man to rely on. He didn’t make great color choices.

Kami with the long hair and sunbather body drew Mac from rack to rack, holding up shirt after shirt. She giggled like a girl and her breasts jiggled. Mac’s approval came when she held up the belly shirts. He liked a bare midriff on his woman.

“Mine!” Kami spotted a hot pink shirt with the motto,
Trace My Tan Lines with Your Tongue.
Mac grinned, then nodded. She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him.

Those still in the store turned and stared. The kiss lasted longer than what was appropriate. So long, in fact, that several parents herded their kids toward the door. Jen refused to lose business to their lip-lock.

She crossed to Mac and hissed near his ear, “Take it outside.”

They broke apart and Kami sighed. “I’d rather take him to bed.”

“Later, babe,” said Mac. He passed Jen the shirt. “We got what we came for. One T-shirt. Unless there’s something else that catches her eye.”

“Do you like body jewelry?” Jen asked Kami. “I sell a lot of belly chains.”

“I like body candy,” Kami said. “SweeTart bras and panties are yummy, but Red Hots are my favorite. They heat a man’s tongue and leave a warm trail—”

“No candy here,” Jen stopped her. “The belly chains are on display at the front counter. Most have ornamentations.”

Kami tried on every single one, twenty-five to be exact. She gave Mac a belly chain fashion show, which he seemed to enjoy. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his stance wide. He stared at Kami with absolute focus, as if she was the only person in the room.

Kami ate up his attention. She finally narrowed her choices down to two chains. She squinted at the dragonfly. “What color are the wings?” she asked Mac.

Mac bent toward her, eyeing the ornament that dangled near her navel. The corners of his mouth creased and he seemed to hesitate.

Jen gave him a moment to consider the color before she said, “The wings are pink quartz.”

“I also like the tribal charm,” Kami debated.

“Dragonflies are free,” said Jen. “Tribal charms are—“

“Wicked.” Kami giggled.

Definitely so. Jen was certain Kami would go tribal until Mac said, “The dragonfly looks best against your skin.”

“You think?” Kami took a second look in the full-length mirror on the wall.

“I like the dangle.”

His date hugged him. “I love shopping with a man who knows what looks good on a woman.”

It was a belly chain,
Jen inwardly groaned. Not a cocktail dress, business suit, or designer sportswear.

“We’ll take it,” Mac told Jen.

“Lip balm?” Jen suggested for Kami’s dry lips.

Kami checked out the fruity flavors. She looked to Mac. “Cherry, mango, or pineapple?”

He went with pineapple.

“A charge to Dune’s account?” Jen asked.

Mac nodded. “He’d approve of the purchases.”

Men,
Jen mused. A little dazzle near the navel and their eyes dilated.

“No need to wrap the chain,” Kami said. “I’ll wear it.”

Mac signed the credit slip. It was a nice sale for Jen, her biggest of the day. She hoped Mac kept his word and paid Dune back.

Mac and his date were ready to leave when Kami noticed the poster hanging on the wall that listed all the upcoming boardwalk and beach events. She put her finger under each word as if she couldn’t read and comprehend an entire sentence all at once.

She was still a little drunk, Jen guessed.

“Look at all these events to kick off summer,” Kami slowly said. “Stand Up Paddle Races and the Boat Float. There’s sandcastle building and a kite flying contest. The Sneaker Ball, how cool is that? It’s this weekend. Let’s do it. Tickets can be purchased at the Chamber of Commerce.”

Jen’s stomach squeezed just a little. She’d had the chance to go with him. She’d busted his balls instead.

To her surprise, Mac didn’t jump on Kami’s offer. He leveled his gaze on Jen instead. Her heart rate did the unthinkable. It quickened. Goose bumps skimmed her spine. Restlessness shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She looked away.

“You’d have a great time,” she said to Kami. A ticket sale was a ticket sale. A couple’s ticket went for two hundred dollars.

“Are you going?” Kami asked her.

“No date, but I’ll be there,” Jen said.

Kami frowned. “You can’t go alone. Invite a guy buddy or a friend with benefits.”

Jen had numerous male friends. But they already had dates.

“As far as relationships, Jen has her T-shirts and the boardwalk,” Mac said. “They keep her happy.”

“I prefer men,” said Kami.

Mac was definitely a man. He was also an ass. Jen gave a wave, then hinted, “See you.” Hoping they’d leave. They did, and neither one looked back.

At six p.m. sharp, Jen’s part-time associate clocked in. Jamie Maye was a high school student, smart and dependable, while exploring her own sense of self. She’d recently added orange highlights to her brown hair. A new piercing placed a barbell above her left eyebrow. She ran track and was a star in the fifty-yard dash. She had a high metabolism and packed protein snacks for her three-hour shift.

Jen left Three Shirts in good hands. She met up with Bree Bennett at Brews Brothers, the boardwalk coffee shop. It was a weekly ritual between friends. They’d order caramel mocha iced cappuccinos, kick back, and discuss their day.

The scents of freshly brewed coffee, cinnamon scones, and peanut butter cookies teased Jen when she entered. Shades of green gave the shop a relaxing atmosphere. Philodendrons flourished in hanging brass planters. Booths, tables, and clusters of chairs invited customers to sit and savor their coffee of choice. Wi-Fi was available. There was no rush.