Page 22 of Just for the Plot

“The owner is big on ocean cleanup. I spoke to him when I first came here, since I was caught off guard by the decor as well, and he told me that he and some other employees comb the beaches and coasts, pulling debris and washed-up pollution from the shores fairly regularly. They either hang it in the bar as a reminder of their mission, or they recycle it. A portion of their profits cycle back into ocean cleanup as well.”

“Huh, now that makes sense.” She studies the decor hanging above us. “Kind of crazy that this was all washed up on the shore.”

“Yeah, insane to think about.”

“Is this where you come after every game?”

“No,” I say. “Only on occasion, especially if we have a day off the next day.”

“Do you have a day off tomorrow?”

“No,” I answer. “Well, technically yes, but it’s a travel day.”

“Don’t you ever get tired?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “But this is what I wanted. I’m living the dream. I’ll never complain when I get to live out what I worked so hard for.”

“Your sister taught you well.” She turns more toward me, her scent wafting in my direction, causing my body to ache for her.

If she actually knew how I felt, and if she felt the same way, this scenario would be different. Her legs would be draped over mine, my hand resting on her thigh, claiming her so every other motherfucker in the vicinity knew she was off-limits, and she’d be whispering in my ear what we’d be doing when we got back to my place, rather than saying shit like my sister taught me well.

“So, uh, did you find out about your apartment?” I ask.

“Trying to kick me out already?”

“What? No,” I say quickly. “You can stay as long as you want. I’m actually headed out of town soon, and if you want to stay while I’m gone and get yourself situated in your apartment, by all means.”

She chuckles. “I’m kidding, Bennett.” She strokes my forearm. “Relax.”

Christ, if I relax too much and she keeps touching me like that, the results won’t be what she’s expecting, that’s for damn sure.

“They’re finishing up some painting and I think I might let the fumes air out before I move in, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“My stuff was actually delivered today, though. The movers put it all in the center of the apartment. They were complaining about my books.”

“Your books?” I ask.

“Yes, you know I’m an avid reader.”

“But you collect them?”

She gasps and sets her drink on the table. “Bennett Brinkman.” Hand to chest, she continues, “Of course I collect them. Those are my trophies.”

“Trophies?” I ask.

“Yes. My trophies. Every time I finish a book, I can put it on my bookshelf as a trophy that says, look what I did. I read a book. That’s more than a lot of people can say.”

“You’re right about that. Can’t remember the last time I read a book.”

Her eyes widen and her hand lands on my chest as she grows sincere. “Are you serious?”

“Very serious,” I say, wanting her hand to stay right where it is.

“Bennett, we need to change that.” Her eyes widen even more. “Oh my God, we can start our very own book club. How do you feel about bloody hand jobs?”

Uh…