Casanova(4)

The tide was pretty far out, but that was good for me. It meant I could run on the harder, wet sand instead of the dry sand that resulted in me face-planting the beach more than once as a teenager. Running on dry sand is like swallowing ice and expecting it to go down easy.

I tightened my ponytail and looked out across the beach. As far as I could see, I was alone. In the distance, at the far end of the beach, I spotted the sprawling Walker estate. Part of the beach was on their land, although as far as I can remember they never really cared if locals used that section. It was closed to tourists, but as teenagers in the summer, being away from all that was awesome.

I shook off the thoughts of the Walker family and changed direction to divert around a large, dead crab on the beach. Seaweed and shells lightly littered the beach, leftover from the sea.

Focusing on that was easier than the other option.

Him.

Brett Walker.

Shit. I was thinking about him again.

It was hard to be home and not think about him. In L.A., he was a million miles away from me and so was this world. I wasn’t a part of Whiskey Key, where at least half the town was owned by the same family and had been that way for years. I was a part of a world so far removed from anything else it should have been the stuff of fiction.

Mind you, both worlds had their fair share of glitz and glamor. Without the Walkers, Whiskey Key would have probably been nothing more than a struggling tourist industry. It was only the early summer and already I could tell it was better than it’d ever been.

I stopped for a moment and leaned against one of the large rocks that dotted the shoreline for a drink. The sun was barely up, but it was already hot. Thank god for the ice cubes I’d thought to throw into my bottle of water before I left.

“Lani? Is that you?”

I jerked my head to the right at the voice. The girl running up the beach didn’t break pace until she was only six feet in front of me, and it took me all of five seconds to recognize her.

Dark hair. Light blue eyes. Beauty in spades.

“Camille Walker? Is that you?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.

She laughed, stopping and putting her hand on the rock. “God, have I changed that much?”

“Not at all.” I smiled, pushing down the cap on my water bottle. “What are you doing out here?”

“I run the beach every morning. Well, I try to. At least twice a week. I’m not great at remembering.” She laughed again, a little wheezy, and put her hand on her waist. She bent forward and took a moment to control her breathing.

“Water?” I offered her my bottle.

With a desperate nod, she clasped it, wiped the top, and swigged. “Ahh. Thank you.” I barely had a chance to cap the water bottle before she swept me into a giant hug. I guessed he water worked… “Oh!” I squeaked, hugging her back awkwardly with one arm. “Hi.”

“Sorry.” She stepped back, laughing breathlessly. “I didn’t know if I’d get to see you before you left to wherever you are now. I’m excited.”

“California,” I answered with a smile to Brett’s twin sister. “I’m a freelance journalist.”

“Oh, that’s so cool!” She clapped her hands together once, actually jumping with the action. “I wanted to do something like that, but you know...” She shrugged a shoulder. “Family business and all that.”

I did know. The Walkers didn’t own what they did by not keeping it in the family. “Do you at least do something you enjoy?”

“I think they think my main job the past few years is trying and failing to keep my brother in line,” she said with a dry tone. “Like he listens to me.”

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

“Keep him in line?” My curiosity got the better of me.

Goddamn that curiosity.

Camille cast her gaze toward me. “You haven’t heard about his...antics?”

“I didn’t know my sister was pregnant until I rolled into town a few days ago. Obviously nobody tells me anything.”

“Ouch. I’m sorry.” She leaned against the rock next to me and looked out at the ocean. “You know how people talk about that stereotypical guy? The heir to a business, trust-fund baby who’s a player and a party boy?”

I nodded.

“They modeled that on Brett.” Sarcasm dripped from her tone. “Either that or he took it upon himself to fulfill that profile.”

“I’m not surprised,” I said in a small voice, hugging myself. “Not really.”

Camille looked at me out of the corner of her eyes but didn’t say anything.

A sick feeling rolled in my stomach. “I have to go. I’m meeting Connie for breakfast and I’ve already seen those hormones in action, so I’d rather not be late.”

“Right. I get that. I’ve seen them too.” She laughed and pushed off the rock when I did. “Hey, let’s do lunch before you leave. Please?”

“Sure.” I smiled and briefly touched her arm. “Does Connie have your number?”

“She does. Make sure you get it.” She grinned as she walked backward and waggled her finger at me.

I held up my hands, laughing. “I will, I promise.”

“Speak to you soon.” She waved and ran off down the beach toward the Walker estate, her dark hair fluttering in the air behind her.