have some fun.”
Max handed her into the boat, then found himself rubbing his hand against his board shorts in an attempt to eradicate the feel of her smooth skin from his fingertips. He turned back to supervise the teens as they put the tube in the water. Even as he got the kids situated on the tube, he eyed her covertly, using an inspection of the tow rope she was feeding out as his excuse.
“Let me know when the rope is taut,” he said to her as he slowly maneuvered the boat away from the dock a moment later, then added, “That was smooth.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “What was?”
“The way you handled Brandon not wanting to wear a vest.”
“Hey, rules are rules.” She grinned at him. “Until you mean to break them, anyway.” She turned back to gauge the rope. “It’s tight.”
Max half lifted out of the driver’s seat. “You guys ready?” he called.
The boys yelled an affirmative. And he thrust the throttle forward, surging away from the dock.
They spent the next hour speeding up and down the canal, towing the Gladiator behind them. When it whipped out over the wake, the bounce lifted the teens, who were connected only by their grips on the red handles, up off the tube before dropping them back down again to bounce at whatever angle the Gladiator left them.
It turned out there was no way to lean in on Owen and keep him from raising off the tube. In fact, as the lightest of the boys, he bounced the highest. But by the end of the first run it was clear he was loving it, even going so far as to insist on taking a turn on the outside.
Max found himself smiling almost nonstop. Seagulls swooped and cried overhead, the sun beat down on his shoulders and the sound of unbridled laughter from boys who didn’t always have a lot to laugh about filled the air.
Then there was Harper. Acting as their spotter, she mostly kept her eyes on the boys to ensure that if anyone lost their grip and bounced off the tube they could promptly circle around to pick him up. That meant when he glanced around his view was of her long back, longer legs and that wanna-fill-my-hands-with-it ass.
There was a sight he had no complaints with.
To his surprise, however, even better than the visual feast of Harper’s body were the moments when one of the boys laughed with pure joy and the two of them glanced over their shoulders at each other to grin in mutual appreciation.
The smartest thing he’d done today was go to the Village. Because a day on the water, a hot woman who shared his pleasure in providing a fun day in the sun to boys who didn’t get an abundance of them?
Well, that beat the hell out of skulking around his house, trying not to brood about an accident whose outcome he’d had no way of changing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
M AX JINGLED THE change in his pocket as he waited in line at the Stop and Go outside of town. Friday night was finally here, he had just gassed up his rig, and if Conner, the cashier, and Woody Boyd, who was paying for his half rack of Heineken, ever quit their damn jawing, he’d be on his way to Silverdale for that night on the town he’d been thinking about for dog years.
Even better, if things went the way he hoped—and Chatty and Chattier put a cork in it—by the end of the night he might well have reason to use the box of condoms he was waiting to purchase.
It had been too damn long since the last time that occasion had presented itself.
Shifting sideways to let Woody by a moment later, he finally stepped up to take his place at the register. Vaguely, he heard the tinny sound of the little bell over the door. He paid it only scant attention until he heard, “Hey, look, there’s Uncle Max!”
Then he turned to see Austin barreling through the door with Jake ambling in his wake. He watched his nephew head his way, the kid’s mouth stretched in a big, toothy grin—then turned back long enough to slide a twenty across the counter to Conner Priest.
He’d given the clerk a
Max handed her into the boat, then found himself rubbing his hand against his board shorts in an attempt to eradicate the feel of her smooth skin from his fingertips. He turned back to supervise the teens as they put the tube in the water. Even as he got the kids situated on the tube, he eyed her covertly, using an inspection of the tow rope she was feeding out as his excuse.
“Let me know when the rope is taut,” he said to her as he slowly maneuvered the boat away from the dock a moment later, then added, “That was smooth.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “What was?”
“The way you handled Brandon not wanting to wear a vest.”
“Hey, rules are rules.” She grinned at him. “Until you mean to break them, anyway.” She turned back to gauge the rope. “It’s tight.”
Max half lifted out of the driver’s seat. “You guys ready?” he called.
The boys yelled an affirmative. And he thrust the throttle forward, surging away from the dock.
They spent the next hour speeding up and down the canal, towing the Gladiator behind them. When it whipped out over the wake, the bounce lifted the teens, who were connected only by their grips on the red handles, up off the tube before dropping them back down again to bounce at whatever angle the Gladiator left them.
It turned out there was no way to lean in on Owen and keep him from raising off the tube. In fact, as the lightest of the boys, he bounced the highest. But by the end of the first run it was clear he was loving it, even going so far as to insist on taking a turn on the outside.
Max found himself smiling almost nonstop. Seagulls swooped and cried overhead, the sun beat down on his shoulders and the sound of unbridled laughter from boys who didn’t always have a lot to laugh about filled the air.
Then there was Harper. Acting as their spotter, she mostly kept her eyes on the boys to ensure that if anyone lost their grip and bounced off the tube they could promptly circle around to pick him up. That meant when he glanced around his view was of her long back, longer legs and that wanna-fill-my-hands-with-it ass.
There was a sight he had no complaints with.
To his surprise, however, even better than the visual feast of Harper’s body were the moments when one of the boys laughed with pure joy and the two of them glanced over their shoulders at each other to grin in mutual appreciation.
The smartest thing he’d done today was go to the Village. Because a day on the water, a hot woman who shared his pleasure in providing a fun day in the sun to boys who didn’t get an abundance of them?
Well, that beat the hell out of skulking around his house, trying not to brood about an accident whose outcome he’d had no way of changing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
M AX JINGLED THE change in his pocket as he waited in line at the Stop and Go outside of town. Friday night was finally here, he had just gassed up his rig, and if Conner, the cashier, and Woody Boyd, who was paying for his half rack of Heineken, ever quit their damn jawing, he’d be on his way to Silverdale for that night on the town he’d been thinking about for dog years.
Even better, if things went the way he hoped—and Chatty and Chattier put a cork in it—by the end of the night he might well have reason to use the box of condoms he was waiting to purchase.
It had been too damn long since the last time that occasion had presented itself.
Shifting sideways to let Woody by a moment later, he finally stepped up to take his place at the register. Vaguely, he heard the tinny sound of the little bell over the door. He paid it only scant attention until he heard, “Hey, look, there’s Uncle Max!”
Then he turned to see Austin barreling through the door with Jake ambling in his wake. He watched his nephew head his way, the kid’s mouth stretched in a big, toothy grin—then turned back long enough to slide a twenty across the counter to Conner Priest.
He’d given the clerk a
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