From Exes To Expecting. Laurel Greer
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Tavish and Lauren more than once since getting out of the boat.
Lauren beat a hasty retreat to her kitchen. She had to do a better job of hiding her reactions to Tavish over breakfast.
For the next twenty minutes she sipped her coffee, munched on a croissant and participated in small talk. She even did a decent job of keeping her eyes on her food and off the way Tavish’s arms bulged under his T-shirt.
Setting down his empty coffee cup with emphasis, Andrew looked at her with a cheeky smile. “You going to try to beat my slalom-course record today, Laur?”
“I just may.” She grinned back, feeling in her element for the first time since Tavish showed up for stitches yesterday. Skiing, she could do. She ran into her house to grab her wetsuit and skis, early hour and ex-husbands be damned.
When she returned, Cadie and Mackenzie had taken up residence in the pair of cushioned lounge chairs on the dock. Her brother sat sideways in the driver’s seat of his boat, sandals propped on the passenger’s dashboard. Tavish straddled the port-side gunwale, one bare foot in the boat and one on the dock. All long limbs and straining T-shirt and way too delicious.
As Lauren strolled down the gangplank with her ski in one hand and her life jacket in the other, she caught him watching her. His throat bobbed. Yeah, she knew she looked good in her wetsuit. The neoprene enhanced each one of her curves. A thrill zipped through her body that he’d noticed.
“I’m up next,” she announced. “I want to see what my new ski can do.”
“I think it’s more the skier than the ski, Laur.” Tavish raked a hand through his hair. Sunlight reflected off the twisted gold-and-silver links of a bracelet on his left wrist. “When was the last time you went out?”
“Last weekend.” She walked to the end of the dock, watching him with a confident eye as she sprayed lubricant in the bindings and slid her feet in.
“I don’t remember you being that into waterskiing,” he said, sounding puzzled.
She mimicked the cocky grin he’d sent her way when he’d skied up to the dock. “That’s what happens when you stay away—people change. And learn how to trounce you on the slalom course.” She sat on the edge of the dock, both feet secure in midcalf-high boots, and held her hand out for the tow rope.
“You want this length?” Tavish’s eyes widened. The rope was still the length he’d last used—one requiring a good deal of skill.
“For now. I’ll use it as a warm-up.”
He guffawed. “A warm-up. Right.”
“Yeah. Right.” She left no room for misunderstanding in her voice.
“Okay.” He didn’t sound at all convinced as he tossed her the rope and sat on the passenger side of the boat with his feet resting on the carpeted engine cover.
Andrew turned to Tavish. “Ten bucks says you eat your words.”
Tavish snorted. “Done.”
Within a minute they roared away from the dock. Lauren channeled her frustration over Tavish’s doubt into cutting back and forth across the wake until they entered the slalom course. Then all thoughts of her ex-husband disappeared as she focused on leaning against the rope, flying back and forth. Releasing her outside arm as she rounded each ball, then pulling the rope in tight to her hip as she turned in the other direction, she did her best to send up a cascade of water twice the size of Tavish’s.
As she cut around the third ball of six, she let out a whoop—she’d beaten Tavish’s performance. Ha. Her competitive streak hadn’t kicked in this strong in a while. She’d blame him for that, too. He was already at fault for stealing away the peace of her morning; what was one more charge?
Successfully reaching the end of the course, Lauren held up a palm in a stop signal. Andrew slowed the boat to an idle, and she sank into the water.
“Take the rope in, Tavish,” she called.
“Seriously?” His voice lifted in surprise. “Twenty-eight feet off is damn tough.”
“And I’m damn good.” Satisfaction spread through her at being able to bring the glow of amazement into Tavish’s eyes. “Change the rope. And hurry up. Pretty sure I can feel ice crystals in my capillaries.”
“Don’t get testy. I just didn’t know you were trying to go pro.” Tavish unhooked the rope and refastened it, six feet shorter.
“I beat you. Now I need to do the same for Andrew.” Lauren took a breath and gripped the rope handle. She’d have to stretch out parallel to the water to get around any of the balls—her five feet and one scant inch worked against her at this point.
“Ready, Lauren?” Andrew called.
“Hit it.” Lauren tucked and let the boat pull her out of the water.
She quickly adjusted to the short rope. The heat of temper buzzed in her muscles as she stretched out toward the first ball. Releasing the handle with one hand, she cut around the obstacle. Inches from the surface of the lake, she somehow managed to pull herself up with enough time to repeat the feat on the other side. Her arms and quads screamed at her. She forced her body to submit one last time but that was it. Muscles totally gassed, she ripped back toward the middle of the wake where she stayed instead of trying for the remaining balls. That tied her brother’s personal best—she’d beat him by the end of the summer. And surpassing Tavish tasted too sweet to fuss about Andrew’s record. Tapping her head with the palm of her hand to signal she wanted to head home, she made lazy passes all the way back to the dock.
Cadie and Mackenzie clapped loudly as she let go of the rope and sank into the water. She shimmied out of her ski and propelled it toward Cadie, who waited for it on the dock. “My turn!” her sister announced, getting ready to enter the water.
Tavish climbed out of the boat, and Mackenzie took his place as spotter, and then Andrew gunned the engine once more.
Lauren busied herself drying off and slipping back into her yoga pants, not happy to be left alone with her ex-husband, who stood by the ladder. With his back to her and his arms crossed, she could only guess that he was feeling the same. But she wasn’t in a hurry to find out if she was right on that. The out-in-the-wide-open dock smothered like a musty closet.
By the time she acknowledged him with a quiet “Pretty sure you owe Andrew ten bucks,” the boat was at the far end of the lake.
Sitting on one of the lounge chairs, he stretched out his long legs. He linked his fingers behind his head and fixed her with an inquisitive look. “You trying to prove something out there?”
“Maybe.” She sat down on the other deck chair and snuggled against the backrest. “Guess I wanted to remind you that just because I’m a homebody doesn’t mean I’m boring.”
He stared at her for a few seconds, shaking his head. “Pixie, I haven’t had a boring moment with you once.”
Pixie? Oh, God. He’d started calling her that back in high school once he’d officially surpassed her by a full foot. It had made her laugh then, so she’d put up with it. After she broke up with him—college plus distance did not mix—he’d stopped using the endearment. Until he and Andrew had crashed her friends-only trip to Vegas to celebrate her finishing her residency. He’d confessed to still loving her, to wanting to make it work. And she’d loved him enough to try to compromise. Once they’d exchanged vows, he’d added “Pixie” back into his lexicon.
Usually when he was trying to get her out of her clothes.
Then again, “I love you” had worked like a charm, too. But it had only taken a couple of weeks to learn no compromise was enough to keep that love alive.
He pressed his lips together and looked away. Was he as tortured by the memory as she? He deserved to be, damn it.
“Quite the place you found,” he ground out.