Chapter Ten
“It’s not the same, Leo.”
“So what? Canoe, scull, kayak, they’re all rowboats, right?”
Nick grumbled as he climbed into the two-man inflatable kayak his friend brought. He felt like a fool, dressed for a serious workout in his compression shorts and snug Cal T-shirt, while all around him families in baggy shorts and life vests paddled placidly on the park’s narrow canoe canal.
“I thought you said the rowing team practiced here?”
“Nope. They’re out at Dexter Lake. Too far to make it out there and back in time.”
A cultural anthropology professor at the University of Oregon, Leo had invited Nick up for a “professional conference” with a few of his U of O colleagues and another anthropologist from Washington State. Turns out, Leo’s “conference” was really just a casual, boozy get-together and bitch fest. Still, Nick was glad he’d come since the trip afforded him the chance to visit his family—and Clara’s bookshop.
The memory of her graceful body, her shy smile, her sad, ocean-green eyes, her soft lips against his cheek—the reaction they stirred in him made tight athletic shorts a perilous workout choice. At least she wouldn’t see him dressed like this. He’d have blended right in among the competitive rowers he’d been expecting. But out here, among the kids and the ducks, he must look like a pretentious ass. “Careful there, it’s tilty as shit,” Leo warned him as Nick settled into his mesh seat.
“This thing’s a raft compared to my boat.”
“How do you not sink that floating sliver, big guy like you?”
“A little thing called balance, my friend. Want lessons?”
“Nope. I got this.” The kayak wobbled ominously as Leo lowered himself into the front seat.
Leo was a bulky bear of a man, tall and wide and ungainly, but a great teacher and a good friend since their undergrad days. His recent split from his longtime girlfriend shook him badly, and Nick knew Leo craved company more than a real workout.
Leo pushed off and they glided out into the canal, now crowded with canoes, kayaks, and stand-up paddle boards. The watery playground echoed with the splashes of amateur rowers, the laughter of children, and the noisy commentary of the park’s ducks. Nick much preferred the near-silent, rapid backward slide of rowing, but this was pleasant enough. And anyway, his friend needed him. Nick knew how hard it was to put on a happy face and start again after the loss of a great love.
“So, what did you think of the bookshop?” Leo asked. “Find some good smut?”
Nick smacked the water with his paddle, splashing his friend. “The lady does not peddle smut. And yes, I found some high-quality erotic art books.”
“Oho!” Leo twisted to grin back at him. “The lady, eh?”
“You’ve met her, right? Isn’t that why you sent me?”
“I sent you for the books. Never met the lady, just the old guy and the younger dude with dark hair.”
“That was her husband.”
Leo shrugged. “Too bad. If she were single, maybe she’d tempt you to stay up here.”
Oh, she’s tempting, all right.
“She’s a widow. Bike accident.”
“Wow. That’s rough.” Leo pointed with his paddle toward an overhanging willow tree. “This way.”
They pivoted smoothly, Nick matching Leo’s rhythm as they dipped their paddles into the jade-green water. Soon they glided beneath the trailing branches to a spot hidden from other boaters.
From the pocket of his cargo shorts, Leo pulled a slim steel flask. “Wee drappie?”
Nick checked his watch. “It’s not even noon yet.”
“Ach, ye spoilsport. Yer harshin’ me buzz.”
“Away with ye, Redbeard.” Nick chuckled. “I’ll save me grog fer later.”
Leo stroked his copious copper whiskers. “Suit yerself.” He took a healthy glug. “So, pirates of the high seas we be, lurking in the shadows, scoutin’ out booty.”
“How’s your pirate novel coming, anyway?”
Leo chuckled. “No further, alas. But speaking of booty, tell me about the bookseller’s widow.”
Jealousy prickled Nick like a belly full of burrs. Leo was a big, fuzzy lummox, but he was smart and funny. And here. Clara might soon hook up with him, or with someone like him. In a town this size, there must be hundreds of men ready to charm her out of her sorrow, and into their beds. Why did he have to meet such an interesting woman so far from home?
“Well, she’s…”
“Pretty, I’ll bet.”
“Very.”
“And young?”
“About our age.”
“And hot for my Greek friend?”
Nick sighed. “I don’t think she’s ready for romance.”
But the memory of her kiss the night before raised goosebumps on his skin.
“Well then, it’s your job to persuade her otherwise!” Leo slapped the water with his paddle, splashing Nick and startling a mother mallard and her string of fuzzy ducklings from their hiding place along the bank. Quacking and peeping, they jetted across the kayak’s bow.
Leo resumed his pirate’s brogue. “All righty then, shore leave be over. Back out to sea.”
They spent a pleasant two hours paddling back and forth on the canal, chatting about their work and the people around them. A canoe full of giggly college girls turned up beside them again and again. Finally, a tall, slim girl with cocoa-toned skin and elaborate braids raised her hand. “Doctor Jones, is that you?”
Leo shielded his eyes and squinted. “Depends. Who’s asking?”
The girls paddled closer. “It’s me, silly.” Seeing Leo’s awkward half-smile, she added, “Lenora Addison, from your anthro seminar.”
“Oh, right, of course. Lenora with the stories about hiking in Peru. Didn’t recognize you in your, em…” Leo flapped his broad hand in her direction.
This was one of the hazards of being a college instructor. Lenora and her friends all wore short shorts and bikini tops. And this girl’s smile was dangerous, spiced with the brash confidence of a skilled huntress. Leo had better watch out. Such temptations could cost him dearly, especially when he was in such a vulnerable state.
But the girl’s sharp gaze lasered in on Nick. Her long fingers toyed with her braids. “Who’s your friend, Prof?” Her boatmates giggled.
“Ah. This fellow here is a colleague of mine.”
“Really? What do you teach?” the blond in the middle asked.
“Cultural anthropology.” Nick cleared his throat. “In Berkeley.”
“Too bad,” the huntress said. “California is so crowded. Wouldn’t you rather be a Duck?”
“Sorry?”
“Come teach here!” the cute Asian girl up front squealed. And then, in a peal of giggles, the girls dug in their oars and splashed away.
“Well, damn,” Leo muttered. “You’ve been up here, what, two days? Already you’ve seduced a pretty bookseller, and now my students!”
“What did I do?” Nick protested.
“I’ve gotta get me some ugly friends. Can’t get any women with you around.” Leo dipped his paddle, and Nick matched his rhythm as they moved back toward the boathouse.
“I thought we came out here to get some exercise, some sun, not some women. Speaking of, you’re getting pretty pink there, my friend.” He tapped Leo’s neck, which had roasted to a deep magenta. “You forget your sunscreen?”
“Sunscreen is for sissies, not for pirates,” Leo huffed.
“I wear sunscreen.”
“What? Why? Women swoon for your swarthy skin.” Leo leaned onto his paddle and nosed the front of the kayak onto shore.
“Having a Black grandfather doesn’t protect me from skin cancer,” Nick said, echoing his mother’s admonition. In summer she’d slathered him and his sister with sunscreen from head to toe, despite their squirmy protests. “You want to stay pretty?” she told them, “Then take care of your skin. You think your father would have fallen in love with me if I didn’t take care of myself?”
“Bella, I would love you if you had warts,” Papa crooned. “I’d love you if you had whiskers. I’d even love you if you were short. You are my goddess.” Nick smiled at the memory of his stocky little father standing on tiptoe to kiss his statuesque wife.
“Help me with this, lover boy.” Leo’s voice broke through Nick’s fog of memory.
Together, they hoisted the dripping boat and fastened it to the roof of Leo’s Rav4.
“Wait a minute. Gotta pee.” Leo trotted off toward the restroom while Nick stretched his back and shoulders. Despite his grumbling, those two hours of paddling gave him quite a workout. He interlaced his fingers, stretched his palms to the sky, and closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his stiff muscles.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, he stepped back to allow a woman jogger to pass. Red-faced and puffing, jaw set in grim determination, long auburn ponytail swinging in rhythm with her plodding steps. Nick’s senses pricked up to high alert. His pulse revved.
“Clara?”
She spun to face him, froze like the proverbial deer in headlights, and nearly got sideswiped by a cyclist. She stumbled backward just in time, then clapped her hand to her chest while staring at Nick, bug-eyed.
He thanked the gods she wore more than those college girls. But still, the way her sleeveless top and running tights hugged her slim curves stirred a reaction he’d rather not display in public. He quickly untied the jacket knotted around his waist and held it in front of his spandex-encased crotch, trying to strike a casual pose. But he couldn’t stop from drinking in the sight of her, from her glistening forehead to her heaving breasts to the curve of her hips and her slim, strong legs. He slid his gaze back up her body just in time to catch her giving him the same lingering up and down glance. Beneath his crumpled jacket, his cock strained against the tight fabric of his shorts.
He stepped closer, checking both ways first to make sure another biker didn’t mow him down.
“Dangerous here, isn’t it?”
Still breathing hard, she nodded.
“Shall we?” He gestured to a bench a few steps away. She sat, and he sank down beside her, settling the jacket across his lap.
Clara unknotted a bandana from her wrist and wiped her damp face and throat.
“I’m a mess.” Her shy smile tugged at his heart. And other places.
“Me too. Hot today.” He wasn’t usually this tongue-tied, but being so close to her lovely body in that revealing outfit, he found it hard to think of anything beyond how much he wanted to run his hands over her, press against her, feel the slippery slide of her sweaty skin against his…
“You come here often?” He chuckled and swiped a hand down his face. “Yeah, I’m a smooth talker.”
“I don’t, actually. It’s been ages. You were rowing?”
He shrugged. “More like chasing the ducks. My friend—”
“Well, now, who have we here?” Leo strode toward them, a broad smile on his red, fuzzy face. He nudged Nick with his hip and plopped down beside him on the bench, forcing Nick to slide up against Clara, his shoulder pressed against hers, their damp thighs touching.
Leo grinned expectantly.
“Clara, meet my friend Leo. He’s a professor at the U of O.”
“Let me guess, cultural anthropology?”
Leo beamed. “Oh, she’s a smart one. Is this the fair bookseller?”
Nick nodded.
She shot him a sharp glance before extending her hand to Leo. “Clara Martelli. So, Nick, you told him about my shop?”
“Right.” Leo nodded, then winked at Nick, who elbowed him. “So, did my buddy clean out your erotica collection? He’s going to need a lot of reference material for his new book.”
“Oh, we still have plenty of books left.”
“Good news!” Leo brayed and smacked Nick’s shoulder. “Means you’ll have to come back for another look.” He pushed himself up with an exaggerated groan. “My, I’m sore. Not like Nick here. He can go all day. Right, buddy?”
Nick glared at his friend, now sidling toward the parking lot.
“I’ll just go, er, fasten down the boat. A pleasure to meet you, Clara.”
They both watched him go, then Clara leaned against Nick’s shoulder and giggled softly. He fought the urge to slide his arm around her. It was a hard fight, but he mastered himself.
“He’s quite a character.” She pushed herself up from the bench. “Ouch. Sitting was a mistake.” She placed both hands at the small of her back and arched into a stretch, pushing her pelvis forward. His cock throbbing painfully, Nick gulped and rose to his feet.
“It was good to see you again, Clara.”
“You too, Nick.” She took one step backward but kept her gaze on his. “Um, I was wondering…” Another step backward. “I know you’re busy at the college, but could we have a coffee sometime before you go? There’s something I want to ask you.”
Nick’s heart did a happy little samba in his chest.
Keep cool. “Well, I’m busy today. How about if I stop by your shop tomorrow?”
“Okay, then.” She smiled like a woman who’d drunk too much wine, too fast. “I’ll see you soon.”
She took a step toward him. Another kiss, like the one replaying in his head since the night before? But she just flashed him a tentative finger-wave and a shy smile, then jogged off down the path.
Nick watched her disappear behind a grove of pines, then his wistful smile evaporated in a cold wave of horror. His hands were empty. His jacket lay crumpled on the bench. He’d been standing there in front of God and everybody in his stupid stretchy shorts, his erection on display.
Shit. Did she notice? Shit shit shit.
****
Oh. My. God. Oh. My. God.
The words echoed in Clara’s head, pounding to the beat of her footsteps on the running trail. Some things, once seen, can never be forgotten. The image of Nick’s huge erection straining against his shiny black compression shorts was permanently etched in her mind’s eye.
Even the unaccustomed strain of running didn’t come close to explaining her thundering heartbeat. She didn’t know whether to giggle or moan or scream, so she obeyed her body’s most pressing command: flee.
She wove between the other runners on the path, letting her vision blur, focusing all her attention onto the jolt of her feet hitting the ground, the rush of air through her heaving lungs, the ache in her straining muscles.
Finally, out of breath, she plodded to a stop and rested her back against a tree, head down, gulping great lungfuls of air.
Okay, let’s not get carried away. He’s a guy. Our legs were pressed together. His body reacted. No big deal.
Except it was a big deal, a huge deal, because since Saturday night she’d been rehearsing how she might broach the subject she so desperately wanted to discuss with Nick. The anniversary of Jared’s death loomed over her like a thunderous black cloud, and she needed Nick to give her perspective, maybe even hope.
But now, the idea of opening up the tenderest corner of her heart to a man whose lust for her was so evident—well, it was just, just…
Impossible.
And he was coming by tomorrow.
Clara leaned her head against the tree’s rough bark and whispered, “Help me, Jared. There’s no one I can talk to but you.”
His answer came in a sharp bonk on the head. An immature pine cone, tight and hard, dropped beside her feet.
“What the…” From a branch ten feet above, a fat gray squirrel swished its bushy tail, laughter in its bright, beady eyes. As if lecturing her, it barked and chattered, then scampered up the trunk. A few seconds later, another pinecone came tumbling down, hitting her shoulder.
“Okay, okay.” She rubbed the spot and backed away, surprised by her own laughter. “Maybe a little stiffy isn’t such a big deal. Is that what you’re telling me?” She set off at a slower pace, heading back to the parking lot. “It was a pretty big stiffy, though.”
A crow swooped low overhead, cawing as it passed. “I got the message!” she called and shielded her head with crossed arms. “Don’t drop anything else on me.”
Now her jingly nerves had calmed, she noticed the loveliness of the summer sunlight through the trees, dappling the path as if someone had sprinkled golden confetti. A light breeze off the river cooled her flushed face, and the other runners greeted her with waves and smiles, as if she belonged among them, a member of their tribe. She’d have to come out here more often. Nick had told her he was only in town for a few weeks, so soon she’d be able to run in the park without danger. No more distressingly handsome Greek-African warrior gods in tight shorts.