Second Dive: A Second Chance Sports Romance (Kings Of The Water Book 3) Read online

  Cody: Checco’s getting out the parrot costume, but I’ll try to contain him. Sorry I wasn’t able to see you earlier, but he showed me the million pictures he took. You look beautiful.

  Goodness, I love my uncles. Since Dad’s diagnosis, they stepped up so amazingly to become two solid rocks in my life. I doubt I could have gotten through the last twelve months without them.

  After another deep inhale, I put my phone back in my purse, and pull back my shoulders as I walk toward the entrance of the restaurant.

  Ready or not, here I come.

  Four

  Noah

  Legs.

  Tanned, toned legs.

  They almost make up for my mysterious date being late.

  Almost.

  I need a moment before I deal with the rest of the woman. So I quell my curiosity and focus on the hostess instead.

  The same hostess who’s aiming a bright smile at me like she just won an award for a stellar performance. “Your date has arrived.” Her cheeks redden when our gazes collide. “The server will be right with you.”

  I tip my head down. “Thank you.”

  With her smile still in place, she turns and heads back to her hostess station. My gaze stays on her for an extra moment, a weird sense of dread pooling in my stomach over facing my date. I’m not even sure why. Because I felt an odd connection to this mysterious woman?

  At the same time, this is also the person who spent money on me so we could have this tonight. It’s still a strange feeling to go on a date that has been bought. Can it even be considered a real date under these circumstances?

  Or I’m overthinking all this shit, my sister is right, and I’m just extra grumpy lately.

  My date clears her voice. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

  Her voice.

  It’s so eerily familiar that it throws me back in time for a moment, hitting me like a punch to the chest.

  But it does the trick and snaps me out of my stupor, allowing my manners to kick in. I swiftly get up to pull out the chair for her, disappointed when I finally look at her and see a curtain of hair because she’s turned the other way to place her purse on the table.

  “It’s no problem.” I push in the chair under her, looking at the back of her dark hair. It has a hint of purple to it. Interesting. Was it already purple last week when I saw her at the ball? I definitely remember it was dark but don’t recall any vibrant color like this.

  My gaze wanders away from her hair to where I’m greeted with a stunning view of a toned back and a whole lot of exposed, smooth-looking skin.

  Spending most of my time at the pool means I see a lot of skin, and barely ever notice it anymore, least of all get excited over it.

  There’s definitely excitement going on at the moment though, but that could be because I haven’t seen any bedroom action in a while. And by a while, I mean in over a year.

  After a silent threat to my libido to not embarrass me in a restaurant full of people, I sit back in my chair and catch my first real view of the woman across from me.

  At this point, I’m feeling high on the anticipation of seeing her, like all this has been some weird form of foreplay between us.

  Time screeches to a complete halt. Like “after a major pileup accident” complete halt.

  Because what the fuck?

  My chest feels so tight, I have the urge to rub it so the intense pressure on my ribs eases.

  How is this . . . What is happening? No . . . This is . . . this is impossible.

  The woman smooths her long waves back, breaking the blazing eye contact between us and therefore, allowing me to fully take her in. And I take in every single fragment of her like a starving man.

  Her bronze skin, which is peppered with a slight array of freckles. Her full lips. Her beauty mark under her almond-shaped eyes that are still as unique as before, the inner green rings competing with the beautiful gray-blue irises. Her heterochromia that I always found fascinating. And her nose with its . . . nose ring?

  The jewelry throws me off so much that I look straight into her eyes again.

  Big mistake.

  She tilts her head to the side, her lips pulling up a fraction at the corners. “Hi, Noah.”

  The connection is intense. Too intense.

  There’s so much I want to say, so many things I’ve wanted to say for so long, but it’s like something’s squeezing my throat in a way that no word could ever make it past that constriction.

  This time, I break eye contact with her and lean back in my chair, rubbing my hands over my face like I’m trying to get rid of a layer of skin. Or maybe the memory of her. Fuck. Maybe I’m imagining this whole thing? I take a deep breath, and our waitress chooses that moment to stop by to take our drink order and leave us with the menus.

  The words all blur on the page, and I know neither one of us is paying attention to the listed food. I’m not the only one who keeps stealing glances at the other.

  By the time the waitress comes back with our drinks and we give her our order—I have no idea what either one of us ordered, I just pointed my finger somewhere—my body has almost fully rebooted.

  Shock and disbelief shift into something else that I’m not sure either one of us is ready for. Not to mention, it’s probably not the place for whatever strong emotions are torpedoing their way through my system anyway.

  “What are you doing here, Chloe?” My voice sounds strange to my own ears. Maybe that’s due to the fact that my throat is finally less constricted but instead feels like I just forced a serving of nails down.

  And saying her name out loud after so long makes my stomach clench.

  She swallows a couple times before she picks up her water and drains half of it. It’s impossible to miss her shaky hand that she puts back under the table the second the glass is safely on the tablecloth. “I wanted to talk.”

  Something inside me snaps, and heat rushes through my body like it’s trying to burn me up from the inside. I’d like to say I’m the bigger person here but I’m not. I shake my head and snort. “Now you want to talk?”

  She nods and bites her lip. Why does she have to bite her damn lip and draw my attention to it?

  “After ten fucking years?” I lean across the table as far as I can without pushing things over with my chest. The distance between us shrinks, and my next inhale is filled with her scent. It’s fresh and sweet, and so her. Which makes me even angrier. “Is this all a joke? Did you come to the masquerade ball so you could set all of this up?”

  “No, of course not. I had no idea you’d be there. I didn’t even know about the auction. I swear.”

  Now she’s the one leaning in, and I don’t know if she expects me to lean back at her approach or what, but I’m immobilized. I’m not sure I could move even if I wanted to.

  What kind of spell is she putting on me?

  This can’t be happening, not again.

  Never again.

  I need to move. I have to move for my own sake and put this whole charade to a stop.

  The look she gives me couldn’t be more opposite of me. It’s gentle and soft, maybe even pleading, contrary to me sporting the scowl of the year and grinding my teeth. My jaw is so tight, I’m afraid I might crack a tooth.

  She swallows. “This isn’t easy for me either, but can you please give me a chance?”

  I scoff at her comment, the spell finally broken by her words.

  Not easy for her. As if she wasn’t the one who ripped out my heart all those years ago, leaving behind a vastness that no one and nothing has ever been able to fill.

  I should get up and leave. Right now. Just push back the chair and walk out without looking back. Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy, as my nephews would say.

  But of course, things aren’t ever simple.

  They used to be easy between Chloe and me, but that’s long over. Just like us.

  I wish I could also say we’re a distant memory, but alas, I can’t.

  There’s this sick, clearly ve
ry delusional part of me, that wants to hear what she has to say.

  Since I’m apparently a masochist when it comes to her, I indulge that part, happily—and very irrationally—opening my arms wide to the pain. “Talk.”

  Her eyes widen, like she’s actually surprised by my willingness.

  Good. Maybe that’ll throw her off, and we can just cut this ridiculous meeting short.

  She nods and wrings her hands. “Okay, thank you.” Then she puffs her cheeks and blows out a breath.

  Damn it. Another familiar thing. She always did that when she was nervous.

  We’re interrupted by the waiter bringing our food and filling up our water, which doesn’t really matter. Most of this evening could be a mute movie, and no one would miss a thing.

  She picks up her fork, then puts it back down. “Back then . . . you know when I was moving away. Um . . . Do you remember I wasn’t feeling very well?”

  I raise my eyebrows because of course, I know. I was the idiot who called her about five million times, because I couldn’t reach her when I wanted to make sure she was okay.

  Her lips flatten and she tips her head once, probably knowing I’m not a willing participant in this conversation. “Well, I got worse when we went to visit my grandparents.”

  Fuck, I don’t want to know about this. This was my nightmare back then. Literally.

  Her tongue slips through her lips to wet them. “They have some good doctors down there, and you might remember that my grandma had just broken her hip too, so my parents decided it might be best to move there to help her and take care of everything.”

  I blink at her before looking away. Her gaze is too much. It holds meaning and history. It holds us. Too much us.

  Instead, I focus on my water glass, running my finger over the condensation that’s already left a wet spot on the pristine tablecloth.

  A strange laugh escapes her throat, and I look up again, unable to escape this pulsing link between us.

  “Well, anyway, I got worse after we left. But both my grandma and I are good now. And I’m . . . well, I’m here I guess.” The corner of her lip disappears in her mouth as she chews on it and stares at her hands.

  All the while, my brain has no clue what to do. Talk about too much input with just a few words. Yet not enough. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she’s actually here. Sitting right in front of me. More gorgeous than ever, pushing my fight-or-flight urge into total overload.

  “Anyway, I wanted to apologize for the way things went down. I should have talked to you and explained what was going on. I hate that I left you hanging like that with just a message, but I thought I was doing the right thing. I’m really terribly sorry.” She lifts her head a fraction, and her eyes zero in on me once again. They’re shiny, and I look away, focusing on the setting sun in the distance instead.

  Studying the orange and purple hues in the sky seems a lot safer than looking at Chloe.

  I’m . . . well, I’m here I guess. Her words repeat in my head.

  And that is part of the problem. Chloe is here now. I should be asking what was wrong with her. What was so wrong with her that she left without saying why? I should be communicating how angry and hurt I was that she left. But I’ve got nothing.

  There are no words.

  Because she left and never said goodbye.

  And took my heart with her.

  Five

  Chloe

  “And then he just left?” Francesco pats my hair as I’m hunched over, with my head on my forearms on the bar of the Parrot Lounge. After wiping it down with some disinfectant wipe, of course. The last thing I need is getting someone else’s nasties during my meltdown.

  Even Francesco’s stink-eye couldn’t keep me from doing it, or his reassurance that of course, his tiki bar was spotless.

  My motto: better safe than sorry.

  Always.

  “Yup, not that I can blame him.” My answer is muffled, just like my ego is bruised, and my brain is a bit wishy-washy at the moment, still not a hundred percent sure what’s going on. “I basically cornered him, making him feel like a freaked-out animal.”

  “More wild animal. Rawr.”

  His roar sounds more like a cute kitten than a wild animal, and I smile against my warm skin before I peek up at him just as he smiles at someone behind me.

  “Oh hey, babe.”

  I turn around at the approaching footsteps, my mood instantly lighter when I see my uncle’s face.

  “Hey.” He leans over the bar to give Francesco a kiss.

  They are so dang cute together.

  Francesco immediately fusses over him, his gaze roaming over his face, his hand fluttering along his cheek. “Stressful day at work?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Want me to make you your special drink?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Francesco smiles widely at him. “You got it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Always for you.” Then he nods into my direction. “You take care of this one while I make your drinks.”

  Cody plops down on the wicker barstool next to me and gives me a solemn look. “Your date didn’t go well, huh?”

  “You know it wasn’t a date.” I let out a long breath, trying to get rid of all these mixed emotions that have been pestering me ever since Noah left me at the restaurant. Who am I kidding? This roller-coaster ride of feelings has been an ever-present shadow since my mom’s announcement about moving back to Berkeley. “And no, it didn’t go well.”

  I really didn’t have any expectations when it came to the dinner. My mission was clear and simple: apologize to Noah. And that’s exactly what I did.

  So why do I feel like it didn’t go well? Why don’t I feel relieved like I thought I would? Wasn’t that the whole point of meeting up with him? To not carry around this crazy amount of guilt and regret that has been with me for so long, it’s become a part of me? A living, breathing fragment of myself that feeds off me, happily dancing along with a smile on its face while I succumb to its darkness a little more each day.

  I groan and plop my head back on my arms.

  Talk about being melodramatic.

  That’s what Noah Winters does to my heart. My poor, poor heart that didn’t know what to do when it saw that vision of a man. With his short, slightly wavy light brown hair, his five-o’clock shadow, and those eyes . . . the stunning blue gray I remember so much, the ones I dreamed of so often. There was an instant reconnection with a part inside of me that no one and nothing else has ever reached.

  I’m officially screwed. So, so screwed.

  My uncles’ voices are muffled as Francesco fills in Cody on what happened while I try to drown out the noise. And my thoughts. Not sure what’s louder right now, but it’s exhausting.

  Where’s that off-switch button when you need it?

  “Give him some time, Scribbles,” Cody says.

  It’s impossible to keep the corners of my mouth from tilting up at the use of his nickname for me. He gave it to me when I was little because I was always drawing, scribbling on whatever surface or material was available.

  Today, I choose my surfaces wisely, but I still don’t shy away from a napkin or other unusual material if nothing else is available and inspiration hits.

  I look at him, at his adoring smile and my mood lifts. Slightly. Maybe by one-ninetieth.

  Let’s yank that up a notch because Francesco has perfect timing, finishing up our colorful drinks while swinging his hips to the exotic music coming from the hidden speakers.

  “A zombie for you, babe.” He places one of the orange-red drinks in front of Cody, and the other one in front of me. “And a hurricane for you. Virgin, of course.”

  “Thanks,” Cody and I say in unison before taking a sip.

  The sugary taste hits my taste buds immediately, and I sigh in pure fruity appreciation when the passion fruit flavor hits my tongue. There’s nothing quite like it, and it will be worth having to drink about fiv
e green juices to counteract all these calories and sugar. Even though Francesco already makes me a healthier version.

  Cody bumps my knee with his. “I bet it’s a lot for him to process. You’re like a ghost from his past.”

  I stop mid-sip, trying hard not to choke on the juice concoction that’s halfway down my throat.

  “Yeah. You probably gave that poor guy the shock of the century.” Francesco leans against his side of the bar. “I mean, you had time to mentally prepare yourself for seeing him again, while he went in there like a blind man. Maybe he was expecting an old, lonely woman who was going to try and hump him. This date was bought after all.”

  I blink and turn to Cody.

  He shrugs and scratches his neck. “As much as it disturbs me to say this, he does have a point.”

  “Ugh.” This time, I take several sips. Maybe I can fall into a sugar coma for a little while and escape this madness.

  “Hey.” Cody’s voice is gentle, and he gives my shoulder a squeeze. “You knew this wouldn’t be easy, but it’s done now. You did what you wanted to do. Maybe things will be better when you see him next time.”

  “Next time?” My eyes widen when I look at him.

  “Berkeley isn’t a small town, but it’s not a metropolis either. You both live and work here, so it’s possible you’ll run into him again, right?”

  “Oooooh, this will be so juicy. I can already taste it.” Francesco’s voice is the opposite of Cody’s. He sounds like he’s already looked too deep into the cookie jar, ready to bounce off the walls from excitement like a five-year-old on a sugar high.

  “Checco, not helping.” Cody gives him a look that makes Francesco raise his hands in defeat.

  “Fine, fine. I’ll go make sure the stage is ready for tonight’s karaoke session. You two talk about whatever boring, non-juicy stuff without me.” He sighs and leaves.