Opening Hearts: Players of Marycliff University, #2.5

Opening Hearts

Players of Marycliff University, 2.5

Jerica MacMillan

Copyright © 2017 by Jerica MacMillan

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Hannah had been watching the blond surf instructor throughout the lesson. There weren’t many other people on the beach, so it was natural that their activity had drawn her attention. His tall form encased in black neoprene that molded to his clearly athletic body was droolworthy on its own. He’d led his little band of students right past where she and Elena played in the water, his blue eyes locking with hers, spray from the water catching in the scruffy stubble on his face. She’d been stunned into immobility by the electricity that ran through her when their gazes met, and she was unable to look away, even though she was embarrassed to have been caught checking him out.

She tried to ignore them the rest of the time, but was largely unsuccessful. Elena kept giving her shit about it. I think you might have some drool there, she said when they were lounging on their towels, wiping at her own chin.

Hannah narrowed her eyes at her best friend. Haha. Shut up. Elena cackled and went back to the book she’d brought with her to read. Hannah tried to focus on her book—she was rereading Harry Potter for the millionth time. It seemed like appropriate vacation reading. And while Harry, Ron, and Hermione could usually keep her attention, today they were usurped by the surf god carelessly straddling his surfboard, bobbing on the waves, watching his students take turns trying to surf. He made it look effortless when he caught a wave while his students watched. She wished she could be in his class. Maybe she could convince Elena to take a surf lesson with her. If they dragged Elena’s fifteen-year-old brother along, maybe they’d have enough for a group lesson.

What’s that face?

Hannah turned to face Elena, consciously relaxing the wrinkle in her nose. Nothing.

You looked like you smelled something bad. What are you thinking?

Hannah shrugged. It’s nothing, really. I was just thinking. On second thought, having Elena’s little brother along for a surf lesson didn’t sound like such a great idea after all. In fact, she didn’t even really want Elena along. Maybe the surf god gave private lessons. Should she ask him?

You should talk to him when he’s done.

Hannah whipped around to stare at Elena again. What?

Elena laughed again. "The surf instructor. You keep staring at him. Just talk to him. Give him your number or ask for his. For God’s sake, do something."

You really think I should?

Yes. Totally. What’s the worst that could happen?

He could laugh in my face.

Elena shrugged, her eyes going back to her book. So? It’s not like you’ll ever see him again. And if you do, it’ll only be around here. We’ll go home in a few weeks and then you’ll definitely never see him again. But the way he was looking at you when he walked past, I doubt he’ll laugh at you.

Hannah nodded, thinking about it some more. Yeah, she’d wait until his students left, and then she’d ask about surf lessons. That could work.

Decision made, she tried to go back to her book, but she kept reading the same page over and over again. Eventually she gave up and closed the book, setting it aside and watching the end of the surf lesson. Her heart rate kicked up when she realized they were all heading back toward shore. It must be over. Soon, she’d have to stand up and walk over to him. She hoped she didn’t stutter or sound like a complete idiot.

She kept her eyes on him the whole time, blushing when he walked back up the beach and caught her staring. But she couldn’t help it. Especially after his students left and he pulled down the top of his wetsuit, the sun pouring over his bare torso. He was mostly facing away from her, and his muscles rippled along his back as he bent to pull a water bottle out of a backpack, his head tipping back as he guzzled the water, his longish hair slicked back away from his face.

You better get over there before he leaves or something.

Elena’s voice startled her out of her examination of the newly revealed parts of his body. Right. Good point. She pulled her feet under her, kicking hot sand on the edge of their beach blanket. Her stomach twisted with nerves and her pulse sped higher as she approached him.

He faced away from her, and she cleared her throat, but he didn’t turn, the sound lost in the surf and wind before it reached him. Gathering up her courage, she pitched her voice to be heard clearly above the ambient noise. Do you ever teach private surf lessons?

The water bottle came down and he turned, his eyes wandering over her body before they met hers. Yeah, I take on private students.

The words in his deep voice sent a thrill through Hannah. She shifted her feet, trying to seem cool and unaffected. Oh, um. So, how do I sign up? Do you work for a surf shop or something? Or can I just give you my number? Oh God. Really? Did she just offer to give him her number? Obvious much?

A slow smile spread across his face. Sure. I’d love to get your number. You sure you just want surf lessons?

Heat spread down her chest, and she could see his eyes tracking the flush taking over her body that she couldn’t possibly blame on the sun. Well, uh, yeah. Surf lessons sound like fun. She flapped a hand at the water. You seem like a good teacher.

He shifted closer, his blue eyes twinkling. Oh, I am.

She tried to keep her eyes on his face, which wouldn’t normally be a challenge with his strong cheekbones, bright blue eyes, straight nose, wide mouth with full, slightly chapped lips that curved at the corners, and the dusting of scruff she noticed earlier like he hadn’t bothered shaving in a few days. Except that his ripped torso was on display in front of her, and good Lord, he didn’t look like he had a spare ounce of fat anywhere. He was tall and lean, his pecs and biceps bulging as he flexed his hands around his water bottle, his abs rippling when he bent to retrieve his phone from his backpack.

When he stood back up, her eyes traveled slowly back to his face, taking in the V at his hips, the golden happy trail that caught the sunlight, and his flat, brown nipples that tipped the bulges of his pecs. He winked at her when her eyes met his again, and she blushed even more. She must look about the same color as a lobster. And in only a bikini, the blush that covered almost her entire torso was on full display. Fan-freaking-tastic.

He raised an eyebrow, his smile growing wider at her body’s response, and held out his phone. Here, why don’t you put in your number. I’ll check my schedule at the surf shop, and we can coordinate a time for you to get lessons. My name’s Matt, by the way.

She took the phone, her fingers brushing his, and she had to stop herself from swaying toward him and making an even bigger fool of herself. But she smiled wide, unable to contain her giddiness at getting his name