May (Calendar Girl #5) Read Online Free PDF Page B

I pulled on a white bikini, grabbed a towel, and made for the ocean. It had been far too long since I’d been on a beach. The last time was when I was with Wes.
    Wes. I wasn’t going to go there. When I got to the airport in Vegas, there was a picture of Gina DeLuca on the cover of a tabloid with the heading “New Love Interest for Gina” and the image below showed a picture of the beautiful actress having lunch with none other than my Wes. Well, not my Wes, but I had him first so by ownership rights, that would make him mine right? Then again, she had him now and possession was nine-tenths of the law. What the hell was I thinking? I didn’t own Wes any more than he owned me. He might have a piece of my heart maybe, but not the whole enchilada. We’d made that very clear, even though there are still some feelings brewing; we both agreed to leave that in the background while we lived our lives. And that was what I intended to do.
    Live my life.
    Dropping my towel on the sand about thirty feet from the ocean’s edges, I looked out over the aquamarine water. It was so clear you could see straight through to the stand at the bottom for at least a hundred or so feet before the water got deeper. There was one lone surfer wearing a pair of black board shorts catching some serious waves out in the distance. He definitely had mad skillz. I watched for a while, mesmerized by the movements. The man caught a few ankle busters and then made a 360, slamming his large body back onto the board and paddling back out. Within moments, he was up on his board and hitting a magical A-frame wave, rushing through it like a pro.
    Before long, the surfer headed my way on a snapper wave. It seemed like it happened in slow motion. The black swirls from shoulder to ankle caught my eye first. Then my eyes roamed up the wet, slick surface of the widest chest I’d ever had the pleasure of seeing. Tony, back in Chicago, was the largest by far and definitely no slouch. Still, even he had nothing on this giant. A man like Tai Niko made a woman like me, five foot eight and a curvy size eight body—bordering on a ten when you factor in the giant tits and junk in the trunk—feel miniscule in comparison. I loved feeling small.
    His board hit the beach, and he popped off perfectly, hitting the sand as if he did it every day before leaning over and yanking up his board. He carried it under one bulging bicep like it weighed nothing.
    “Hey, haole ,” he said and I narrowed my eyes. Mental note…look up the word haole on Wikipedia .
    “Didn’t realize that was you out there. You’re good,” I nodded my chin at the ocean trying to find any reason not to stare and drool over his magnificent frame.
    His sculpted jaw ticked as he smirked. “I should be. I teach surfing on the days I’m not modeling or working the shows with my family.”
    “You teach?”
    “Why? You want a lesson?” His tone was alluring and seductive.
    That was most definitely my cue to flirt back. “You gonna teach me how to ride?” I arched a brow into a fine point.
    His mouth pushed into that delectable purse as his eyes seemed to walk all over my bikini-clad curves. “I’ll teach you how to ride all day and all night, girlie.” When he said the word girlie, it didn’t sound the way a woman said it to her best friend. No, from him it sounded more like a growl, where he enunciated the “grrr” sound giving it a “grrrllleee” vibe. One that pinpointed lusty spikes straight through me to the point that my toes curled instinctively, and my hoo-hah clenched delightfully.
    “Is that right? We still talking about surfing?” I called his bluff.
    I meant it to sound playful. Though I imagine playing with him in other ways would be a lot more fun. Me and my vagina were definitely on board for that ride.
    “What do you think?” His dark eyes turned pitch black. Lust swirled in those inky depths, and my feminine side jumped for joy and did the chicken dance.
    ‘Go big or go