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next two to three days. Good news is that the swell will increase slightly, making a good weekend for all you surfers out there.”
    I shrugged. Sooo… we may get creamed by a storm, but before Mother Nature hurls a tree through your window, by God, there will be surfing! The weather forecaster sent a toothpaste-ad smile to all of us at home, and I almost covered my eyes from the glare. Someone needed to ease up on the Crest Whitestrips.
    “We have two consultations and an appointment with Randolph Kelly this morning,” Drew informed me.
    God. Randolph Kelly was an irate husband, a sixty-something-year-old who’d acquired a twentysomething girlfriend and us to monitor her, apparently. The grizzled bastard had hired us no less than six times, and this time was no different from any of the last. It was a good news/bad news situation—she wasn’t cheating, but he owed me one hell of a bill for sitting next to her curb for two weeks.
    “So what’s your excuse for skipping out?”
    “My leg is still hurting from yesterday, you know. It was a long walk.”
    “And you’re still not feeling well?”
    I shrugged even though he couldn’t see me, not feeling the least bit guilty. Damn, but the report of the water conditions had me wanting to rearrange my whole morning. I blew a ring of smoke over my head, sad that the cigarette was damned close to my fingers. It was always gone too fast.
    “Are you forgetting I went off with a murderer? I was almost killed, after all.”
    “That can be rectified.” At my continued silence, he stressed, “This is important. By the way, did you seal the deal?”
    “Yeah,” I said, jamming the phone between my ear and my shoulder. “He hired us.”
    “That wasn’t exactly what I was talking about.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
    “Oh, for God’s sakes, Drew.” I didn’t need to see my face to know it was flushed. “It wasn’t like that.”
    “Is our resident queen losing his pristine charms?”
    “Shut it, bitch.” I’d show him pristine. Sure, I was in a bit of a rut, but I enjoyed sex no more or less than the next person. Trevor and I had had a very active sex life. It was the only thing that bastard hadn’t been deficient in. “Don’t be jealous because I have standards.”
    “And Mr. Perfect didn’t meet those standards?” Drew suddenly sounded quite sympathetic. “Is this because of Trevor?”
    Hell, Jordan met standards I didn’t know existed. My skin suddenly felt shivery, remembering my interrupted dream and his calloused, sure hands on my malleable flesh. I could still see his expressive eyes behind those glasses, focused on me, only me, and it made me want to do crazy things to his person. God, to steal the words right out of Akon’s mouth, he was a sexy bitch. He addled my senses and made me want to say “Trevor who?”
    “Water temperature is in the midsixties,” Whitestrips continued. “Should be a glorious, sunshiny day for all you beach lovers.”
    “All right, all right, you twisted my arm,” I murmured. I clicked off the TV and tossed the remote on the bedspread. “Reschedule one last time,” I told Drew above his protests. “I’ll be available tomorrow. I promise.”
    “Mac, you boy-bitch, I know you’re going to the beach—”
    I hit the End button on my phone, and it followed the remote. I mean, this isn’t Hawaii—they get waves like this all the time. Hell, it’s not even Daytona Beach. Not using a good surf day like this would be darn near un-Floridian.
    It wasn’t long before I was attaching the soft rack for my board on my old pickup. The door creaked as I opened it, and I slid onto the cracked vinyl seat. As the truck stuttered to life, I remembered my mechanic’s last unsolicited advice, dire as usual, as he’d swiped my Visa card—“Those struts are about ready to be replaced.”
    I had just dropped a little over a grand for a new starter, a water pump, four tires, and numerous other repairs on my dilapidated