Spring Tide (Coastal University Book 1)

“Luca,” I whisper-shout, fingers wrapped gently around the upper half of his bicep. I give him one solid shake, then two, careful not to jostle him too much. “Luca, wake up.”

His eyelids flicker, soft lashes fanned across his sun-kissed cheeks. His nose crinkles, a tiny twitch to the left and right before I whisper his name for the third time.

A heavy, displeased groan slips from his lips.

“Hey, sleepyhead. You told me to wake you up,” I murmur, using both hands to shove at his large frame. “Wakey-wakey!”

He swats at me with a heavy hand. I swat him right back. The cycle continues until he releases an unhappy grunt, grasps my wrist, and twists to his side. I topple onto his chest with a heavy “Oomph.” My arms are trapped between us, breasts crushed awkwardly against the side of his torso.

His eyes snap open with the force of my landing. I glance up, wincing as I take in his shell-shocked expression.

“Shit,” he mutters in a sleep-torn voice, wide-eyed as I scramble away.

“Sorry!”

“What the fuck just happened?” he rasps, scrubbing a hand over his flushed face. An awkward, forced cough fills the room. He shifts onto his back, pushing up to rest against the wrought-iron frame of my bed.

I smooth two hands over my wrinkled shirt. “You, uh, you fell asleep again.”

“I see that.”

“You were only out for a few minutes, I swear.” I nibble at the inside of my cheek, uncomfortably aware of his irritation. “I woke you up right after I noticed.”

“Right.” He shakes his head, rubbing at his temples for a few long moments. “Is, uh . . . are we done already?”

“No, no. It’s just after seven thirty.” I tap my imaginary watch. “We have some time, but the next part is active stretching. You need to be awake for that.”

“Right, sure. Let me just . . .” He trails off, gaze drifting from an unknown spot on my bed to the door behind me. “I’m gonna use the restroom for a minute.”

“Sure, go right ahead. It’s just across the hall, but, um, there might be some bras hung up on the towel rack. Stella likes to air-dry them.”

“Of course she does,” he grumbles.

His long legs swing over the edge of the bed, sock-clad feet hitting the floor with a heavy thud. A shocked wince twists his features. It’s so easy for him to forget, to throw around his weight like this injury doesn’t control him, as if it doesn’t rule every facet of his life.

By the time he’s back from the bathroom, I’ve already remade my bed. I’m still working on fluffing the pillows in perfect order. Of course, the tiniest yellow puff sits right on top.

When I finally glance up, Luca’s standing awkwardly in the doorway. His expression is carefully neutral, but the tips of his ears have gone red again. Yeah, he definitely got an eyeful of lacy cups and tiny, delicate straps.

“All good?” I ask, an amused smile curving my lips.

“All good,” he says gruffly.

I barely suppress a giggle. “Okay, we’ll start out your exercises in a gravity-eliminated position.”

“Meaning?”

“Hop back on my bed, sunshine.” I pat my mattress, smiling as he cocks one dark brow.

“Did you just call me sunshine?”

“It just popped out.” I slip a strand of beachy hair between my fingers, absentmindedly picking at the split ends. “It’s kinda funny, ’cause you’re always so . . .”

“Cold?”

My eyes widen at his harsh tone. “I was gonna say testy.”

“Testy?”

“Mhmm,” I drag out my confirmation. “You have a little bit of an attitude, you know. Actually, you remind me of this cat I used to have growing up. His actual name was Finch, but I called him Mr. Tickles. He died when I was nine, though.” My palm splays over my heart, gaze drifting to the ceiling. “Rest in peace, Mr. Tickles.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I remind you of your dead cat?”

“Mhm. He was always swatting at everyone. But at the end of the day, he loved to snuggle in bed with me.” I reel back when I catch his bemused expression. “Not that you . . . I mean, not that you want to snuggle with me, in particular. But you do seem to like my bed.”

“It’s comfortable,” he agrees, one shoulder lifting in a shrug.

“I think it’s all the pillows.”

The corner of his lip twitches. “Probably.”

“Okay, well, anyway . . . you can just lie down on your right side and face me.” I pat my mattress again, gesturing to the foot of my bed. “That way, you won’t be fighting the resistance of gravity.”

He plops down, grimacing as he shifts both legs into place. “Like this?”

“Mhm, just a little bit closer.” I motion with both hands as he shimmies and shifts toward the edge. “Yep, that’s perfect.”

“Great.”

“So, I’ll just move your limb passively to show you the action.” My palm makes contact with his outer thigh, pushing against his IT band. “Then you can repeat it on your own, okay? Five sets of ten.”

“Sure.”

I slowly slide the surface of my palm down the side of his leg. My fingertips gently glide across the bridge of his knee, resting directly below his patella.

“I’m going to move you now,” I warn.

A tiny groan escapes him at first range, shallow breaths puffing from his lips with every twitch of his joint. It doesn’t take long for him to adjust to the feeling, though, and pretty soon, he’s got the rhythm down himself.

I step back, carefully monitoring his expression, breathing cycles, range of motion, and patterns of movement. “So, how’s practice going with your knee?”

“Just fine,” he mutters.

“Yeah? No one’s caught on to your injury yet?”

“Actually, uh, Coach asked me about it today,” he admits through gritted teeth. “I was leaning, favoring my right side at the end of practice.”

“Aw, shit.” I plant both hands on my hips. “What did I say about overcompensating?”

His shoulders visibly tense. “Uh, that I . . . that I need to relieve some stress to avoid doing it?”

“Exactly.”

His left leg kicks out again, just a tad too forcefully this time. “Yeah, well, I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

“I can set you up with someone,” I offer. “If you want.”

“For Christ’s sake, Harper. Is sex all you think about?”

“I wasn’t talking about sex this time! I just meant . . . a date might help you relieve some stress. A dinner out with a nice girl or guy or whoever you want.”

He finishes his last set of reps in silence; every breath is shallow, steady, and carefully measured. As he shifts back into a seated position, he finally says, “No.”

“You don’t want to date?”

He levels me with his stony gaze. “I’m dating you, aren’t I?”

“Very funny.”Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

“I don’t have time, Harper. That would just add stress, not relieve it.” He leans back on his palms, eyes pinched shut for a brief moment. “Besides, this is complicated enough between us.”

“Oh,” I mutter, dejected. “I’m sorry if my lie added more stress for you.”

“No, Harper, that’s not . . . I don’t mean to blame you for anything.” He shifts awkwardly on the edge of my bed. “I’m the one who dragged you into this twisted bullshit with my knee. I just meant that I’m focused on healing right now. That’s it.”

“Got it.” I nod my head emphatically. “That’s probably a good idea anyway. And look, we’re pretty much done for the night.”

“Oh? Okay, great.” He pushes off the bed, his tall frame towering over me as he stands. “I’ll, uh, I need to get going, then.”

I offer a tiny smile as he shuffles around me, beelining for the exit. I take a step to my right, he takes a step to his left, and then we’re both awkwardly bumping and brushing against one another as we leave my room. In the end, I quietly trail behind him down the hallway.

Once we’ve passed by the living room, he turns on his heel, eyes meeting mine. We’re standing in the empty foyer now. His hands are in his pockets; mine are tangled in the ends of my hair.

“Thanks for all your help.” His gaze flits around my face for a moment, settling on that singular freckle above my nose. “I honestly think I’m making progress.”

“Of course, a deal’s a deal.”

He frowns, wrinkles his nose. “Just because we made a deal doesn’t mean I can’t be thankful for you.”

“In that case, you’re welcome.” An unexpected smile cracks my lips. “We can probably just stick to one session a week from now on. Does Tuesday still work for you?”

“I’ll request time off from the pier.”

“Perfect.”

His lips part, close, and then part again. Something unspoken sits on the tip of his tongue, but all that comes out is “See you next week.”

“See you then.”

It’s my second week of interning, and I’m practically in love. Working for a professional sports team, or hell, even a collegiate sports team, is my lifelong dream. All I’ve done so far is review training schedules with Minh, discuss common baseball injuries, and develop imaginary treatment plans.

But I don’t really care. I’m having fun learning from the team. Not to mention, spending more time with Nate is an obvious plus. I swear I caught him checking me out on more than one occasion—once when I bent over at the water fountain and then again when we made eye contact by the lockers.

It’s the sole reason I wore this tight black athletic outfit today. I slipped my jacket’s zipper down a little extra, exposing just enough sports bra cleavage to still be considered appropriate.

I mean, come on. This is the athletic training department, not an office setting.

“How’s my favorite intern?” Nate’s voice is smooth like honey as he sidles up next to me. It’s the third time I’ve caught his attention this afternoon, so I’m planning on taking full advantage of it.

“Actually, I’m pretty excited.” I clasp my hands together, an unfiltered smile spreading across my cheeks. “Minh’s letting me develop next week’s conditioning program.”

He scratches the back of his neck, the muscles in his arms bunching and contracting with every tiny movement. “Are you gonna make us bust our asses in the weight room?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“Anything I could do to change your mind?” His lips turn up in a smirk. “You know, I’m not opposed to begging.”

“Oh?” I size him up, gaze drifting from the top of his forehead down to the soles of his shoes. “I think I’d like to see that. The Nathan Gunderson, begging on his knees.”

“For you? That could be arranged.”

Shocked laughter slips out. “You’re so full of it.”

“Yeah, that may be true.” He folds his thick arms over his chest. “But I still think you should come out with me this weekend.”

“What?” I blink, a warm mixture of giddiness and confusion bubbling in my stomach.

“Yeah, a few of us are going out to the bars on Saturday night.” His fingertips graze the crux of my arm. “I want you to be there.”

For some reason, a million thoughts race inside my head. Imaginary plans are taking root, settling in the once-vacant spot on my calendar.

“Oh, um, yeah. I could probably make that work.”

“Probably?” His brow raises in amusement. “I’m looking for a yes, Harps.”

Holy shit. The boy I’ve been crushing on for months now is kind of, sort of, asking me out. And I’m . . . trying to invent a reason to say no. Fuck that.

“Could I bring some friends along?”

His smirk melts into a full-out grin. “The more, the merrier.”

“Then count me in.” My gaze darts around the room. I quickly spot Minh in the back corner, fully engrossed in a conversation with their head coach. “You can just text me the details.”

He plucks the phone from my outstretched hand. “I will.”

When he passes it back, his warm palm grazes mine. Those long, calloused fingers gently tap against the back of my hand. With one last caress along the side of my index finger, he slides his arm back to his side as a tiny shiver dots up my spine.

There’s officially no doubt about it; this man knows exactly how to use his hands.