Page 9 of Baby, It’s Hot Inside

By the time I park my truck in the Windsor Beach lot the beach is already dotted with people. I spot Ginger immediately. She’s hard to miss with her flaming red curls, even if they are currently piled on top of her head in a messy wad. Beyond that she still would catch my attention… because fuck me...

She’s wearing one of those retro bikinis I’ve seen on the old pinup girls. Navy blue with big white polka dots. My mouth waters as I scan her curves. The top ties around her neck and cradles her tits in the best way. The bottom is some kind of high-waisted tight skirt thing. I wipe my hand down my face to try and gain some control over myself because what I want to do is grab her, toss her over my shoulder and bring her home to spend the rest of the day worshiping her body. She looks hot as fuck.

Instead, I jog over to her. A good chunk of the town has come out for this event and there are a lot of kids here. I flip my cap around backwards. I don’t want anything blocking my view of her. When I reach her side I can’t not touch her so I wrap my hand around her bare bicep. Her skin is warm and impossibly soft. I lean down to her ear.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

She looks at me with a bewildered frown. “What?”

I let my eyes take in the sweet sight of her. “You look amazing in that.”

Her mouth opens in an ‘O’ but she doesn’t say anything. Then she smiles and looks away. Like she doesn’t get it. How is it even possible that she doesn’t know how hot she is? Has no man ever told her? Did that fuckhead from college never tell her she’s beautiful and sexy? Idiot.

I didn’t come back to Texas looking for a relationship. Yeah, I wanted to rekindle my friendship with Ginger, I’d missed her all these years. But right now, I want her so much that I can’t imagine NOT wanting her. I don’t know what that means for our future, but I’m ready to explore it.

“You ready to do this?” I ask her.

“Yeah. I got several of the groups started already.” She motions to the people who are already busy packing their sand with water to shape it into a snowman-looking thing.

“Miss Starr, Miss Starr, look!” a little voice behind us calls.

Ginger’s face transforms into a brilliant smile when she turns around and trots over to the kiddo calling her. I try not to notice Ginger’s ass as she moves away from me. But I fail miserably because while her bikini bottoms are a skirt from the front, it’s clearly a fake skirt. In the back they’re tight shorts that cup her rounded ass in the most wicked way. I’m pretty sure my mouth is open. I might be drooling.

Get a grip, man. She’s just a woman.

But even as I think that thought, I know it’s just not true. Ginger is different in all the best ways. And I know I’m in trouble because I’m pretty sure she’s about to change my life. As if moving back to my small Texas beach town to open an art gallery with the rest of my grandfather’s money isn’t life altering enough.

I watch her with the group of kids who called her over, and she gets down on her knees in the sand to meet them at eye level. And they talk and laugh and she points on their sandman, offering what I’m assuming are suggestions. The kids have gathered some seaweed, and they’re trying to affix it to the head.

“It’s like you!” one of them says, pointing at the swirling seaweed.

Yeah, I guess it does kinda look like her curls, only it’s green and slimy. But it’s a sweet effort. I glance around the beach and see so many of the people from town. Working together, playing together. There’s a lot about Europe that is amazing, but nothing is quite like home. I had some qualms about coming back, felt like I’d made the decision so I could be close to my parents. It doesn’t feel like that now though. It feels like I’ve made the choice for me.

She finishes with the kids and walks back to me. “Did you want to try and make one?”

My heart stops and I’m pretty sure I’m gaping at her. I look back over at the kids. Then it dawns on me that she’s not asking if I want to make a child with her, she’s asking about building a sandman. I chuckle, but don’t clue her in on my wayward thoughts.

“Nah, I really am just enjoying watching everyone else.” I rub at the back of my neck. “I don’t think I ever truly appreciated our town and the charm of our beach and all of this.” I open my arms wide then spin to face the ocean. The Gulf of Mexico is ugly compared to lots of other big bodies of water. It’s kinda greenish-brown because of the constant churning and the oil rigs, but it’s still pretty. The sand is white and full of shells.

“I love it here. Can’t imagine living anywhere else,” she says.

I reach down and grab her hand, twining our fingers together. “Will you come over tonight? I can make us dinner.”

She turns to face me with a grin. “You cook?”

“I learned a few tricks while I was away. If that doesn’t work out, we can always order pizza.”

She bites down on her lip, and I swear I could get lost in the chocolaty depths of her eyes. “Okay.”

I squeeze her hand. “It’s cute that they’re making that one look like you.” I nod to the group of kids.

“Former students. They’re sweet kids.”

“You’re good with them.”

She shrugs. “It’s my job.”

“Nah, it’s more than that.”