One Night With A Seal: All Out. Tawny WeberЧитать онлайн книгу.
continuing, “But sooner or later, you realize that the only person you have to prove anything to is yourself. Once you’re comfortable with that, you can pick and choose the dares you care about. Makes life easier.”
Zane nodded. He got that, he really did. But...
“‘The only easy day was yesterday,’” he quoted the oft-used SEAL phrase.
“There you go.” Lansky gave a rueful laugh. “I suppose that’s why going home is so good that you say it three times? Because you’re worried you’ll lose your edge?”
“Please, my edge is permanent,” Zane said dismissively. “It was carefully and strategically honed in the deceptively picturesque town of Little Creek, Colorado. A place where everybody knows everybody else and minding the neighbors’ business is a way of life.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Sounds boring as hell,” Zane acknowledged. “Which is why we started issuing challenges. Dares, if you will. For the craziest crap. Who could jump farthest off the high school gym roof? Who could eat the most little green apples before competing in the track meet? Who looked best in a dress and heels?”
“Beg pardon?” Lansky interrupted, with a raised eyebrow.
“Halloween, junior year of high school,” Zane explained before continuing his recital of various dares and challenges. “And every trip home, it continues.”
“Is that the cause for all those goods? You want to avoid the dares-slash-challenges?” Lansky gave him a pitying head shake. “Way to represent the team, Bennett.”
“Once you’ve rappelled out of a helicopter into the Atlantic during a storm while a gang of Somali pirates are shooting at you, being challenged to chug-a-lug a dozen Big Gulp slushies just isn’t the same.”
Although the brain-freeze threat was a hazard that couldn’t be dismissed.
“So don’t play.”
“Yeah, right.” Zane laughed. “Like you said, we’re hardwired to compete. I can’t walk away from a challenge. Ever.”
“You might want to work on that.”
“Might.”
But probably not on this trip. This trip would come with plenty of challenges. He was heading back for a high school reunion and the gang would be all there. But after ten years, most of the guys he’d gone to school with were settled down. Living the nine-to-five life with wives and, in some cases, kids even.
Talk about challenges. How the hell did they do that? It was the complete opposite of his motto: No Ties, No Lies.
“You ever worry that we live so far over the edge that we aren’t suited to, you know, regular life?”
“You said it yourself. We’re not meant for regular life, Bennett. But like picking and choosing our challenges, we have to learn to decompress from time to time or we’ll burn out.” Lansky’s voice tightened, his eyes locked on the churning waves as if searching for some answer only the ocean could offer. “You know as well as I do that the body needs time between workouts for the muscle fibers to mend. If you want to stay sharp and last the duration, you take advantage of those valleys between each peak.”
“Peaks and valleys, huh?”
“Yep.” With that and another slap to the back, Lansky got to his feet. “You can always try my tried-and-true method of resting.”
“Chasing women?”
“Works every time,” Lansky shot back with a laugh before sauntering across the sand to join the other men.
Zane stayed where he was. After all, he wasn’t on duty. He was heading for that valley called home.
He’d just have to find something interesting to keep his senses alert, his skills challenged and his body honed.
Maybe Lansky had it right.
Maybe he’d have to find himself a woman.
“WOW. NOW, THAT’S a penis.”
Humming as she gave said penis a careful inspection, Vivian Harris finally straightened and offered a satisfied smile.
“It does look good, doesn’t it?” Noting it was a smidge uneven, she sprinkled a hint more glitter on the right side to bring out the curve. “I think it might be my best work yet.”
“Absolutely, amazingly edible,” Minna Karter said, her brown eyes as round as her glasses. When she wet her lips, looking as if she wanted to kneel down and give it a good lick, Vivian quickly grabbed a hot pink lid and fitted it in place.
“Your favorite triple-chocolate fudge cake layered with Bavarian cream and covered in modeling chocolate.” Vivian put a snappy black bow on the box, adding the darling bakery sticker she’d printed on her inkjet claiming the confection was made with love at The Sweet Spot. “Guaranteed to keep your bridal shower guests happy.”
“They’re going to love it, Viv. I am blown away at how great this looks. I’ll bet nobody’s ever seen one this gorgeous.”
“A cake, or a penis?”
“Tough choice,” Minna said, laughing, “but I meant the cake. You’re really rocking this new sideline of yours. I mean, I’d have ordered a cake from Little Creek Bakery no matter what, since it’s your family’s. But...”
“But they only make regular, boring, round—or if they’re really wild, square—cakes here,” Vivian agreed with a nod. “I’ve been asking them for years to branch out, to widen the offerings, but noooo.”
She rolled her eyes at her family’s narrow-minded refusal.
“Which would be why I’m picking this up after-hours when nobody else is around?”
“It wouldn’t have been a big deal.” At Minna’s pointed stare, Vivian admitted, “My parents are out of town for the week so I’m in charge of the bakery. I was able to bake and decorate it here instead of at home.”
“You’d think they’d be a little more open to expanding their offerings.”
“Not everyone likes the idea of their only daughter molding phallic symbols out of cake.”
“You do more than that,” Minna objected. “You made that pair of songbirds for Lana’s birthday, you did the mermaid for Josie’s daughter, and you even did that Harley for your brother’s birthday. Never mind all the other cakes and confections you’re selling off your website.”
Minna shook a chastising finger before Vivian could shrug that off—and since by her calculations, she wasn’t yet earning half what she’d need to support herself, it really was shrugworthy.
“You’re living the dream, remember,” Minna reminded her in fervent tones.
Vivian had discovered a series of books called Living the Dream! written by Lola Bean. They focused on arranging wishes, hopes and goals into definable dreams and had inspired her like crazy. She’d read all of the books, then worked through the quizzes, study guides and questionnaires, narrowing down random ideas and what ifs into actual life goals built on a dream that touched her heart.
Vivian considered herself an artist. One who honored sexuality and the human form. But she couldn’t draw or paint, and try as she might, she couldn’t write a decent story. So, through Lola’s first course, “Finding the Dream that Makes You Sing,” she’d combined her two talents, sensual art and baking, and created The Sweet Spot.
As Lola so often said, with the power of that much emotion behind her dreams, how could she fail to build her dream life? And she was right. It’d given Vivian focus for the first time in twenty-four years. A sense of