Tyler Rigby pushed his foot against the ground, giving his hammock another gentle sway. The afternoon hours were some of the longest, and while he should’ve been used to them after six years, he still wasn’t.
It was moments like this that he thought maybe he should get a job. The idea only stayed for a breath, a fleeting moment. But it had been plaguing him for a few months now.
“Maybe after Christmas,” he said to the golden retriever. “Yeah, Lazy Bones?” He pushed the hammock again. “Maybe after Christmas.” Which was still a couple of months away too.
Not that Tyler kept track of time anymore. He had no reason to, other than he liked eating eggs for breakfast and going somewhere for dinner. And no one had their dinner menu on at three o’clock in the afternoon.
The waves of the bay lapped at the shore a hundred yards away, and Tyler focused on them as his phone buzzed against his bare chest.
His brother, Wayne, who still lived in New York City, still ran the multi-billion-dollar online poker company they’d founded together almost a decade ago, still kept in touch on the daily.
Tyler had trained his brother not to talk to him about poker, the company, or anything business related. He had financial advisors for that, and speaking with them on a quarterly basis was horrific enough.
Wayne’s message was a picture of him and his two kids, and it said, It’s Darius’s birthday underneath it.
Tyler snapped to attention. One thing about having a huge fortune at his disposal and countless hours on his hands was that he sometimes forgot what day it was. Darius was one of only two nephews, and the boy would only turn six once.
So Tyler called the toy store in New York City, and got someone to deliver a set of the toy cars his nephew liked so much. That done, he decided he could head inside his modest home and get ready for dinner.
After all, he hadn’t showered yet, believing the best hours for showering were between three and five p.m. As he stepped out of the bathtub in his one bedroom house on the beach, something clunked and then a soft scrape followed.
The mail. He looked forward to the mail every day, as it simply gave him something to look forward to. He’d thought more and more often lately that if he had a girlfriend, he’d have something else—something fun—to anticipate.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and went to collect that day’s excitement. He thumbed through the envelopes, finally pulling a cream-colored one out of the stack. It had elegant script on the front, reading Mister Tyler Rigby and ending with his beachside address on Getaway Bay.
He opened the letter, wondering what it could be. Probably another invitation to some fundraiser. Though he wanted to maintain a low profile on the big island of Hawaii, everyone seemed to know he was loaded.
He pulled out an equally eggshell-colored piece of paper, already dreading what it said on it. His attention perked up when he realized it was an invitation to the gala celebrating the completion of the new children’s wing of the Bay Hospital. Since he’d made a sizeable donation—really, without him, the wing wouldn’t have been possible—he and a guest were invited to the fancy-pants dinner next weekend.
Something else to look forward to. As soon as he thought it, he tossed the pages to the kitchen counter. He’d be expected to take someone. The last ritzy dinner party he’d attended alone, he’d gotten quite the tongue-lashing from the media.
Problem was, he didn’t have a significant other. He hadn’t done it to hurt anyone, show anyone up, or boast about his wealth, as the article had claimed.
Lazy Bones whined, and Tyler went to work filling the dog’s water bowl and dishing up more dog food. With the retriever lapping at the water, Tyler snatched his phone from the counter. Within seconds, he had Marshall Robison on the line.
“Dude, I need a date to a charity event,” he said.
“I’m not really your type,” Marshall said.
Tyler could practically see him bent over a stack of paperwork at his desk. Marshall owned the largest pineapple plantation on the island, and they were both members of the Hawaii Nine-0 club, an informal organization for the men and women who had nine zeroes in their bank accounts.
“Very funny,” Tyler said. “I’m just wondering…you used to have a lot of different women go to events with you. Where…well, where did you find them?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Marshall said. “You just ask someone you already know. Tell them explicitly that you’re not looking for a relationship. It’s not a date. You’ll buy them a fancy dress, and they’ll hang on your arm, and get a free meal, and pose for the pictures. Most women like that.”
Tyler couldn’t think of a single person he knew who even wanted a fancy dress. Or knew how to pose.
“Want me to set you up with someone?” Marshall asked.
That idea was even more horrifying than going alone. He’d be spending hours with this woman, and he’d like to be able to enjoy the money he spent, maybe have a decent conversation. Okay, so maybe he should just be looking for someone to ask. If they wanted to think it was a date, well, would that be so bad?
Only one person came to mind, and he wasn’t sure if she’d even remember him. He hadn’t spoken to her in months, and he was surprised the beach yoga instructor hadn’t called the police on him for stalking with a dog. Could he help it if Lazy Bones liked her stretch of the beach the best? Could he help it if he liked watching her hold difficult yoga poses with ease?
No, he couldn’t help either of those things.
“Ty?” Marshall asked.
No matter how many times Tyler had told Marshall not to call him that, he still did. The man had a fixation on nicknames.
“I’m good,” Tyler said. “Thanks, Marsh.” He hung up, a low chuckle in the back of his throat. When he came out of the bedroom after getting dressed, Lazy Bones stood by the back door, a Frisbee hanging loosely in his mouth.
“You want to go throw?” Tyler took the toy from his dog and headed back out to the beach. If there was one thing he loved doing to occupy all his free time, it was working with, training, and playing with Lazy Bones.
His feet drank up the warmth in the sand, though it wasn’t as hot in October as it was over the summer. As he completed the easy motions of throwing the Frisbee and treating Bones, his mind ran through possible ways to approach the beautiful yoga instructor and not make a fool of himself.
An hour later, he still didn’t have any good ideas, but it was close enough to dinnertime to wander down the beach and find something to eat. He rounded the curve in the bay and drank in the sight of Getaway Bay before him.
At the pinnacle of the bay sat Sweet Breeze, the new luxury hotel that had just celebrated its one-year anniversary. Fisher DuPont owned and operated the hotel, and he was also a member of the Hawaii Nine-0 club.
Several stands and huts dotted the bay, and he could get tacos, fruity drinks or sodas, fish sandwiches, anything with spam on it, popcorn, and the best grilled pineapple on the island right here. Tyler loved eating on the beach, and while he sometimes wondered what he was doing with his life, he loved living the way he did.
After so many years in the spotlight, with the designer suits, and the fancy haircuts, and never being able to leave the house without a security detail, he’d come to Hawaii—to Getaway Bay—to well, get away.
He didn’t own more than one suit now, and most days he didn’t even put on a shirt.
His eyes wandered down the beach, to the dozens of vacationers in Sweet Breeze’s private beach—and his gaze stalled.
The cute yoga instructor with brown hair streaked with blonde.
He’d met her over the summer, and yeah, he’d thought her fit and fun and probably fabulous. He wasn’t really sure, as he’d never worked up the courage to talk to her past saying, “Sorry about that,” when Bones had knocked his Frisbee into the woman’s beach yoga class. He’d never even gotten her name.
Perhaps it was time to do exactly that.
With new purpose in his stride, he stopped at the seafood stand first and Two Coconuts, the drink hut, second. Properly fed and hydrated, he approached the yoga class, which was just getting out. He’d seen the woman plenty of times, and he’d seen the cup from Two Coconuts by her mat as well. He carried a second one with him, having done a bit of espionage at the drink stand.
He stopped several feet away and watched as she toweled herself off. She had well-defined muscles in her arms and legs, a trim waist, and all the right curves in all the right places.
She caught his eye and froze. Tyler lifted the cup in what he hoped was a universal gesture of I got this for you so you’ll go to a fancy event with me next weekend, and hey, I’ll buy you a dress if you don’t have one.
She actually glanced over her shoulder, as if she expected someone else to be standing there. Someone else he wanted to talk to. A pin of guilt pricked his heart. His many hours at the poker table had taught him to read people really well. Sometimes it was actually a curse, because he instinctively knew he’d hurt this woman by not talking to her when he should have.
She took a tentative step toward him, and he moved too. “Hey,” he said. “So, uh, I’m Tyler.” He extended the drink toward her.
She lifted the one she already had, and a wall of foolishness hit him. “I know who you are,” she said, a note of disdain in her voice.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He lifted the drink to his own lips and sucked. Pure sugar coated his mouth, and he spat the offending liquid out. It stained the sand blue, and he stared at it in horror. “What is this stuff?”
“Blue raspberry,” she said, cocking one hip in a way that made his heart pound a little faster. And not because he was striking out and wouldn’t have a date to the gala. But because, as he had for months, he found her so, so attractive.
That smattering of freckles on her face. The streaks of blonde in her light brown hair. Those blue-green eyes, the same color as the bay.
Lazy Bones trotted right up to her and began to sniff in all the wrong places. Tyler tried to get between the two of them. “Bones,” he chastised. “Stop it.”
“Oh, he’s fine.” She bent and patted Lazy Bones, the smile on her face the first genuine gesture he’d seen since approaching. Bones soaked up the attention as if Tyler never gave the dog a good scrub. He grinned at the woman as if telling Tyler he’d been knocking his Frisbee in to this woman’s yoga class for a reason.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She straightened, and Lazy Bones went back to the sniffing. Her eyes blazed, and for one, two, three terrible moments, he thought she’d stalk off. Instead she asked, “Did you ask Mo at the drink stand what I like?”
She’d find out anyway, so Tyler said, “No. Her name was Leilani.”
“Why?”
“I have—I want—I need a date.” He was so rusty when it came to women, he might as well leave now. Send in his own scathing article to the paper and take a selfie of him shirtless and unshowered for the photo. He tried to get Bones away from her, though he thought she smelled pretty amazing too. Like suntan lotion, and sand, and sun, and sweat.
“Is that an invitation to go out with you?” She plucked the drink cup from his hand and removed the straw. She handed it back to him and put her straw in before taking a great big drink. She finished with a long, “Ahhhh, that’s good,” and a cocked eyebrow.
He stared at her and then started laughing. “Okay, I deserve that.”
“You really do.” She made no move to give him the drink back. No problem. He’d bought it for her.
“So I donated a bunch of money to the children’s wing at the hospital, and they’re having their celebratory gala.” Tyler watched her for any tells, anything that would indicate how she felt about what he was saying. She remained wooden, her emotions carefully hidden behind a mask. She’d be very good at poker.
“It’ll be boring, and it’s a black tie event,” he continued. “Very stuffy. Very non-yoga. But I’m wondering if maybe you’d like to come with me.”
He put on his poker face too, and though it was out of practice, it allowed him to make it through several seconds of silence. Was she ever going to answer?
He cocked his hip too. Two could play this game, and he was pretty sure his time at a poker table meant he could outwait her.
