His parents are classic enablers."
Regan exhaled and drained the last of her coffee, which she agreed, wasn't award winning. "So where do I go from here? Fending Eddie off has gotten really old. The PPO doesn't seem to be much of a deterrent."
"From his perspective, it makes you hard to get, a challenge," Emily said. "He likes that, plus--"
"Plus what?"
"He may think he loves you. But a boy like that doesn't know the first thing about love. You're just a stray toy he wants to get back."
Regan nodded. She looked up at Emily, smiled and then noticed her digital alarm clock. "Nine forty five. I've got to get ready for lunch shift. Are you scheduled?"
"Tonight. I've got a final this afternoon, so I'll be studying until then. Gonna be hard, though."
"I know, right," Regan said. "Perfect morning. Perhaps you could study on the balcony?"
"Too many distractions. It's media law, so I really need to concentrate."
Regan hugged her tight. "Thanks."
Emily smiled. "Don't let Edward ruin your day. Good music down at the pier tonight. Why don't you go and get your mind off of him. Have a margarita or two?"
"We'll see."
CHAPTER TWO
Meet Matt Fischer
As he approached the Sandbar Sports Grill, Matt Fischer paused for a moment to take in the entrance. It was a mouth, a Tiki mouth to be exact, or so the Ron Jon Surf Shop salesman had told him. Teeth protruded from the roof while flared nostrils and close-set eyes glared down at patrons, almost daring them to walk in. The cheeks of the structure were a rich brown with an orange tinge caused by the strong Florida sun or a talented artist, he couldn't decide which.
Matt's eyes swung away from the mouth to a hand-painted mural. It displayed various sea creatures enjoying the Coca Beach waves. That's exactly what he intended to do for the next few days, enjoy the Atlantic Ocean. A banner on the mural proclaimed the establishment was the "Home of the Fish Taco." He walked from the bright sunlight into the darkened bar and vowed to find out what a fish taco was all about, though his imagination conjured an image of fins and eyes staring back up at him.
"Welcome to the Sandbar," a middle-aged hostess said as he stepped inside. "Would you like a table here or something on our deck?"
"I need all of the sun I can get. Let's do the deck."
Bamboo accented the walls as did numerous flat screen televisions showing soccer matches, SportsCenter and a Miami Marlins baseball game. Well-worn surf boards hung from the ceiling and signs with classic sayings such as, "have to pee, follow me" covered the walls. Matt glanced at a throng of people sitting at the bar. Most of the women were wearing jean shorts and sleeveless, loose-fitting shirts while the men seemed to prefer cargo shorts and polos. A few well-tanned faces looked up at him as they weaved through tables heading toward the deck. He smiled back, something he hadn't felt like doing in months.
People always reacted to him. Perhaps it was his size. His six foot frame carried an inordinate amount of muscle, something he actually didn't work hard to maintain. Then again, it might be his crew cut. Coupled with his German heritage and his no nonsense demeanor, it gave him the aura of a tough guy.
"I'm Connie," the hostess said. "Where you from, hun?"
"Detroit."
"Where's the family?"
The question made him uncomfortable. Until a year ago, the idea of family seemed like a natural. He and Jen would have a slew. He closed his eyes for a split second and Jen's face pierced through as it always did, no matter where he was at or what he was doing. It was like a thousand pins constantly pricking at his heart.
"I'm flying solo today."
Connie led him to a section of high-topped tables, each protected by a Corona beer umbrella. Matt pointed to one facing the ocean.
"Regan will be your server. You enjoy, hun."
Matt watched her disappear back into the bar and wondered if all the locals were as friendly. He scanned the ocean and noticed the tide was
Regan exhaled and drained the last of her coffee, which she agreed, wasn't award winning. "So where do I go from here? Fending Eddie off has gotten really old. The PPO doesn't seem to be much of a deterrent."
"From his perspective, it makes you hard to get, a challenge," Emily said. "He likes that, plus--"
"Plus what?"
"He may think he loves you. But a boy like that doesn't know the first thing about love. You're just a stray toy he wants to get back."
Regan nodded. She looked up at Emily, smiled and then noticed her digital alarm clock. "Nine forty five. I've got to get ready for lunch shift. Are you scheduled?"
"Tonight. I've got a final this afternoon, so I'll be studying until then. Gonna be hard, though."
"I know, right," Regan said. "Perfect morning. Perhaps you could study on the balcony?"
"Too many distractions. It's media law, so I really need to concentrate."
Regan hugged her tight. "Thanks."
Emily smiled. "Don't let Edward ruin your day. Good music down at the pier tonight. Why don't you go and get your mind off of him. Have a margarita or two?"
"We'll see."
CHAPTER TWO
Meet Matt Fischer
As he approached the Sandbar Sports Grill, Matt Fischer paused for a moment to take in the entrance. It was a mouth, a Tiki mouth to be exact, or so the Ron Jon Surf Shop salesman had told him. Teeth protruded from the roof while flared nostrils and close-set eyes glared down at patrons, almost daring them to walk in. The cheeks of the structure were a rich brown with an orange tinge caused by the strong Florida sun or a talented artist, he couldn't decide which.
Matt's eyes swung away from the mouth to a hand-painted mural. It displayed various sea creatures enjoying the Coca Beach waves. That's exactly what he intended to do for the next few days, enjoy the Atlantic Ocean. A banner on the mural proclaimed the establishment was the "Home of the Fish Taco." He walked from the bright sunlight into the darkened bar and vowed to find out what a fish taco was all about, though his imagination conjured an image of fins and eyes staring back up at him.
"Welcome to the Sandbar," a middle-aged hostess said as he stepped inside. "Would you like a table here or something on our deck?"
"I need all of the sun I can get. Let's do the deck."
Bamboo accented the walls as did numerous flat screen televisions showing soccer matches, SportsCenter and a Miami Marlins baseball game. Well-worn surf boards hung from the ceiling and signs with classic sayings such as, "have to pee, follow me" covered the walls. Matt glanced at a throng of people sitting at the bar. Most of the women were wearing jean shorts and sleeveless, loose-fitting shirts while the men seemed to prefer cargo shorts and polos. A few well-tanned faces looked up at him as they weaved through tables heading toward the deck. He smiled back, something he hadn't felt like doing in months.
People always reacted to him. Perhaps it was his size. His six foot frame carried an inordinate amount of muscle, something he actually didn't work hard to maintain. Then again, it might be his crew cut. Coupled with his German heritage and his no nonsense demeanor, it gave him the aura of a tough guy.
"I'm Connie," the hostess said. "Where you from, hun?"
"Detroit."
"Where's the family?"
The question made him uncomfortable. Until a year ago, the idea of family seemed like a natural. He and Jen would have a slew. He closed his eyes for a split second and Jen's face pierced through as it always did, no matter where he was at or what he was doing. It was like a thousand pins constantly pricking at his heart.
"I'm flying solo today."
Connie led him to a section of high-topped tables, each protected by a Corona beer umbrella. Matt pointed to one facing the ocean.
"Regan will be your server. You enjoy, hun."
Matt watched her disappear back into the bar and wondered if all the locals were as friendly. He scanned the ocean and noticed the tide was
Similar Books
