As I floated around a bend, I’d discover I wouldn’t have to find him since he was standing where you entered and exited the gently flowing water. His arms were crossed on his chest. His hair was wet but curling around his neck as it dried. And his blue boardshorts with white stitching and blue flip-flops were the only things hiding his beautiful, tall, broad-shouldered, sculpted, tanned, badass body.

Incidentally, they were doing a poor job of it since the waistband of the shorts fit snug and low along his flat, defined abs and waist and his cut hipbones leading into the shorts would make pretty much anyone who had a vagina wonder what they led to. Luckily, it was only me and my vagina who would know the details.

Taking in all that was him, I felt shivers in four places that were so strong, they defied even the Phoenix heat.

His shaded eyes caught mine, his face behind his sunglasses was impassive and I watched as his hand came up, his finger pointing at me then it turned and he crooked it. Once.

More shivers and my ni**les got hard.

I stared at him as I drifted toward him thinking two things.

First, no man since Richard Scott would ever get away with crooking his finger at me and Richard only got away with it because he was a dick who beat me repeatedly. Since him, I’d break a crooked finger before I obeyed such a bossy, arrogant, wordless command.

Not Creed. Oh no. It made me near desperate to jump him.

The second thing was, top to toe, all of him and the all there was of him that every female from sixteen to sixty in the vicinity was staring at and wanted for their own, was all mine.

Not only that, it always was and always would be.

At that, I didn’t feel a shiver. I felt a warmth that wasn’t coming from the Phoenix sun but my own personal one, directed straight at me from behind Creed’s shades.

I was closing in, preparing to exit my inner tube when Kara in her cute, girl’s bikini sidled up to her Dad’s side. The warmth I felt increased when Creed’s shades unlocked from mine, he looked down at his girl, his mouth curved into a gentle smile and his arm naturally slid around her shoulders.

Yeah, he was a good Dad. He loved his girl. He loved his kids.

I got out of the water, his shades came back to me and my lungs hollowed out when I saw the gentle grin still playing at his mouth, his rugged, scarred face was relaxed and contentment was stamped on his features.

He also loved me.

And he was happy.

Tucker Creed hadn’t had a day like today, not ever, not in his life, not even way back when, when it was just him and me.

And this made him happy.

So dandan noodles it was and I wasn’t even going to give him any stick for pulling a fast one.

I moved to him and Kara, smiling back, trying to ignore the wet but still hot pool deck burning the bottoms of my feet, wondering where I left my flip-flops as I came to a halt in front of them.

His deep, smooth voice with its hint of rough came right at me.

“Time to go home.”

Home.

I’d never had that, not ever, not in my life, not even way back when, when it was just Creed and me.

My smile got bigger.

* * * * *

“And they were all, ‘It’s too hot,’ and I was all, ‘Wusses, it’s not too hot. There’s a breeze. This is a walk in the park to me. I could run in this heat. I could sleep in this heat.’”

Brand and I were sitting at Creed’s island with Brand talking a mile a minute while Kara and Creed were making what they told me was called a “pizzookie”. The pizzookie, as described, was a phenomenon whose existence I was shocked I’d not only never heard of before but also had never partaken of, copiously. Apparently, you took store bought cookie dough, sprayed a cake tin, scrunched a bunch of dough in the bottom, baked it until it was just cooked but mostly gooey, plopped a shitload of ice cream on top and ate it out of the pan. If you were feeling saucy, Kara further explained, you could do this with brownie dough.

See?

A phenomenon. Delicious and genius. If it was as good as it sounded, I could make and consume one every night.

I couldn’t wait.

Dandan noodles were a hit. Eating them, I found that I’d had them before at restaurants but I would never consider making them at home. Then again, Creed had always been good in the kitchen. He’d learned to cook out of necessity because his Mom didn’t and he’d always had a knack for it.

I’d learned to cook at the crack of Richard’s whip and thus I avoided it. I could cook and do it well; I just hated doing it because time spent in the kitchen reminded me of Richard. And that was never good.

Grocery shopping with the Creeds before the noodles was a stitch. This was partly because Brand was riding a water park high and sweeping us along with his wave, being a total goof and cracking jokes that were so bad, they were hysterical.

But it was Creed who had us doubled over in an aisle when he inexplicably started roaring with laughter so uncontrolled he couldn’t even speak. He just pointed at a display of DVDs in the center of the aisle that had a label that said “Family Friendly Movies” but were a variety of documentaries on natural disasters and serial killers. Obviously, we all saw the humor and joined in. It took us ten minutes to pull our shit together and move on considering the fact both Brand and Kara kept making suggestions about family friendly movies that should be added such as an in-depth perusal into the Third Reich (Kara’s idea and she even used the words “in-depth perusal”) and the Spanish Inquisition (Brand’s idea).

When we got back to the house, I found it was cool being in Creed’s house with his kids. Even being there only weekends, they were comfortable and there was a kickass family vibe that not only was awesome to see Creed had but was awesome to feel.

I wasn’t a part of it, it was way too early, but both kids included me and it felt more than a little nice.

Once we dumped our stuff, got in showers and changed, the division of labor fell naturally. Kara helped her Dad in the kitchen in a way so practiced I knew it was the norm while Brand entertained me.

We’d had the noodles and were onto dessert and Brand was regaling me with stories of how his cousins (Chelle had a brother and a sister, both with kids) who came from Maine for vacation that summer couldn’t get on in the heat. Something Brand thought made them wusses and something, as a native Phoenician, he was proud he could do, no sweat (literally).

“Son, they’re not wusses,” Creed broke in as Kara pulled the pizzookie out of the oven and Creed tossed a hot pad across the kitchen to land on the island in front of Brand and me. “They’re just not used to it,” he finished.