Mr. Nice Guy by Belinda Williams

Chapter Three

Chelsea inhaledthe salt air gratefully as she closed the door to her hatchback, then walked towards the sand. A walk or a swim at the beach after work was a great way to shift from frazzled to revived.

She still found herself needing to pinch herself occasionally. In Sydney, she’d lived too far from the beach to head there straight after work. Or if she had, she probably wouldn’t have arrived until after dinnertime and would have had to pay a fortune in parking.

One of the things she loved about Newcastle was there were generally no parking charges and limited restrictions, and everyone was only about twenty minutes from the beach. In Chelsea’s case, she was only five minutes away. It was absolute bliss.

She spotted Tom down on the sand. Or at least she thought it was Tom. He was facing the water, shirt off, his brown hair tousled by the breeze.

Chelsea swallowed. Tom. Shirtless.

Weird.

Despite sharing an apartment, they had their own ensuite bathrooms and were always careful to be respectful of each other’s privacy. Probably on account of the fact that he was her big brother’s friend. But now it struck Chelsea as odd that she’d never once seen him without his shirt since living together. They weren’t prudes, for goodness’ sake.

Chelsea headed towards the water and kicked off her sandals. She breathed out as her toes sunk into the sand. Nothing could beat the therapeutic benefits of the beach. If Chelsea moved back to Sydney, she vowed to live closer to the water, although she had no idea how she’d afford that on a childcare worker’s salary.

Pushing the thought from her mind, she walked towards Tom.

He turned to face her when she was a few metres away, and Chelsea skidded to a stop in the sand.

Oh. OK. Act natural, Chels. This was why it had been a good thing up until now that she hadn’t seen Tom bare-chested, she decided.

He wasn’t built like gym junkie Darren was, but he was . . . fit. Really fit. Toned. Strong without being showy. Because Chelsea supposed nice guys were like that. Or ones who practised jujitsu, anyway.

She cast her gaze past him and pretended to watch the water when what she really wanted to do was stare at him. When had Tom become so nice to look at?

Probably when he removed his shirt, you brainless idiot.

Chelsea raised a hand in greeting, still careful not to stare at him. ‘Hey. Nice evening.’

‘Water’s nice, too. I haven’t been in yet, but I put my toe in.’

There was so much nice going on, and Chelsea didn’t know what to do about it.

He strode over to a bag near Chelsea’s feet and rummaged through it. ‘Here. The swimming costume you requested.’

He passed them to her, and Chelsea’s heart sunk.

‘What?’ he asked.

How did he do that? Were her facial expressions really that easy to read?

‘Um, nothing. I probably should have said the red one-piece. This is a two-piece. But it doesn’t matter.’

To him, maybe. To her, it mattered a lot. The costume she was holding was a gift from one of her exes who—how should she put it?—had liked Chelsea in less rather than more.

Right now, she’d prefer to be in more. Actually, she generally preferred to be in more when possible. Chelsea didn’t have a bikini body as far as she was aware. She had a . . . practical body. Not skinny, not overweight. She was a bit shorter than she would have liked, and her dad always referred to her as “stocky”, which Chelsea hated. Pair short with stocky and you had practical.

Tom regarded her thoughtfully, his lips turned up slightly at the edges. ‘You don’t seem so sure about it. I’m sorry if I grabbed the wrong one.’

‘No, it’s fine. I’ll be back in a sec. Why don’t you get in, and I’ll meet you there in a minute?’

That way he’d be too busy focusing on the surf to notice what she was wearing—or not wearing, as the case would be.

‘Sure thing. See you soon.’

* * *

Chelsea seemedto be taking a long time to get changed, Tom noted.

It had been stupid of him. He knew women better than that. He should have just grabbed several swimming costumes from the drawer and then let her decide.

Tom dived under another wave. Wow. The surf was really pounding the sand today. Once you got further out, it wasn’t too bad, but the waves were dumpers.

If he’d been with any other girl, Tom might have been worried, but not with Chelsea. That’s one of the reasons he liked her. She wasn’t precious like a lot of other females.

Chelsea was the youngest of four, and her brother had been into all the usual ball sports like soccer and cricket growing up. Tom and Ben had spent many summers together on the same cricket team. Chelsea’s older sisters weren’t interested in any of it, though. They were the definition of “girly girls”, and Tom hadn’t really had much to do with them.

Chelsea was different. Her family often joked that she was the black sheep, but they didn’t really mean it. She’d tagged along to all of Ben’s games as a kid, and eventually her weekends were filled with her own sporting matches like netball. She was sporty and capable, and her father was her biggest fan.

Working alongside several female paramedics over the years, Tom much preferred the no-nonsense, practical attitudes they had over more appearance-obsessed women. He’d never dated a paramedic, but he had gone out with a nurse or two.

Tom had just emerged from another wave when he saw Chelsea come out of the change rooms and walk towards the sand. It was shallow enough to stand, which was good, because he found that he couldn’t move.

Holy mother of God.

He could see why Chelsea had been hesitant about the bikini. There was nothing of it. Just two small patches of fabric to cover her breasts—or should that be nipples? As for the small triangle of fabric between her legs, he was pretty sure there would be even less of it on her backside.

Tom released a strangled sound at that thought, which was drowned out by the pounding waves.

Act natural. Just act like everything is normal. You’re a nice guy, remember?

Right now, the thoughts going through Tom’s mind were far from nice. They were positively X-rated. When he saw a group of guys on the sand stop talking to each other as Chelsea walked past, he felt his jaw clench.

Nope. There was nothing nice about his thoughts.

He was torn between the need to protect her from unwanted male attention and the powerful desire to make love to her right here in the waves like some sort of B-grade porno.

Not going to happen, stupid. It’s not a friends with benefits arrangement.

Nearing the water’s edge, Chelsea caught Tom’s eye. He could be wrong, but she appeared to be blushing.

Turn around, you fool. Don’t ogle her like all the other guys.

Tom turned back towards the waves.

Bad idea. Very bad idea.

‘Tom!’ he heard Chelsea shriek, right before a wall of water crashed on top of him.