He sighed. “You’re always so practical, Professor.”

“You mean boring.”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” He rol ed his eyes at her and shook his head. He stood and helped her to her feet. While she brushed the sand from her skirt, he scooped his boots and her sandals from the sand and tossed them into the car before locking the doors. When he returned to her side, he claimed her hand and led her toward the angry surf. The cool wind from the approaching storm blew Myrna’s hair against her face and her skirt tangled around her legs.

“Great day for a walk!” she cal ed over the crashing waves. “I think we’re going to get caught in a downpour.”

Brian glanced up at the sky. “We might.”

He kept walking, her hand tucked in his. The wet sand squished between her toes. She curled them under with each step, liking the way it felt. A wave washed across her feet and she danced sideways. “That’s chil y.”

“The water’s real y churning. If you want to go back—”

“A crab!” Myrna bent to snatch a half-dol ar-sized crab out of the sand. She held it up by the edge of its shel to show Brian. The creature’s legs wriggled as it tried to run away in mid-air. “Isn’t he cute?”

He chuckled. “He’s a little smal to make a good meal.”

“I wouldn’t let you eat him.” She turned the crab to look it in its stalked eyes. “Isn’t that right, Pinchy?”

“You named him?”

She careful y placed the little crab back in the sand and nudged it toward the surf. “Run for your life, Pinchy. I’ve seen the way this man eats.”

“Hey!” Brian grabbed her from behind, his fingers digging into her ribs. She laughed and struggled out of his grasp, taking off at a ful sprint along the edge of the water. She could hear Brian’s steps just behind her. She slowed slightly so he could catch her. He col ided with her back and she stumbled. Her arms shot forward to catch her fal , but Brian rescued her from an impending face-plant and scooped her up into his strong arms.

She laughed, slightly breathless, and gazed up at him.

“I almost bit the dust,” she said, “or I guess it would be sand. You rescued me.”

“Does this make me your hero?”

“You were already my hero.”

He grinned and rol ed his eyes. “Yeah, right. I’ve never met a woman who needed saving less than you do.”

“That’s not true. You’ve saved me from loneliness.” She kissed him. “And sexual frustration.” And she hadn’t heard Jeremy’s accusations in her head for a while now.

He chuckled. “Then you must be my hero, too.”

She kissed him again, her arms stealing around his neck, her fingers intertwining with the long silky hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Don’t get me al worked up,” he murmured against her lips.

“Why not? We’ve got the beach al to ourselves.”

He groaned into her mouth and hugged her closer. She deepened the kiss. He pul ed away. “That’s enough of that.”

He set her to her feet and she wobbled unsteadily. He took her hand and started walking again. She walked beside him silently, pondering his reluctance. This wasn’t like him. Had she done something wrong?

“Have you worked up the courage to ask yet?” he asked, scooping a piece of driftwood from the beach and flinging it into the waves.

“Huh?”

“Why I’m not rutting around on you in the sand yet?”

“Oh that. I hadn’t noticed.”

“We’re here to get to know each other better. And I don’t mean in the biblical sense of the word. We already know each other that way. I’ve decided no sex until after the show tonight.”

“No sex?”

“That’s right.”

“And why do you get to decide?”

He grinned. “It’s more of a personal chal enge. Do you have any interest in getting to know me at al ? Personal y, I mean.”

“Can’t I just Google you? Isn’t your entire life somewhere online?”

He scowled. “Probably.”

She reached up and smoothed his forehead with her fingers. “Don’t make that face. Tel me how Sinners was formed.”

He glanced at her. “Do you want the real story or the more theatrical, online version?”

“The real story. I can always read the online version later.”

He smiled nostalgical y. “Trey and I were the outcasts of Beverly Hil s.”

“You lived in Beverly Hil s?”

“Yeah, my dad got rich and famous when I was a kid and Trey’s dad is a plastic surgeon, so we lived in the Hil s.”

“No shit? I never would have guessed that in a mil ion years.”

“We didn’t real y fit with the other rich kids and everyone else on the planet hated us because we were rich. So we stuck together. We played guitar. A lot. In eighth grade, we started a failing band—”

“Crysys.”

He chuckled. “I thought you hadn’t Googled me.”

“One of Trey’s groupies mentioned it.”

“Ah. Anyway, we got seriously heckled during a party gig in the tenth grade. By Eric Anderson.”

“Eric Anderson?”

“He’s since changed his last name to Sticks.”

Myrna chuckled. “I always thought it was strange that a drummer had the last name Sticks.”

“Yeah, he’s lame that way and had it legal y changed. Anyway, when he heckled us, Trey got so pissed. I honestly don’t think he’d ever been that pissed before. He dove off the stage and tore into Eric. Trey was always fighting back then, but this was beyond brutal. Blood everywhere. Shattered Eric’s cheekbone. Good thing Trey’s dad is a plastic surgeon.”

“Trey?” She found that hard to believe. He didn’t seem the type to hit someone that hard.

“Yeah, I was always breaking up his fights. I got my ass kicked more than once because of that chip on his shoulder. He’s chil ed a lot in his old age.”

“Yeah, twenty-eight is ancient.” Myrna rol ed her eyes at him.

“It’s a hel of a lot older than sixteen. Anyway, after he and Eric beat each other to a pulp at this chick’s birthday party, Trey said something like, ‘Yeah, wel , if you can do better, why don’t you prove it?’ And Eric did. He’s f**king gifted, you know?”

“He is a great drummer,” Myrna agreed.