She shook her head. She wasn't ready to release him.

He made the decision for her by rolling his shoulders. "Extend your arms to the side," he instructed.

Her arms went straight as airplane wings, while her knees knocked against the frame. Her body was shaking from the inside out.

"Don't be afraid," he said. "Remember what I've taught you. Lean your upper body toward me and pedal."

She bit down on her bottom lip as Rick eased back a step, just beyond her reach. "I can't do this." Her voice sounded shrill, even to her own ears.

"Yes, you can," Rick said. "Breathe, Sophie."

She inhaled so sharply that the sudden rise of her chest threw her shoulders back. The unicycle began to roll- Backward.

"Whoa, wrong direction, babe," he called after her.

Panic seized her. She was pedaling away from him and she couldn't stop herself. Her legs were on automatic pilot. She was picking up speed, wobbly and swerving. Her reading glasses slipped down her nose.

"Hit the brakes," shouted Rick as he jogged after her.

She was afraid to stop pedaling. A sudden stop and she'd wipe out. Falling was not to her liking. She had no idea what was behind her. Or what she was about to hit.

"What the hell?" Dune's deep angry voice rose from the sidewalk.

Sophie caught both the man and the motorcycle from the corner of her eye. She was circling toward them. The look on Dune's face could've flattened the tire on her unicycle. He was that mad.

Dune dropped the bag he was carrying and sprinted toward her. His long legs ate up the distance. He had almost reached her when Sophie tipped left. The pavement rose to meet her.

Dune grabbed her before she kissed the cement. He wrapped his arm about her waist and lifted her off the seat. The cycle rolled several feet and fell over.

Rick caught up to the two of them. "Riding backward is twice as hard as going forward." He applauded her. "You're a natural, Sophie."

Her talent was the last thing on her mind. What struck her first was how tight Dune held her. He was squeezing the life out of her. Her breasts pressed against his chest and their hip bones bumped. Her feet dangled six inches off the ground.

She flattened her hand over his heart and felt it race against her palm. The beat was far too fast for the short distance he'd run. She wiggled her toes, wanting to stand. He released her so quickly she staggered backward. Rick steadied her.

Anger narrowed Dune's eyes and his nostrils flared. "This isn't the Chamber of Commerce," he stated.

No, it was not, Sophie silently agreed.

"What were you thinking?" he asked her, only to turn on Rick before she could answer. "You put her in danger," he accused.

Sophie removed her helmet. Her hands shook as she slid her glasses up her nose. Her legs barely supported her. "Unicycling was my idea," she managed. "I asked Rick to teach me. It's all part of my boardwalk experience."

"The sport is safe if you take it slow," said Rick.

"Slow?" Dune crossed his arms over his chest, then looked down on them both. "She was riding a runaway unicycle in reverse."

"She didn't fall," Rick said, making his case.

"Because I got to her first."

Rick shot Dune an odd look. "What are you, her keeper?" he asked. "I would've caught her before she hit your Harley."

His motorcycle. Sophie now understood Dune's anger. His concern lay with his bike and not with her. She'd come within five feet of hitting his prized possession. She doubted Rick would've reached her in time, no matter his assurance.

"The lesson's over," Dune said to his cousin.

Rick was about to object, but the look in Dune's eyes moved him along. Rick retrieved the package Dune had dropped and tossed it to him. He then picked up the unicycle and walked Sophie back to his beach chair. She removed her protective pads and he packed it all up along with her helmet. She grabbed her shoulder bag.

"Later," Rick said as he set the chair, unicycle, and gear in the back of his pickup truck. He waved as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Sophie wasn't sure what to do or say next. The moment was awkward. Her shyness tied her stomach in knots. She hadn't meant to deceive Dune. She'd merely cut the corners off the truth. He was looking at her now as if she'd lost her mind.

"Don't be mad at me," she said softly.

His jaw worked. "I'm not mad, merely concerned. You made my heart race."

"You were afraid for me?" That surprised her. "I thought you were worried about your motorcycle."

"Harleys don't bleed when they fall over."

She hadn't meant to cause him alarm, but she liked the fact he'd agonized over her, even a little.

"I'm klutzy and chances are always good that I'll scrape a knee or twist my ankle." She gathered a breath. "Tomorrow I walk on stilts."

He frowned. "It's safer to join a corner street band and shake a tambourine. Maybe drive a pedal cab or draw caricature portraits."

"I don't want safe," she said, speaking from her heart. "I've always been quiet, fearful, invisible Sophie. This is my summer. I want adventure. It's time to discover me."

He turned introspective. His brow creased, then eventually smoothed. He stared at her for a full minute before asking, "Ever ridden a Harley?"

Excitement gripped her. "Never."

"It's a rush."

"Adrenaline is my middle name."

Dune smiled. "I have an extra helmet," he told her. "Hop on and I'll give you a ride home."

She went for it. "Twelve-thirteen Saunders Way."

Three.

"We've gone as far as we can go," a man said.

A woman sighed heavily. "There's more to us than three months."

Mac James looked toward the back of the shop and listened. He'd entered Three Shirts to the Wind through the tangerine-colored door and found the place empty. Apparently there were two people in the storeroom. Jenna Cates and an unidentifiable man. Voices were raised. They were breaking up. He was getting an earful.

He looked around the shop. Three Shirts carried everything from plain white cotton tees to brightly colored polos. Some had caricatures while others had decorative designs. A few naughty slogans raised eyebrows. Most sayings were funny or silly. Overhead clotheslines stretched the width of the ceiling, displaying a line of Barefoot William attire.

Mac browsed the revolving circular racks as the ensuing argument grew even more heated.

"What about this weekend?" Jenna asked sharply. "We had plans."

"I'm out."

"But you know the Sneaker Ball is close to my heart."

The man snorted. "Parks and recreation means nothing to me."

"You told me you liked kids and sports."

"To get in your pants."

"Bastard. "

"Whatever."

A door slammed and Mac assumed the dude had split. Whoever he was, he sounded like a douche. But then, Jen wasn't all that easy to get along with, either. Mac knew her from his trips home with Dune. She had short dark blond hair and a tight body, and wore round glasses. She had decent breasts. He hadn't given much thought to her waxing.

Over the years, he would've been nice to her had she been nice to him. But sarcasm was her second language. More often than not she took a sander to his balls for no apparent reason. They'd never gotten along. He preferred his women sweet and considerate.

Mac expected her to be angry when she returned to the shop. Instead he caught the hurt on her face, her bent shoulders, and slow step. He felt a split second of sympathy until she spotted him. Then her anger snapped back. Lady looked fierce.

He knew she needed to vent. She was Dune's cousin and, in deference to his partner, he allowed her to let loose on him rather than a paying customer. He planned to charge his clothes to Dune's account.

"Heard you got dumped," he said.

She walked toward him in cuffed jeans and a cropped white T-shirt with the motto Tell Me Something Good. A bit ironic, he thought. She wore Barefoot sandals, which didn't have a sole. Thin crystal chains connected a toe ring to an anklet. Her toenails were painted gold. He found her feet sexy.

"Eavesdropping?" she hissed. Her chin was high and her hands were clenched. She looked ready to punch him.

He shook his head. "Your voices traveled through the wall."

"You didn't make your presence known," she accused.

He shrugged. "You needed to finish your fight."

She flinched. "How much did you hear?"

"If I tell you I like sports, can we do it?"

Her cheeks heated. She crossed to a rack of T-shirts, selected one, and held it up. He read the slogan, Not in this Lifetime.

Two could play this game. He flipped through the hangers, found a shirt scripted with I Want to Be Your Next Mistake. He waved it at her.

She flashed him back. Tool or Jackass. Hee-Haw.

He came across the perfect one for her. Bitchiness Becomes You.

She responded with the shirt, I See Dumb People.

His next one had her rolling her eyes. Never Be in Line for a Halo.

She blew out a breath and said, "Enough T-shirt talk. What do you want?"

"Shirt, shorts, and a towel," he told her. "I need a change of clothes. I'm headed to Tide One On."

"The party boat is clothing optional."

So he'd heard. "I can party naked."

"I'm sure you can."

"Do I get customer assistance or do I shop on my own?" he asked.

"You don't need me to pick out your clothes." She returned to the front counter.

He could've used her help. He had deuteranopia and was partially color blind. He had trouble discriminating between red and green hues. The colors appeared muted or faded. He compensated by purchasing his clothes in basic colors, so the mix and match came easily. Only a few close friends knew about his vision deficiency. He wanted to keep it that way.

He wound around the circular racks until he reached the shelves of folded shorts. Size thirty-four. He read the inside label: dark brown. He could live with brown. Shorts down, a T-shirt to go.

The selection was enormous. He killed a little time going from rack to rack, spinning and reading, and keeping one eye on Jen. She didn't hide her feelings well. She wiped her eyes with a Kleenex and her lip trembled. She was still upset over the split.

"What's with the Sneaker Ball?" he asked from across the room.

"What's it to you?"

"It's a cause close to your heart."

"Why do you care what's important to me?"

Lady was snippy, difficult, irritating. But she'd just gone through a breakup. He took that into consideration and tried to be nice. "I'm in town for three weeks. The event sounds big."

She took overly long to respond, finally saying, "The affair is this weekend. Shaye and I are co-chairwomen. Black tie and sneakers. It's a night to raise money for outdoor activities. The dance is held on the pier. Barefoot William supports its youth. The entire town turns out."

"Everyone but you."

"Salt to my wound," she muttered as she collected a notebook from the counter and crossed to the nearest revolving rack. She cut him a look, then said, "No further disruption. I'm taking inventory." She held up a shirt. You Have the Right to Remain Silent. So Please Shut up.