It's a Love Thing

by Cindy C. Bennett

  He thought she’d show him the way to the store and then leave, but she made it her personal mission to help him choose just the right shorts—two pairs of what he called surfer-shorts—and the right flip-flops. Megan laughed and joked with the salesgirl, and Drake was grateful for her presence so he didn’t have to try to be sociable. That had never been one of his strong points.

  Somehow, after half an hour in Wally’s, Drake found himself clad in the blue shorts, wearing the flip-flops, and sitting across from her at the ice cream parlor. The bell above the door rang, and another resident entered, bee-lining for Drake and Megan.

  “Hi, Sandy,” Megan said to the pixie-haired brunette. “This is Drake. Drake, Sandy. She works at the resort as a lifeguard.”

  Sandy stuck her hand out, and Drake resignedly placed his hand in hers. He thought he’d probably met over half the population by now—along with a few of the early tourists who were in town. Megan seemed to feel it her personal responsibility to talk to every person she saw. And they expected it too. If she didn’t go out of her way to speak to them, they came to her. She introduced him to everyone, with their occupation.

  “Hi, Drake. Anytime you want to get out of the salty sea and into some fresh water, just come by and you can use the pool.”

  “Thanks,” he muttered.

  “How’s Kevin?” Megan asked.

  “A jerk, as usual,” Sandy said angrily. “Tell me why I put up with his crap.”

  “You love him?” Megan ventured.

  “Yeah,” Sandy sighed, looking off dreamily. She turned her gaze back to Megan. “You home for good?”

  “Nope, just the summer. Then I go back.”

  Drake’s gaze jerked to Megan. He continued to stare at her as Sandy walked away after they finished their conversation.

  “What?” she said, catching his look.

  “Go back where?” he asked.

  “School.”

  “You’re in school?” Drake was incredulous. He’d thought she might be younger than him, but . . . “How old are you?”

  “I’m in college, Drake. I’ll be a senior this fall.” She leaned forward, “That makes me twenty-one, almost twenty-two in case you’re still trying to do the math.”

  “Thanks,” he said sarcastically. “So where do you go to school?”

  She let out a breath, looking at him as if deciding if she should tell him. Was she afraid he’d stalk her there? “Harvard,” she admitted, then quickly held a hand up. “Don’t make fun of me. I worked really hard to get into Harvard.”

  He shook his head. “Why would I make fun of you? You have to be really smart to get into Harvard, right? I think that’s cool.”

  Megan smiled, her cheeks pinkening.”I’m sorry. I assumed you’d think it was kind of . . . snobby or something, I guess.”

  Drake thought back to his initial assessment of their beach house. He couldn’t really blame her for thinking someone like him would make fun of a Harvard attendee. Not so long ago, he would have. “What are you studying?” he asked.

  She glanced away as she said, “Law.”

  “Law?” he repeated. “As in, you’re going to be a lawyer?”

  She nodded and brought her gaze back to his. He was suddenly struck with a sense of recognition as he looked into her blue eyes. He wondered if he’d ever had occasion to run into her at some point in his life. He doubted it. He’d never been to California until a few years ago, just before his arrest. And he’d been in juvie during her time at Harvard. Not that he’d ever been to . . . Boston, or wherever it was anyway.

  “Maybe I can avail myself of your services someday,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes as she studied him, and he shifted uncomfortably under her perusal. “No, I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “I don’t think you’ll need my help, or anyone else’s, again.”

  “What do you mean?” he heard himself ask, not sure he wanted the answer.

  “You were referred specifically to my dad, right?”

  Drake shrugged. He just went where they’d told him to go and didn’t ask questions.

  “My dad doesn’t take on a lot of new . . . um, parolees.” She looked uncomfortable with the word, but Drake couldn’t exactly argue it. “They only send him ones that are special cases.”

  Okay, Drake didn’t like that phrase. “Special cases?”

  “Yeah, guys—or sometimes girls—who are really good people but maybe just lost their way, and maybe they just need someone to remind them of their true value.”

  Drake pushed away from the table and strode from the store. He expected her to come after him, he really did. But when he’d gone two blocks and she hadn’t caught up to him, he dared a glance behind. She was nowhere to be seen.

  He kept walking, no destination in mind, just wanting to walk off some of the anger that came with her words. Lost his way? Needed reminding of his value? So he was nothing more than a charity case! Thought they could fix him by sending him to surfer-dude and his far-too-attractive daughter as the recipient of their good will. Well, he’d been victim to too many do-gooders. He wasn’t about to fall for more.

  He stopped, placing his hands on his hips as he glanced around. He wasn’t really sure where he was. But he figured he could just head toward the ocean and backtrack if he couldn’t find his way home. As he looked around, he saw across the street a place called “Seaside Rentals”. He wasn’t sure what they rented, but in the window was a sign. Help Wanted.

  Without any more thought, he began across the street. Squealing tires brought the front bumper of a beat up old Chevy to within inches of his legs. His heart pounding, he glanced up at the driver. An old man leaned out the window.

  “You okay?” the driver called.

  “I’m fine,” Drake said. “Sorry.”

  The man waved back, surprising Drake with his lack of a lecture. He waited until Drake made it safely to the other sidewalk, then honked and drove away. Drake looked around. It would be just his luck that Tom would be nearby and bust him for jaywalking. He didn’t see many people, and no one was looking his way, so he decided he was safe.

  He walked into the store, and saw the place filled with about ten mopeds. He walked up to the unmanned counter and tapped the top of the little silver bell.

  “I’m coming,” he heard a gruff female voice yell from somewhere behind the door at the rear of the counter. Soon, a woman appeared. She was older, broad and sturdy, her long gray hair pulled haphazardly back into a ponytail. Drake sized her up. No doubt she could kick his butt if he crossed her.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, pasting a pleasant but forced smile on her face. Drake could see how frazzled she was behind the faux smile.

  “I’m hoping I can help you,” he said, waving a hand toward the sign. “I need a job.”

  The woman stood a little taller, glancing him over from toes to the top of his head. Drake remained steady while she did so. “You know how to work on these things?” she asked, pointing to the mopeds.

  “I know how to work on bikes. I’d guess I probably could.”

  “You got good people skills?”

  Drake wanted to say, Compared to you? Instead, he said, “I do when I need to.”

  That brought a small smile to her face. “You definitely got the looks that will please people,” she said, and Drake could swear he blushed. “When can you start?”

  “Uh, now,” he said. “Don’t you want to have me fill out an application or interview me?”

  “Whatta ya think I just did?”

  “Oh.” Drake shuffled. “Well, there’s something I need to tell you before you hire me. Um, I’m new in town, because . . . well, I . . . Tom Martin is my—”

  “You planning to rob me?” she interrupted.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Are you going to try to sabotage my business, or hurt me?”

  “No.”

  “Then that’s all I need to know,” she said, walking around the counter. She held a hand out
to him. “My name is Andrea. C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

  “Uh, I’m Drake,” he said, hurrying after her since she’d already started back around the counter. He followed as she showed him around, explaining how she ran her business, what she charged, how to make deals with the tourists so they felt they were getting a deal but she wasn’t “losing my pants” in the process. By the time she finished with the tour, Drake admired Andrea. She was no-nonsense and straight forward. She expected Drake to show up when he was scheduled and do his job. Nothing more, nothing less.

  He walked out of the rental store with somewhere to go the next morning, and feeling more relaxed than he had since arriving in this ocean side town.

  *****

  “Knock-knock.” Megan accompanied the word with the action. Drake turned from the sink to see her standing at his doorway. He waved her in.

  “Hey,” she said as she entered.

  “Hey,” Drake said without turning her way, finishing washing the dishes.

  “Came to say I’m sorry,” she said.

  Drake turned at that. “For what?”

  “For upsetting you.”

  Drake grimaced. “Don’t ever apologize for being honest. There’s far too little honesty in the world as it is.”

  Megan nodded. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have the right to upset someone with my honesty.”

  Drake walked to the fridge and pulled out the pitcher of lemonade brought to him by his neighbor, Mrs. Wattley. He poured two glasses and walked to the table, setting them down.

  “Have a seat,” he said. She walked over, sliding gracefully into the chair next to him. “You didn’t upset me.”

  “Really?” she asked, taking a sip of the lemonade. “Mrs. Wattley?” she asked, indicating the lemonade. When he nodded, she said, “She makes the best lemonade around. She won’t share her secret, though. Do you always walk away from people when you’re not upset?”

  Drake stared at her at the abrupt change of topic. “No.”

  “So you were upset?”

  “Yes, but I’m not now. I mean, I shouldn’t have been then. I guess I should be grateful for anyone thinking I might be worth a shot. No matter how wrong they are.” Drake muttered the last line, hoping she wouldn’t hear.

  She was silent for a few minutes, then, “You ever going to let me ride your bike?”

  Drake set down the glass that he’d just been about to take a sip from. “No.”

  “C’mon. I’m a good rider.”

  “So you say. I’m not going to take someone’s word for it and let them on my Harley.”

  “Let’s go for a ride then, and you can ride my bike and see how good I ride.”

  Drake laughed. “No way. I have no control over what you’re doing on my bike if I’m on yours.”

  “Fine,” she said, leaning back in her chair and pouting. “I’ll ride mine, then, and you can follow and watch me, and make a decision then.”

  There was no way Drake was going to let her ride his bike, but he could definitely use a ride right now. He hadn’t been on the bike for a few days, and he was ready. “Okay,” he said, and Megan lit up. She jumped up from her chair.

  “Okay, I’ll go get ready and you can meet me at my house as soon as you’re ready.”

  She didn’t wait for a response, just hurried down the beach toward her own place. Drake sighed and got up to change from his shorts and flip-flops into his riding gear. He’d never admit it, but he was stoked just to go ride somewhere away from this place.

  When he got to the Martin’s, she was already out front, dressed in black chaps and a pink leather jacket. He rolled his eyes. Pink? At least her helmet was black. She was wiping down her bike with a yellow rag as he came to a stop.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She nodded and tossed the rag back in the general direction of the bungalow, swinging a leg over the bike and pulling it upright in one smooth motion. She started the bike, which could barely be heard above the rumble of the Harley’s engine. She glanced back at him and at his nod, she began to move.

  She headed away from town, in the same direction Drake had come into town. He knew this road. It was a good one for a ride. But then she surprised him, taking a turn and leading him up higher on the hillside. Once they reached the top, another road stretched out in front of them that ran along the edge of the hill, giving them a perfect view of the ocean.

  Drake wanted to look at the view, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Megan. She rode as well as anyone he’d seen, relaxed and comfortable in her seat, her bike staying true even in the sharp turns. After they’d gone a ways, she pulled over onto an overlook and stopped her bike. Drake pulled up next to her and killed the engine. Megan pulled her helmet off, a grin on her face, looking flushed and happy.

  “Isn’t that a great ride?” she asked him.

  “It is,” he agreed.

  “Ready to let me ride your bike yet?” she asked.

  “No.” His refusal was less sure than it had been earlier.

  “What if you rode on the back?” she asked, cocking her head.

  “You can ride with a rider?” he asked, surprised.

  “Sure,” she said. “I give others rides all the time.”

  “My bike’s a lot heavier than yours,” he said.

  “Yeah, but the weight sits lower, so it’ll ride smoother.”

  Drake shook his head at the amazing Megan.

  “The road that way,” she said, pointing toward the road that continued from where they’d stopped, “is pretty straight. I’ll just take you for a little ways, and then we’ll come back.”

  Drake knew he’d capitulated before he even nodded his head. He’d probably capitulated the first time she asked him when she’d told him she could ride. Megan squealed at his nod and quickly placed the helmet back on her head. Drake scooted to the back seat, making room for her to climb on.

  She pulled the bike upright, Drake surprised she could do that with his weight on the back. She started it, and he could feel the waves of pleasure rolling off her as it rumbled to life beneath them. He knew the feeling—there wasn’t anything like riding. It was his one and only pleasure.

  The Harley had belonged to his father. When Drake was released from juvie, his dad had shown up, the Harley on a trailer behind his truck. He’d rolled it off and handed the key to Drake. “It’s yours,” was all he’d said before climbing back into his truck and driving away. Not exactly a touching father-son reunion, but Drake didn’t want that. The Harley—that he did want, so he took it and never looked back.

  Megan rolled the bike smoothly onto the road, and without even a slight wobble they were off. Drake held his hands firmly on the sides of the seat beneath him. He was tempted—beyond tempted—to place them on her waist. But he had a feeling there would be no turning back for him from such an action, so he left them where they were.

  Megan stayed true to her word, taking him down the road, then rolling it into a wide U-turn before heading back to where her bike waited. When they arrived, she began to climb off, but Drake held her in place with his hands on her shoulders while he swung off the back. Without a word he walked to her bike and climbed on. He glanced over at her, saw the beaming smile of gratitude on her face, unable to resist answering it with a smile of his own.

  Her bike was small and felt like a toy beneath him as he followed her back to town. She rode his bike as smoothly as she’d ridden her own. He was impressed. She stopped in front of her bungalow, pulling his bike into the driveway and parking it, cutting the engine before she got off. She walked over to where he’d stopped her bike, pulling her helmet off.

  “Thanks, Drake. That was awesome!” she enthused. “I always knew it would be amazing to ride a Harley. Now I owe you. How about you stay for dinner?”

  Drake’s first instinct was to agree, but then he remembered who her father was. “I don’t think that’s such a good—”

  “Megan,” Tom called, coming from of the house. He glanced at D
rake, then walked over to his daughter, kissing the top of her head. “Drake,” he said in acknowledgment. “Where’ve you two been?”

  “We went for a ride,” Megan said. “Drake let me ride his Harley.”

  “Really?” Tom asked, looking at Drake with something new in his face, as if he’d had a revelation about him. Drake wasn’t sure he liked that.

  “Yeah,” Megan confirmed. “He’s staying for dinner.”

  She walked into the house without waiting for either of their responses. Tom looked at him, a question on his face. He wore khaki shorts and a t-shirt with some brand of surfboard on it. It was the first time Drake had seen him in anything other than a wetsuit.

  “I tried to tell her I didn’t think it was a good idea,” he began.

  “What? Letting her ride your Harley?” Tom asked.

  “No. Well, yeah, that too. But I meant me staying for dinner.”

  “Might as well stay,” Tom said. “She doesn’t take ‘no’ very well.”

  “I noticed,” Drake said. He climbed off the bike and set his helmet on his own seat. “I wanted to let you know I got a job.”

  “Oh yeah?” Tom asked, walking toward the house.

  “Yeah, at Seaside Rentals.”

  “Ah,” Tom said, glancing at Drake. “Andrea’s a good woman. A bit rough around the edges, but good through-and-through.”

  “I know,” Drake said.

  “Does she know about . . .” he waved a hand between the two of them.

  “Kind of. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t let me.”

  Tom laughed. “I’m not at all surprised. Everything else going okay?”

  Drake stopped as they arrived at the door to the bungalow, and Tom stopped with him. Drake looked around nervously. “Well, sir, you should know . . . I jaywalked. Just once. Almost got hit by a car. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

  Laughter danced in Tom’s eyes, but to his credit he kept a straight face. “That’s strike one, Drake. Let’s not go for strike two, okay?”

  Drake nodded, and followed Tom into the house. Before the night was out, he somehow had made arrangements to take surfing lessons from Tom, and to let Megan ride his bike again. When he arrived back at his own bungalow, still trying to figure out how either of those things had happened, he realized he was feeling something he hadn’t felt for as long as he could remember.