by Elodie Colt
Option one—lulling myself to sleep with some Netflix crap. Option two—another confrontation with Christina so she can ride my ass about how to inconspicuously woo her daughter into a marriage. Option three—spend the evening with the girl who’s kicked Sharon Stone off her throne in my head, and dammit, she’d been there ever since she granted me the first look of a pussy in Basic Instinct at the age of ten.
I make my decision in a split second.
“You made this all by yourself?”
Sam smiles when I lean closer to the surfboard mounted on the wall. It’s the yellow one from her friend, Skyla, that was stuck in her windshield not that long ago. Now, it’s hanging on a rack on the wall with little L-brackets and LED lights attached to the back, illuminating a good portion of the wooden space.
“This is excellent work,” I say when I examine the screws and the part where she ground off the broken surfboard fin.
“Thanks,” she says proudly, making herself comfortable on the single bed.
I sit down opposite her, glancing out the tiny windows covered with checkered cloths for curtains. The perfect vantage point to oversee half of Christina’s backyard and her entire living area, thanks to the wall-to-wall glass front facing the porch. Should I ever get the chance to screw Jillian, I’d be smart not to take her on the kitchen counter.
I tear my gaze away, letting it graze over the room. The little shelf next to the bed is jam-packed with books, neatly arranged in alphabetical order. Gardening books, cook books, relationship guidance books, and lots of the cheesy romance stuff according to the titles on the spines. I notice a dozen copies of the same book at the bottom, but before I can get a closer look, Sam closes the sliding door.
I pull up my knees, wrapping my hands around them and sending her a curious look. “Why do you have ten copies of the same book on your shelf?”
“Uh, because they have pretty covers.” She shrugs, but before I can press further, her phone chirps, cutting off my question.
She fetches it from the small window sill and unlocks the cracked screen. I use the chance to count the staggering amount of lashes above her pretty walnut eyes, when she suddenly goes eerily pale.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”
I straighten when her facial muscles slacken. “What’s wrong?”
“Fuck.” Closing her eyes, she lets her head fall back against the wooden planks. “A text from my mom. My parents want to visit.”
I cock my head, scrutinizing her pinched expression. “And you’re clearly bursting with joy.”
She rubs her eyebrow before she opens her eyes again, grimacing. “They haven’t set a foot into the states for seven years, not even when I was in the hospital after a bad case of pneumonia. They—”
“Seven years?” I interrupt her with a head shake.
“They moved to Kenya when I was eighteen.”
“And they cut all ties, or what?”
“No, Mom is doing the minimum of parenting duty with Zoom calls every other month where she likes to tell me how to live my life according to her standards.” Flinging her phone onto the mattress, she throws me a forced smile.
“Why did they move to Kenya?”
“My mom works for an NGO that focuses on gender equality and health care in Africa. She wanted to move to Kenya right after high school, but then she met my father and got pregnant. As soon as I was old enough to walk, she left me in Dad’s care and went on her bi-monthly Kenya trips. The years went by until I became a teenager, and Dad tagged along like a loyal dog. And then their last trip became a lifetime vacation.”
Her glassy eyes are far away as she twiddles with her earring. I scoot closer to her on the bed. I’ve seen this girl furious and horny and everything in between, but her sorrow pokes something inside me. Like a splinter in my finger I can’t pull out with tweezers.
“Mom wants me to work for her,” she continues. “She’s putting the bite on me, pushing me into moving to Kenya. Do something good for this evil world and not waste my time with anything that doesn’t include feeding poor kids, cleaning the oceans, or saving the animals.” She shakes her head. “Don’t get me wrong, I love what she’s doing. She’s making the world a better place. I wish I could share her devotion, to make her proud, to…”
The words hitch in her throat, but she harrumphs and schools her features, adamant not to lose a tear in my presence. Thank God. I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from licking away the drops.
“Why on earth would she be proud of you?”
For a cruel moment, her gaze snaps up to me, a pair of fat irises zoning in on me.
“She doesn’t know you,” I go on before the hurt swirling in her eyes can kill me. “She doesn’t know how smart, funny, dexterous, or what a great cook you are. Hell, she doesn’t even know how damn beautiful you are because she hasn’t seen your face for real for the last seven years.”
Her lips hint at a smile before she averts her gaze to hide the red stripes of bashfulness crawling up her cheeks.
“Sure, you have a few screws loose,” I add, taking on a musing tone, “chatting with your plants every morning and reading masturbation guides, although you aced it the last two times all on your own…”
Side-eyeing her, I wait for her to snap, and she sure does when she punches my arm and snorts out a laugh.
“Yes, I did.” Her tone drips fake arrogance. “And I like to talk to my plants. They are amazing listeners. Besides, I was never allowed to have pets.”
I chuckle, flopping my head back against the wall and listening to the insects buzzing in the summer night. I can feel Sam’s eyes on me as she twists a strand of hair in between her fingers.
“What about your parents? You said something about your dad today. That he’s counting his last days…” She bites her lip, watching me swallow a chunk of grief.
“He has Alzheimer’s.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry…”
She places her bandaged hand over mine propped on my knee. I turn my palm up to stroke her thumb. The contact is soothing. The first meaningful touch other than Sofia’s since Mom grabbed Tegan and her suitcases.
“Don’t be,” I say. “He was a drunk, a cheater, and a petulant father ever since he ruined his own marriage. I loved him, but after Mom left with my sister, he sealed his heart in a cage and locked me out.”
Her hand squeezes mine. “Are you in contact with them?”
“No. Tegan was still a baby when Mom got divorced. I was ten, so my parents gave me a choice—stay with Daddy or leave with Mommy. Well, Daddy was the guy who let me sip his cognac, gave me chocolate as breakfast, and allowed me to stay awake until the early morning hours. Whom do you think I chose?” I add a bitter chuckle.
At that moment, the force of habit overcomes me, and before I realize what I’m doing, I slide my hand into my flannel pocket, fish out my flask, and take a sip. Talk about pulling a boner, dumbass.
Sam’s hand glides from mine as she gives me a stern look. “Sorrows don’t drown in alcohol,” she says at last. “They can swim, you know?”
I ponder over the words, nodding slowly. “Yes, they can. But people like me try to flood them all at once in hopes of smashing them against the bottom of the ocean.”
Movement in Christina’s living area draws my attention. Jillian just came home, skillfully ignoring her mother who’s lounging on the sofa and filing her fingernails.
‘Samantha Kent is only innocent on the outside,’ Jillian said the last time I spoke to her.
Rolling my head on the wall, I turn it toward Sam. “Did anything happen between Jillian and you?”
She faces me, frowning. “Why are you asking?”
“Just curious.” I hitch up my shoulders. “Something tells me there’s bad blood between you two.”
Her head bops in a resigned nod. “Harvey.”
“Harvey?” Who’s that guy, and why do I have the sudden urge to throw a punch?
“My last boyfriend three years a
go,” she says. “We met at a BBQ. Jillian had a crush on him, but he only had eyes for me.” Sounds familiar. “We came together, and Jillian has been giving me the cold shoulder ever since.”
So the guy is off the radar. Weirdly, the thought is a relieving one.
Sam huffs a laugh. “She’s still mad at me, isn’t she? A pity she never heard me out when I wanted to talk to her afterward. She should be thankful she didn’t get involved with that asshole.”
“What did he do?”
“Kendra caught him with his dick in the mouth of another girl in the restroom of the club where we celebrated my twenty-second birthday,” she says, half-amused but with a disgusted expression on her face.
I blink at her. “Wow. That’s…”
“Insanely blundering and awfully degrading?” she helps me along when I struggle to find words. “Pretty much, yeah.”
I roll my head back to stare holes into the wooden ceiling. Guess Sam’s overall hesitation to make some bed springs squeak with me makes sense now.
“Shit, I’m so stupid.” She slaps a hand against her forehead. “I went too far.”
I frown at her. “What are you talking about?”
She shoots me a sheepish glance, wringing her hands. “What I did in the bathroom today… I… I pushed you, although I knew you and Jillian had a thing. I don’t want to screw her over. What have I been thinking?”
I place a hand on her knee. “You’ve got this all wrong, Sam. Hey, listen to me,” I add when she shakes her head. Waiting until she catches my gaze, I drag a hand down my face before I start explaining my impossible situation.
“This bacteria is wrecking my business. I’m about to lose the plantation if I don’t plant new trees and see to it that they produce fruit fast. Christina knows about my financial crises. She’s an old friend of my mom and offered to help me out. Fuck, I don’t want to touch anyone else’s money, but I’m desperate enough to take it at the moment.”
Sam tilts her head when I pause to bite my lip. “Matthew, this is a chance you won’t get a second time in your life. Christina is swimming in money. Maybe even literally. Knowing her, she’s taking occasional baths in hundred-dollar bills. Swallow down your pride and take it.”
“There’s a catch.” I send her a guarded glance, and her eyes widen.
“Jillian,” she says when the penny drops.
I nod curtly. “She wants me to marry her.”
A beat of silence follows before her shoulders hunch slightly. The bitter smile she’s throwing my way rams a spear into my heart.
“Does Jillian know?”
“No. She knows Christina is pushing her into my arms, but she doesn’t know how her mother is willing to save my business in exchange for an eternity-vow.”
“Jillian isn’t a bad catch,” she says. “I’ve known her since we were in diapers. Her mother is a dragon, but Jillian is nothing like her. And she likes you. A lot.”
I arc a questioning eyebrow at her.
“I saw you the other day in the kitchen,” she explains sheepishly. “She smiled at you whenever you weren’t looking. Jillian is a hard nut to crack. She doesn’t warm up to anyone, so I guess you did something right.”
I scoff. “I don’t know shit about love, but I know it’s a far cry from liking someone and deciding to share the rest of your life with them. And if Jillian is as smart as I think she is, she wouldn’t throw herself blindly into a marriage.”
She sighs. “That is something you two have to duke out.”
Her smile is strained, wavering on her lips. The slight flicker of disappointment on her face is cruel as much as it is exhilarating. Her gaze falls to my mouth. The yearning gleaming in her eyes is unmistakable. The sight throws a hook into my heart, pulling me closer a few inches until I can taste the desire on her sweet breath.
The line, a voice reminds me in my brain. Don’t forget the damn line.
Sadly, the only line drawing my attention right now is the one between her lips that separates into two when they part.
Then, a low, choked whimper comes from her throat. “Matthew, we shouldn’t—”
I slam my mouth against hers. Screw what we should or shouldn’t do. Screw the line that we’ve drawn only to erase it so many times it became a gray, blurry patch. Screw everything just for one fucking moment.
Thankfully, our thoughts are aligned because Sam breaks underneath my onslaught, allowing my tongue to plunder her mouth and grabbing her face to anchor her to me. The passion that kindled between us from that first moment we met breaks out into a wildfire, burning everything to the ground—our restraints, our logic, our control.
My hands find her knees. With a hard tug, I pull her into my lap. The floorboards squeak underneath the mattress, the scent of her mixing with the whiff of sawdust in the air. Her frayed shorts scrape against my jeans as I grab her ass to push her against me. My dick pokes into her, and the contact makes her hiss into my mouth before she rips her lips from mine.
I groan, craning my head forward to reconnect with her, but she keeps me at bay with her hands on my cheeks. We pant into each other's faces, desperate to continue what we’ve started, but I notice she’s already checked out from our trip down ecstasy lane when she cracks her eyes open, giving me a look of pure, steel-hard remorse.
My jaw clenches from the ache in my cock, my heart, and every organ positioned in between.
“I haven’t made my decision yet,” is what tumbles out of my mouth just to keep her in my arms for a little longer.
Yes, you did, you hypocrite.
She leans her sweaty forehead against mine, a sad smile on her face. “Then I’m going to make the decision for you.”
She brushes her lips against mine, a featherlight touch that tastes of something I don’t want to have in my mouth. The coppery tang of anguish and heartbreak sinking from my throat into my stomach like black goo. The sensation makes me shut my eyes, just so I don’t have to witness the regret in her eyes.
My fingers claw into her shorts, unwilling to let her go, but she pries my fingers away and stands from my lap. I keep my eyes closed until a door squeaks.
And when I open them again, she’s gone.
Fourteen
Matthew
The pixels of the laptop screen burn into my retinas. For the first time in months, the number staring back at me is black instead of red. And the little minus in front that physically poked my eyeballs every time I dared a glance at my bank account has disappeared, too.
Five-thousand dollars transferred this morning. Way more than Christina offered me, and the week isn’t even over yet. Here, let me sweeten the deal for you, the four figures say. That’s what you’ll get if you hold your end of the bargain.
Blowing out the held-back air in my lungs, I sag back in my chair. Despite the heavy weight attached to my heart, something loosens inside me. A knot that has been growing in my stomach like a virus. An invisible load that has crumpled my back like the full bags of oranges I’ve been used to carrying since I was a kid. Unbelievable what enormous relief and hope money can bring.
I rub my bleary eyes, yawning. I spent the night fingering Mom’s engagement ring and replaying my kiss with Sam until I’ve branded every stroke of her tongue into my mind, before the first sun rays reminded me that our sweet moment is in the past where it should stay.
I clench my hands in an attempt to shake off the itch to pour myself an entire mug of cognac. One sip, and I’d fall asleep on the spot. I chug down a Coke instead, trying to wake my sluggish brain with a sugar boost as I click my way through some boring-as-fuck forecasts about global orange production and all the stuff that does the opposite of keeping me awake. Ultimately, I end up browsing through my cloud and open the picture.
Delete it, asshole. You owe it to Sam. And your maybe-future wife, mind you.
The little arrow on the screen hovers over the trash can icon just as my phone rings. It’s Sofia. I close the picture with a curse.
“Hey, Sofia,�
� I say groggily, stifling a yawn.
“Good morning, my boy. How are things in West Palm Beach?”
Intricate and supremely vexing. “Good. Lots of work to do,” I add as an excuse for my flat tone.
“Work that seems to pay off, it seems. This Ms. Robinson transferred five-thousand dollars to our bank account, did you see that?”
“Yeah. Make sure to pay Patrick’s salary first before you start with the overdue bills.”
“Of course,” she says hesitantly, and I know she’s about to launch into a lecture. “Boy, I might be old, but I’m not stupid. This is an insane sum of money. Don’t expect me to believe that trimming a few bushes earns you a grand per day.”
“I trimmed the bushes very neatly,” is my dry response, but Sofia stays stern, as usual.
“Matthew.” That threatening I’m-going-to-spank-you-when-you-get-home tone again. “I swear if I get wind of you doing anything remotely crooked, I’m going to—”
“I’m not.” Although, remotely crooked is undeniably apt in my case. “Let’s leave this conversation for later, okay? I’ll make my way back to Tampa in the evening.”
“Good,” she says curtly. “I’ll make us some sandwiches.”
“Thanks, bye.”
I end the call with a sigh and a pending headache. Out of habit, I swerve my gaze to the window before I remember that I’ve closed the curtains for a reason. A reason with blonde hair, pillowy lips, and a preference for busting my balls on a daily basis.
Biting my lip, I swivel my head to my door—the one opposite Jillian’s room. I don’t know if I can fall in love with the girl. Hell, I don’t know if she can fall in love with me, but I’m willing to figure it out for the sake of my future.
For the sake of my father’s inheritance.
I knock on Jillian’s door. Papers rustle from the other side.
“No, I still haven’t seen your baby blue Prada bag, Mom,” is Jillian’s annoyed answer. “Try looking underneath your pillow in case you went sleeping with it.”