by Eva LeNoir
“Is that right?” I asked him, used to his ribbing. Hell, we probably influenced his smack talk.
“Yep, then I’ll be the one ruffling your hair and giving you permission to use your canes,” he said, his eyes full of mischief.
“Luca, give this little smartass a soda, will you? I think he’s dehydrated,” I called out, laughing. The kid was young, but he was tall for his age with lean muscles I suspected came from hours out in the water, surfing.
“I can’t stay, my parents are here today,” Justin said, with a grin that rivaled the sparkle of the ocean under the sun.
“Dude, that’s awesome. Whatcha gonna do with them?” We were on the deck, setting up the outdoor living area for some down time.
“Not sure, I think they want to go to some restaurant down in Huntington or some shit,” I gave him a stern look with a pointed index finger.
“Dude, I’m gonna get my ass kicked if your parents hear you talking like that,” I told him with my “dad voice”. Yeah, who knew I had one of those?
“Sorry, man, won’t happen again,” he answered on a shrug that said he meant none of those words.
“Right.”
Falling onto the outside sofa, I reached out into the cooler and got a cold bottle of beer, letting the fresh glass cool down my face. I loved my beard but with summer already here to stay, it would soon be time to shave it off, so I didn’t die from the heat. The sand was a bitch, too, but I loved having it in the winter. Running it along silky, feminine thighs. Eating pussy with their juices lingering long enough to keep me horny well passed their third orgasms. Yeah, my beard was one of my toys when fucking beautiful women.
And fuck my life, now my mind was on Jaidyn, wondering how her pussy tasted. If she screamed or moaned when she came. If she’d bury her fingers in my hair while I feasted on her or if she’d grip the sheets trying her best not to lose complete control.
Jesus fucking Christ. I needed to get a grip on my self-control. Better yet, a literal grip on my dick to relieve some of this pressure.
“Dude!”
Blinking, I looked up and saw Justin waving his hand in my face, his mouth set in a frown and Liberace sitting on my lap waiting for some affection.
“Yeah, sorry. Zoned out, man. What’s up?” I asked taking a sip of the beer, putting all thoughts of Jaidyn Hughes from my mind.
“Surf tomorrow?” the kid repeated, “I checked SwellInfo and we’re going to have light offshore winds in the morning with some ground swell beginning to show. I’m going out at six, you in?” It was easy to understand Justin’s need to start his day off in the water. We were all wave junkies. The anticipation, the waiting, the calculating, all jump-started a chemical reaction in our brains, releasing dopamine throughout the body like an intravenous drug. Sometimes we caught the ocean in a good mood, feeding our addiction with endorphins and adrenalin, other times the winds shifted and delivered a vast platter of nothingness. In the end, though, just being out there with the salt on our tongues, the breeze as our symphony, and the earth’s colors our only palette was enough to soothe our souls for another day.
It was yet another reason we had chosen this house; the beach in Huntington faced the ideal direction for ultimate waves even in the summer when other beaches were left with nothing but a flat, glassy ocean view or worse, choppy wind swell.
“Right on, kid. Six it is.”
We shook hands and I heard him call out to the guys who were still in the kitchen bitching about the Dodgers and Nationals or some unimportant sporting event that had zero appeal to me. Why Luca was a Nationals fan we would never know, and I didn’t think he knew either. My bet was on the numbers. Luca was the math kid between us. Ethan was the smooth talker, the one who got the money from the rich guys to generously donate to our foundation. Luca made sure that money was working at its most optimum and I managed the clients.
The guys came out with last night’s leftover burritos on plates and a twelve-pack that we stuffed into our outdoor cooler. Our view was spectacular but then every house on this beach had that privilege. When we bought this place, we weren’t looking for a gaudy rich man’s party house. Our list of demands hadn’t been all that long. We wanted a beachfront with four bedrooms, four baths. The rest we spruced up ourselves right down to the new deck with a jacuzzi and sofas that bordered along the exterior of the house. We had a sweet barbeque set-up for our meals and the sunset in high definition.
I looked over at my best friends, one hand holding my beer, the other running through Libs’ black and white fur, and made a decision.
The guys were still talking shit about baseball and Luca was daring Ethan to bet against him. No one ever bet against Luca unless they didn’t know him, or they just wanted to lose money. Ethan wasn’t an idiot, but he would defend the Dodgers until his last breath.
“I’m taking a few weeks to personally accompany a couple of clients,” I blurted out, waiting for the axe to fall.
Everything around me suddenly fell silent, the guys’ conversation came to a screeching halt, and the sun itself hit the pause button long enough for the seconds to feel like centuries.
Luca, his brows furrowed, the worry lines on his forehead working overtime and his full lips parted in shock, was the first to speak up. With the sunset hitting his profile, the orange light on his warm amber skin gave off an almost godlike presence. He was often mistaken for a Hollywood big name, which he always found ridiculous.
“Come again?”
Ethan began shaking his head before he threw a piece of burrito in his mouth and began chuckling.
“The fuck you laughing at, Ethan?” I asked, my tone a bit defensive but I was afraid of his answer. With his almost onyx hair and blue eyes, Ethan was the pretty boy who liked to use his body as a canvas, showing off elaborate tattoos, and inevitably, the ladies tended to gravitate toward him. He had that laid-back appeal, the bad boy who cleaned up well, look. But of the three of us, he was the most fucked up. We all had tragic stories that ended well, for the most part, but Ethan could have been a movie superstar with the amount of acting he did on a daily basis to hide his emotional scars.
“Who’s the girl, Brooks?” At that, as if the world finally made sense, Luca’s face broke out into a wide, bright grin and he just shook his head and slouched back onto the sofa cushions.
“There’s no girl. Why would you think there’s a girl?” Even Liberace was staring at me, judging me with his little beady eyes.
Traitor.
“Oh, it’s definitely a girl,” this coming from Luca who apparently knew me better than he knew the Pythagorean theorem.
“Remind me why I hang out with you two bastards?” I picked up Libs and made my way to the grill to start prepping for steaks when both guys burst out laughing.
“You have never. And I repeat with an emphasis on never, accompanied a client on a wish list that was more than a day’s worth of work. That’s why we hired counselors, asshole.” Ethan got up, tossed an ice cube at my head, and then walked back in to get the steaks that he’d marinated for the past three hours.
“He’s got a point,” Luca said, coming over to the grill with his beer in hand and turned his bare back toward the sun, “Also, Emma called him last night to send him a first draft of a tattoo he wanted her to do.” Ah, Emma. Fucking traitor number two.
“Asshole!” Came from inside the kitchen, presumably aimed at Luca for spilling the beans. This was my opening to get the heat off me and onto Ethan.
“Dude, are you fucking Emma? Because that’s just wrong.” I yelled out. I didn’t particularly care. Emma was a big girl and she could take care of herself. If anything, I was more worried about Ethan getting his nuts cut off or possibly his heart ripped out. All options were open when it came to Emma’s unrestrained rage and need for self-preservation.
“What part of ‘getting a tattoo’ did you not comprehend?” he yelled as he walked out with the steaks and sauces.
“Yeah, yeah. Starts with a tattoo and
ends with a cock-in-tail.” We all laughed, our ribbing par for the course when three not yet thirty-year-old bachelors depended on each other for some real talk.
“So, who’s the girl, Brooks?” Fucking Luca and his one-track mind.
“Jaidyn Hughes, Robert Hughes’ daughter.”
“Robert Hughes?”
“Of Hughes Incorporated?” The guys said at the same time with awe in their voices.
“Yep. The one and only.”
Told you I was fucked.
Chapter 9
Jaidyn
The night before we started at Habitat for Humanity was rough.
I knew there would be days with and days without but what I had failed to comprehend was the deeply rooted awareness that we are but a single grain of sand on a mile-long stretch of beach. The insignificance of our actions when facing an enemy that is fated to win not only every battle but the entirety of the war, was too often overwhelming.
Today I remembered, and I hated every second of it.
In the last couple of weeks, The Dream List Foundation had kept close contact with me. And by the DLF, I did mean Marlon Brooks who, to my surprise and dare I say disappointment, was the epitome of professionalism. I thought I’d have to fight off his advances but instead was impressed by his work ethic and attention to details. Of course, I was relieved as well. After all, I was involved in a long-term, serious relationship with Calvin.
Speaking of whom…
“Look Calvin, Dad would really appreciate you being there with us, volunteering,” I repeated for the fifth time to no avail.
We had both graduated from college three weeks prior, neither able to attend the ceremony of the other. I had my father who was showing signs of fatigue and Calvin had previous, important, engagements that required his presence.
“You know I would, babe, but this boat trip is important. The senator will be there, and you know I’m trying to get that internship in D.C. during my Masters program,” he explained, again, in case I hadn’t registered the rejection the first time. “As soon as my life settles a bit, I will definitely come and help you out,” he added as though I needed help with algebra and not making the last years of my dad’s life just a little bit more gratifying.
“You know what? You’re right. Have fun on your yacht and be careful not to fall in and drown.” I hung up the phone before he could chastise me for my childish behavior. It occurred to me that I was doing this more often lately, hanging up without a goodbye. It also occurred to me that it was bothering me less and less.
Looking at the clock, I sighed, heaved myself out of bed and headed straight to the shower. San Diego’s Habitat for Humanity expected us to be present at eight fifteen, so I needed to get Dad up and going. We both knew what we would be doing and where we would be needed. I’d be helping with construction, while Dad would be onsite organizing the teams and making sure we were on schedule for the week’s work. We were signed up for two weeks, for a total of six days and as I showered and ran the details through my mind, I got more and more excited about lending a hand to my community.
I would have an experienced volunteer helping me out, so I wasn’t too worried about my novice status. The contracts we signed were clear about the attire and tools we needed to bring with us, notably the closed-toe shoes, the gloves and hard hats which I bought for us both the week before. The construction tools would be provided, and Dad would be taking notes on the distribution of the material.
It was all a well-oiled machine and I was thrilled to participate.
No less exciting would be seeing Marlon after all this time. I figured the initial allure of his charm would be gone with the passing weeks and that too, reassured me. From what I gathered, he was passing through, making sure we were well settled in and then would be leaving to do whatever it was he did.
By seven-forty, Dad and I were ready to go. He was feeling much better today compared to the night before. His cheeks had color, his eyes were bright with excitement and his legs were able to carry him with a bit more spunk. My heart swelled as I watched him gather his gloves and hard hat. It was like seeing him ten years ago, a genuine smile on his face not the chorea.
I had to remember that hope was the antonym to despair and for every ounce I felt of the one, I would suffer exponentially of the other.
But in that moment, I chose to bask in the happiness of my father’s wishes.
We were going to physically build someone’s home and it was going to feel extraordinary. For the both of us.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Hughes,” the San Diego HFH manager, Joel Cannon said, shaking my father’s hand then mine, “Ms. Hughes.”
“Thank you for having us, I know it’s an unorthodox but…” my father’s words died in a breath of silence because the ending to that phrase was his pending death sentence.
“We’re happy to have you. Every bee has a skill they can contribute to the hive, no matter their circumstance,” Joel said, a warm smile plastered on his face. He was the living stereotype for construction workers. Tall, thick and no nonsense. If he hadn’t wanted us here, he would have said so from the beginning. I liked that about him.
We had arrived at HFH with fifteen minutes to spare which gave us some time to look around and take in the whirring energy of the community. The place was humming with movement and buzzing with determination. Three houses were already well on their way to being finished while one was barely showing its wooden skeleton. A myriad of colorful hard-hats scurried from station to station while names were being called at a shelter tent for roll call.
I was bouncing on my heels, with one hand under my father’s elbow for support and the other holding a tool belt that screamed virgin construction worker to anyone paying an ounce of attention. As I guided Dad to the tent where he would set up shop, my skin rippled with goosebumps, my instincts preparing for battle.
“Glad you could make it.”
His voice was sultry and delicious, like fresh, hot coffee on a Sunday morning. His breath at my ear sending shivers down my spine as the loose hairs tickled my neck.
Marlon Brooks had arrived and suddenly, I felt alive.
“Mr. Brooks, it’s good to see…,” I almost choked on my last word when I turned my head to greet him. There he was, a real-life porn advert for a handyman scene, with his worn jeans resting low on his hips and a Stick Figure t-shirt hugging every delicious ridge and bulge created for the sole purpose of making women wet at the most inconvenient times. Then, there was the beard. It was still there but he’d trimmed it, so it looked more like a three-day shadow. My reaction was primal, bordering on animalist.
“You,” I finally managed to finish my phrase on a breathy vowel. His smirk and the gleam in those earthy piebald eyes told me he knew I was two seconds away from having actual drool pooling at the corners of my mouth.
“If we’re going to be spending time together hammering, nailing, and pounding wood, I think we may as well be calling each other by our first names, don’t you?”
The flash of heat in my cheeks was immediate at the double entendre of his words. He did it on purpose, of course. He knew it, I knew it. Still, it surprised me after our cordial, almost bland conversations the past few weeks.
“Ah, Mr. Brooks. It’s good to see you again, son,” my father interjected, holding out his hand and slapping Marlon on the back like they were old friends or long-lost family.
“Please, sir. Call me Marlon. We’ll be spending a lot of time together,” Marlon’s tone when speaking to my father was completely different, almost reverent in his admiration. I supposed it was normal, my father had built a name for himself in California, and young businessmen across the state cited him as an example of business savvy.
With the preambles out of the way, we set my father up at the tent and made our way to the house needing the most attention. I supposed we would be devoting ourselves to that house for the next two weeks.
That’s when it dawned on me. The clothes, the hard h
at, the sexy innuendos.
“Wait, I thought you were only passing through, getting us settled in?” I asked, knowing the answer but hoping I was wrong. My hormones wouldn’t last long working side by side with Marlon Brooks. Not with his biceps winking at me every time he clutched a hammer.
With the green of his eyes burning a path from my hard-toed shoes, up my jean-clad legs and over my black tank top before reaching what I guessed was a bewildered look on my face, he simply stated, “You didn’t think I’d miss all this, did you?”
I was in so much trouble and somehow felt no shame. In fact, I was excited to see just how capable Marlon was with his hands.
Besides, we were just building a house, what could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 10
Marlon
After a crash course of what had already been done and what would be accomplished this week, our supervisor assessed our experience and put us into balanced groups based on our capabilities. I wasn’t a builder by any stretch of the imagination but for the last four years, Ethan, Luca and I had been renovating our beach house, so I had some knowledge about construction. Jaidyn, on the other hand was a newbie who refused to cower when faced with the task of building an interior wall.
As any gentleman would, I generously volunteered to be her shadow and make sure she knew what she was doing and didn’t hurt herself. Or anyone else, for that matter. With the way she had demonstrated her hammering skills, I was afraid she might destroy the framing instead of building it. From the toned lines of her shoulders and arms coupled with her tapered waist, she clearly kept in shape. That didn’t fare well for my newly acquired resolution to keep my distance from the temptation that was Jaidyn Hughes.
After spending a ridiculous amount of time talking to Luca and Ethan about my spontaneous hard-ons when it came to Jaidyn, we decided that business was not to be fucked over by primal needs. Especially when it came to someone like Robert Hughes.
The man was a legend and the fact that he was our client would be a profitable reference for us. Never mind his money-making business savvy, they were a dime a dozen. Hughes never contented himself with just gaining wealth. He was a mentor to an entire generation. Rumor had it that every year, about twenty interns were selected for an eight-week training program. Of those twenty, Hughes himself, chose one to take under his wing. Inevitably, that lucky bastard got the inside track on how to start with nothing and build an empire.