Outside

by Michelle Mankin

  Outside

  (Rock Stars, Surf and Second Chances)

  Copyright © 2015 by Michelle Mankin

  Cover created by Michelle Preast of Indie Book Covers

  Copy editing by Dr. Diane Klein

  Formatting and interior design by JTFormatting

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Title Page

  Lincoln Savage Quote

  Part One

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Part Two

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Part Three

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  I stumbled almost falling as I took the stage, tottering precariously on my three inch platform heels. For a moment I thought I had seen…but that was crazy. I gave myself an internal shake. It had been years. He was never coming back to Ocean Beach. Never coming back to me. He would never come through on any of his promises to me.

  I smoothed my fingers over my curves. Though an indulgence much too expensive given my budget, the Lilly Pulitzer original I wore was gorgeous with pearl buttons on the neckline, an elegant scalloped hem and an artfully arranged whisper blue Lilly pad pattern that made it appear sheer under the lights. I didn’t return my gaze to the corner where a flash of flame had seemed to reveal the harsh lines and stubborn planes of the ruggedly handsome face that I had sworn years ago to forget.

  Just my overactive imagination conjuring up old desires and not a few regrets.

  I moved to the center microphone, years of practice on the small stage making my sashaying stride seem confident and self-assured when I was neither tonight. Still unsettled, I stalled taking a sip from a bottled water and making sure the musicians were set while scanning the crowd at the popular San Diego club. Packed as usual, dozens of regulars with their leathery tans but also a handful of sunburned newbies sprinkled in. They sipped their specialty cocktails, few seeming to acknowledge me as they chatted beneath the flashing neon lights waiting for the music to begin.

  After years of singing every Thursday through Saturday nights at the Tiki Bar I had developed a significant and loyal following. They had their expectations. I wasn’t about to let them down. But expectations were tricky things. They could turn on you fast enough to snap your neck.

  Nerves worse than usual my palms were sweaty as I grabbed the mic and turned to nod at Stan, my drummer. He laid down the beat. I closed my eyes and went to a different place. Way back in time to another place and another stage when I had been even more nervous, back when he had still been there to comfort me…

  “I can’t do it.” I gulped down oxygen in slow shallow sips trying not to hurl at just the thought of going out there and singing in front of all those people. Important people, media and industry types.

  “You’ve got this, Mona. It’s nothing you haven’t done before.”

  “At school. In musicals. That one time at the Deck Bar. But never when it counted so much.”

  “Relax, babe.” He pulled me into his strong capable arms, his warm hands settling on the curve of my hips, his talented fingers rubbing tempting soothing circles into my skin. I drew in his familiar scent, the ocean and sunshine embedded in his skin from all of the hours he spent on his surfboard. Totally and uniquely him. “Listen to me. No one has a voice like you do. I get chills every time I hear it. There’s no way they aren’t going to fall in love with you the way I have.” He eased back his clear blue eyes traveling the length of me, his lip curling in appreciation at what he saw. There wasn’t much he couldn’t see with my borrowed slinky dress revealing too much thigh and cleavage.

  “I’m gonna be sick.” I tried to shrug out of his grasp but he held me tightly. “Please, Linc. Let me go.” I dropped my chin, staring at the silver heart pendent that contained our initials. “I just can’t do it. I’m sorry.”

  “You can.” He gently lifted my chin with his curled forefinger. The inexpensive silver skull ring I had bought for him from the vendor on the beach felt cold against my clammy skin. “I’ll walk with you right to the stage.”

  I stilled taking a couple of deep breaths, wanting to make him proud. Always wanting to please him. Loving him so desperately with every fiber of my being. Never coming close to imagining how badly he would break me at the end.

  “Simone?” Ron my guitarist hissed bringing me and my thoughts back to the present.

  “Yeah, thanks.” Unable to help myself after that flashb
ack my gaze traveled again to that corner, illuminated by the flickering hurricane candle in the center of the pub table. Long legs sprawled out in front of whoever sat there but the brim of a ball cap completely shadowed his features. It couldn’t really be him. My mind had to be playing tricks on me.

  Linc wasn’t the type of guy to slink around in some back corner. If he went to clubs at all anymore he would be there in the front row surrounded by security, crooking his finger at whatever babe he had chosen to spend the night.

  I ripped my gaze away from the phantom, shutting my mind to the delusion that my time with Linc represented and channeled all of my jumbled emotions into a song I had written way back when I used to believe in love.

  Believe in the promise of us

  Hearts as one love’s guarantee

  A bond so strong we both can trust

  To draw us close whatever may be

  I just want you to

  Take me

  And shape me

  Remake me

  Baby, come on and

  Save me.

  Lies between us in the dark

  Hearts divided you and me

  Ties all broken we’re apart

  Drifting on an empty sea

  Why can’t you just

  Take me

  And shape me

  Remake me

  Baby, reach out and

  Save me.

  I don’t need some perfect hero

  All I really want is you

  By my side today tomorrow

  Tell me that you want me, too

  Please come back and

  Take me

  And shape me

  Remake me

  I’m begging you to

  Save me.

  The bar fell silent as she finished. A round serving tray clutched tight to her chest, the bleach blonde who had been waiting on me stood as motionless as the Hula girl statue that adorned my table. My eyes glistened from the same poignant ache she was trying to hug away. The patrons were mesmerized. Even the jaded bartenders paused to shake off the melancholy mood her lyrics invoked before returning to complete their drink orders. I found myself leaning forward as if to close the physical distance between us, my grip so hard on the table top that my knuckles had turned white.

  The song washed up a summer’s worth of heart crushing memories. Simone was still just as breathtakingly gorgeous and talented as ever. She epitomized perfection. Pitch. Range. Interpretation. Moves. Beauty.

  Unforgettable.

  Her caramel colored hair didn’t have quite as many sun streaked highlights as it had back when she’d been mine, nor was her tan as deep. I wanted to believe she wasn’t spending as much time sitting on the beach in a bikini mooning over some other guy out in the surf. But her olive toned skin was still sun kissed and her locks were still long, wavy and loose around her delicate shoulders. Her eyes were squeezed shut as if she weren’t prepared to let go of the past, our past, and her hands, the ones that used to caress me bringing both my body and my soul to life, remained tightly woven together around the mic.

  She had written that song for me, for us, a plaintive last plea that I had ignored. I sucked in a ragged breath. Hearing it was like a knife through my heart. But I didn’t have one. Not anymore. Not since she had left me.

  The inside of my hollow chest burned as I was crushed by the weight of those memories.

  That first time I had seen her on the beach. So young. So shy. So incredibly beautiful.

  That first time she had looked at me with more than just adoration in her striking, lit from within honey hued eyes. That perfect kiss which had followed.

  And then there was that last time. That night I lost her. That night her life affirming love turned to scorn. That night the light had gone out of my life.

  I never should have come back.

  I should have let the lawyers handle it.

  But I couldn’t stay away.

  Not anymore.

  Not when I finally had a legitimate reason to see her.

  Not knowing everything I knew now.

  She started to sing again. This time it was a tune I didn’t recognize but I knew it must be an original. Her song crafting structure was more complicated now than it had been back then, but it was still poetically lyrical as rhythmic, bluesy and beautiful as she was.

  She swayed side to side behind the mic pole. A sexy temptress, her dress a seduction that concealed more than it revealed, and me in my world of denial wanting to believe that I was still the only man in the room who knew all that lay beneath it.

  Graceful. Sensual. The initial stiffness only I had probably noticed when she first took the stage was completely gone. No woman moved the way she did. No woman felt the way she did like warm satin beneath my fingertips. No woman so reminded me of the ocean at dawn wild and free and full of possibilities. No woman’s scent was as sweet, like a crisp California breeze. No woman made love to me as if savoring every single stroke and caress.

  No woman came close, other women only temporarily satisfied a physical need, nothing more. No one had ever met my spiritual needs the way she once had.

  I watched her effortlessly drift through two more tunes as the club grew more and more crowded, the bodies packed together on the dance floor slowly shuffling to the sultry beat. The next round of applause included a thinly veiled sexual proposition from some guy in the crowd. My fingers curled tighter around the O’Doul’s bottle that had grown warm in my hand. I was too busy slaking years of unquenchable thirst on the vision of her to bother with any cheap non-alcoholic substitute.

  Simone lifted a bottled water to her perfect lips, her honeyed gaze straying back in my direction. She might as well have palmed me through my jeans.

  I pulled my ball cap lower over my fevered eyes and shifted, trying to adjust myself without being obvious like some hormonal teenager.

  “Last number before I take a break.” She poured the words into the mic, her voice as rich and nuanced as the expensive bourbon I had been fond of in the past. The news of her imminent departure sent a rustle of disappointment through the mostly male crowd.

  “Any requests?” she asked curling her lips into a ghost of a smile. It wasn’t the smile that used to turn my world upside down but it was a seductive one nonetheless, and it engendered a few more ribald remarks.

  She ignored their innuendos cocking her head to the side, a long tendril of light caramel curling around her right breast. My fingers flexed remembering the way she used to arch those luscious tits of hers into my worshiping hands.

  “’Last Night of the World’.” My voice was huskier than usual because of the direction of my thoughts and because of the memory that accompanied that particular tune.

  Her head snapped my way, her skin paling as the blood seemed to drain completely away from her pretty face. I tipped the brim of my cap back and leaned forward into the light. Her gaze locked on mine. Her hand went to her throat.

  “Linc.”

  I was sorry I had startled her but it was worth it just to hear my name flowing over her lips in a breathless whisper the way it once had so easily so long ago.

  Every single muscle every fiber of my being froze focused on the man who once had been the sun in my personal universe.

  Linc was as handsome as he had ever been and any subtle differences I could make out only added to his allure. Not that I would ever admit it aloud. Leather jacket over a faded t-shirt. Worn jeans. Tall lean physique. Not the type of guy who spent every waking moment pressing weights, but definitely in shape and completely at ease within a body he knew how to move in the most pleasurable ways possible.

  His hair color defied simple explanation. It was mostly the color of the wet sand along the shore and longer than it had been in the latest round of online photos. Waves of thick uneven layers curled into his ears and above them the ends flipped up around his collar. I recalled lying beside him late at night sifting my fingers through those layers and tracing those golden highlights.r />
  I sighed without meaning to and my bereft fingers flexed around the mic.

  I noticed how tan he was and how his eyes were the same as I remembered, a crystal blue like the ocean past the breaking waves. Laugh lines around them and his irresistible lips seemed to be permanent rather than temporary now. I imagined he had regained his sense of humor after all of the years and years of success. Even though he had deeply hurt me I had always wanted to believe he was happy in the life he had chosen. I needed to believe one of us had repurposed the pain and moved beyond it.

  Seeming to mistake my lingering perusal as an invitation, Linc smiled slowly, laugh lines deepening to bracket the mouth that used to curl my toes with devastating kisses. The multicolored club lights flashed their reflection in his eyes as he moved toward me. His lazy rolling stride that reminded me of the ocean he had once tamed on his board had only a slight barely noticeable hitch now.

  When he reached the center of the dance floor, the murmurings started to rise becoming a chant as more than a few in the similarly aged crowd recognized him. But I couldn’t let him get any closer.

  “Hey, all you Tiki bar barflies.” Eyes still linked to his, terrified by how little willpower I had to resist him, I leaned forward into the mic forcing my lips into a smile. “I’m sure by now you’ve noticed we have a celebrity in our midst. Help me welcome to the stage, the lead singer of the Dirt Dogs, OB’s own. Mr. Lincoln Savage.”

  Clapping along with everyone else I stepped backward planning my escape. Linc’s eyes narrowed as the crowd surrounded him, a surge of energy propelling him toward the stage accompanied by pleas to perform.

  As he advanced, I retreated. One step, then two, my legs were as shaky now as they had been when I had first taken the stage. When he hit the stairs to come up, I hit the shadows whirling around on my heels nearly falling as I fled down the dark hall behind the platform.

  I was grateful that everyone was busy fawning over him rather than gawking at me in my obvious panic. My hands trembled as I twisted the knob to the storage closet that also served as my dressing room. Once safely inside, I kicked off the high heels, stripped off the dress and hastily returned it to my hanging bag. Hopping around on the cold concrete floor on my bare feet, I shimmied into my jeans, threw on a top and stepped into a pair of flip flops. The whole process took less than two minutes. I had never changed so fast in my entire life.