by Kade, Teagan
He extends his hands. “My pleasure. I just wish you’d talk to me, tell me what’s going on. I only want to help.”
The mug is warm between my hands. “I know, but the less you know about me, the better.”
He takes a seat on the couch opposite. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
I smile, looking around. It’s an impressive apartment right on the beach, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean—silver and infinite. I look to the other side of the room where a simple framed picture is hanging with the words ‘The Ocean Makes Everything Better’.
I nod at it with my head. “Do you really believe that?”
He brings his hands together, leaning forward. His arms bulge in the tight tee he’s wearing, ink showing underneath the sleeves. With his dark hair and steely eyes, he looks more like a cover model for Harley Davidson than a lifeguard. “I do. I’ve been around the ocean my entire life. My best memories are there, in the water.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Your best memories?”
He smiles and I can’t help but stifle a flutter of sensation making its way downwards towards the space between my legs. “Well, not all of them, but that’s not to say certain activities can’t be enjoyed in the ocean, if you catch my drift.”
I almost choke on my honey tea. “Excuse me?”
“You know,” he smiles, “surfing, fishing…”
Fuck-ing, my head fills, and damn it I’m choking again.
He goes to stand up. “Everything okay?”
I place the mug down. “Fine. Just a little hot… That’s all.”
You can say that again.
Change the god-damn subject.
I look past him to a set of shelves in the corner full of board games. “Have you got kids?”
He follows my eyes. “No. No, no.”
“You just, what? Really like board games?” I laugh, my throat dry and scratchy from the saltwater.
His mouth opens, but he can’t seem to find the words.
“Oh,” I realize my mistake. “You do. I didn’t mean to offend—”
He puts a hand up, standing. “It’s fine, a… hobby, amongst others.”
I can only imagine what other ‘hobbies’ Archer has given this bachelor pad, its bare minimalism projecting testosterone left, right and center. I’m sure if I simply stepped foot inside his bedroom I’d orgasm on the spot.
On cue, he gestures down the hall. “My room’s on the right. It’s yours.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’ll be perfectly fine in the guest bedroom. There are towels on the rack in the bathroom down the hall. Take one of my shirts from the drawers if you want, clean boxers in the top. I’ll see if I can dig you up some, ah, female attire later.”
I smile. “Thank you, again, for all of this, for saving my life.”
He stops before he enters the kitchen. “Something tells me it was a life worth saving.”
*
I’m on a speedboat. It’s shuttling through the night at high speed, water whipping up like wet sheets from the sides. There’s a dark figure behind the wheel, but when I try to speak to them no words come out of my mouth. My lips are moving but nothing happens. There’s no sound but for the roar of the engines and the thud, thud of waves against the hull.
Suddenly, I’m flying through the air, the boat continuing to jet forward. I land in the water and start to sink. My arms are lead. The more I thrash, the deeper I go. But this isn’t water. It’s ink. I taste it in my mouth as I scream. It fills my lungs, takes away my vision, until all I see is black.
I wake up gasping, reaching for my throat.
I notice the ceiling, the unusual wallpaper, and panic sets in all over again.
I sit bolt upright.
Where the hell am I?
I’m wearing a navy shirt, oversized, and… boxers? Since when do I wear boxers?
There’s a muffled groan in the bed beside me. It, he turns over, reaching for me. It’s a guy, his body chiseled and cut and straight from a centerfold. There’s a scar running down his side.
It all comes back to me—the lifeguard, the water.
I look around again. This is not the room he sent me to. I went to sleep alone.
He, Archer, said he was sleeping in the guest room.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
I start to slide out of the bed as quietly as I can, slowly pushing the duvet away. He reaches for me again. “Hey, he mumbles into his pillow. Where you going, baby? I’m rock fucking hard here.”
His eyes open, he sees me, and then they open a hell of a lot more.
He sits up in shock, the duvet thrown off completely. His mouth drops, his eyes ping-ponging from my chest to my legs and back again before finally finding my face.
But I’m looking at his crotch, my eyes drawn to the very erect, and very large, penis on show. It’s dark, but the shadowy silhouette of it tells me all I need to know.
He covers himself with his hands, leaning over the side of the bed and replacing his hands with a balled-up leather jacket. It’s like some sort of weird Michael Jackson stripper routine.
“Jesus… fuck,” he starts, unable to work out where to look. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know… I mean… Hell, did we?”
“Have… sex?” I question, quite sure I’d remember my first time. “No. I don’t think so.”
He looks cute confused. I’d laugh if this wasn’t completely insane.
“But, but,” he stutters, “didn’t I put you in my room, down the hall?”
“I sleepwalk sometimes,” I confess. “Since I was a kid, actually. Once I got up, made myself a turkey sandwich downstairs, did the laundry and ended up asleep on the neighbor’s rooftop, so showing up here, with you, isn’t the weirdest place I’ve spent the night, sorry.”
“I had no idea.”
I climb out of the bed, pulling my shirt down. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I guess you’re used to company, though?”
He flops back down onto the pillow shaking his head and staring at the ceiling, the jacket still covering his uberection. He laughs. “Generally it’s not a mysterious girl I plucked out of the ocean.” He sits up on an elbow. “You’re still not going to tell me anything about what happened, are you?”
I shake my head in return. “Sorry, but I do want to thank you—again.”
He waves it off, reaching over to switch on the bedside lamp. “Hey, just doing my job.”
I notice a picture on the drawers at the end of the bed, a group of guys in black tank tops standing arm in arm smiling, an endless stretch of sand behind them. I recognize Archer in the middle. “Friends of yours?”
He nods, finally pulling the duvet back into place, though if I’m honest the peepshow wasn’t entirely unenjoyable. The hot vice gripping my crotch is testament to that.
“More than friends,” he smiles. “The best human beings you could hope to find.”
My eyes move to what appears to be a large, metal cupboard of some description in the corner, a giant lock on the door. “Is that where you keep your extra-special stuff?”
He acts sheepish. “Of sorts.” He breathes out, glancing at the bedside clock. “Look, I’ve got a shift in a half hour, but you’re welcome to stay. The fridge is fully stocked. If you tell me your size, I’ll try and pick you up some clothes, but after that…”
I hadn’t even thought that far ahead yet. Survival was my only guiding marker last night. “Size six.”
He reaches up like he’s holding a pair of breasts. “And your, um…”
“Thirty-four double D.”
It’s always nice to see a grown man blushing, especially when he’s stark naked. “Great. Fine.”
I start to back towards the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“And you,” he replies, still red as a spanked tomato.
I close the door and giggle quietly to myself, trying to block out the mental image of his giant cock at DEFCON One.
CHAPTER THREE
/> ARCHER
The sun’s out, the drink is flowing. It’s going to be another shift from hell.
Robbie’s already in when I enter the tower. “Welcome to paradise, hombre.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the water. I come up beside him, marveling once again how he can drink all night, no doubt fuck to the wee hours and still come into work so damn bushy-tailed and bright-eyed.
He looks at me when I don’t reply. “Oh, shit. What happened? You find a freshman on the beach in need of your special attention?”
You have no idea. “Not a student, per se.”
Robbie shakes his head, returning to the watch. “You fucking animal. Come on, details.”
I’m deciding how much to spill here. Winter made it clear she didn’t want details slipping to the authorities. Maybe she’s got a record, a warrant out? She could be anyone, though I’m considering doing some digging with an old cop friend of mine, find out what the hell’s going on.
I shrug, pretending to find the paperwork on the desk intensely fascinating.
Robbie’s eyes go wide. “No, no you don’t. Don’t you block me out like this.”
“Some things should remain a mystery.”
“You can save that shit for the fucking Loch Ness monster. Come on. Blonde? Brunette? Pierced?” The irritation increases. “Did she have a diamond for a vagina? Come. On. Bro. Give me something.”
I turn the tables. “And you? Because you can’t honestly tell me you weren’t getting laid last night.”
There’s the slightest upturn at the corner of his mouth. “Straight bottle-blonde Breaker who’s still got her blowjob learner license. Nothing to report really apart from braces, while hot in theory, don’t translate so well into the real world.”
“So she left your cock in one piece,” I laugh. “That’s comforting.”
“You’re stalling.”
A knock on the tower door is the conversation-breaker I was looking for.
“I’ll get it,” says Robbie, levelling a finger at me, “but we are far from done here, boy-o.”
I stand at the desk continuing to observe the water.
I hear Robbie opening the door.
“Hello,” comes the knocker’s voice.
I can’t help but glance over to the doorway. A man’s standing there who’s certainly no Breaker. He’s wearing a paisley gray-and-blue print shirt, chinos and boots. Who the fuck wears boots to the beach? His dark hair’s slicked back over his head, a single tear tattooed underneath his eye and a grin that cuts across his face like a knife wound. Normally, I’d write this guy off as another Escobar copycat, but it’s the two guys in suits behind him that are of greater concern—muscle.
Robbie seems as surprised as I am by our morning visitor. “Can I help you gents?”
I return to the watch but continue to listen attentively.
Escobar smacks his lips before speaking. “I was wondering if there were any rescues last night, a woman, perhaps?”
I stiffen.
“Last night?” says Robbie. “The beach isn’t patrolled at night, sorry.”
“Nothing at all unusual?” asks the grease-ball. “Anything out of the ordinary?”
Robbie gives a nervous snigger. “You can save your money, my friend, because I’m telling you, if something happened on the beach last night, it would have been reported. Have you tried the Police?”
“Ah, the Police!” laughs the man. “Of course, but should you hear something about a girl, early twenties, brunette, attractive… be sure to let me know.” He passes what looks like a business card to Robbie.
“O-kay,” replies Robbie awkwardly. “See you ’round.”
He closes the door, waiting for a moment before coming over and lowering his voice. “What the flying fuck was that?”
It’s a damn good question. “Sounds like he lost his girlfriend.”
Robbie shakes his head. “So fuck knows why we’d know anything about it. I mean, you didn’t see anything when you came back here last night, did you?”
Now would be the time to say something, but lovable as he is, I can’t trust Robbie to keep this under wraps, and something tells me there’s a lot more to Winter than she’s letting on. “No. A couple of kids making out on the sand, a few passed out.”
Robbie holds up a business card. “Look at this shit. There’s nothing on it but a number. Could have done with the cash, though.”
I take the card, placing it down on the desk. “He tried to bribe you?”
“Dude had a wad of Benjamins ready to go, which is great if I actually had any information on his so-called mermaid.”
“Not that you’d tell him anything anyhow, right?”
“Right,” winks Robbie, picking up his binoculars. “Now, let’s see which lucky lady gets the Robbie Torony treatment today.”
*
I step outside the tower during my lunch break and take out my cell. It’s got to be upwards of eighty today, fuck-all cloud cover to keep the masses from turning into lobsters.
I bring the cell to my ear, bringing my hand up to cover the other to be heard over the din of tinny speakers and guys shouting ‘Sprinnnng Brrrreeeaakkk!’ like they’re Joe Franco.
I intended to call my friend at the police precinct, but just as I go to call I think better of it.
Winter.
Just thinking about her is making me hard, her soft features and doe eyes, the forlorn way she was looking at me in the bed this morning when all I wanted to do was pin her down and fuck her worries away. “Early-twenties, brunette, green eyes…”
She clearly didn’t want me going to the authorities, but what am I supposed to do?
I’m caught, ultimately deciding to let it wait a little longer.
“Fuck,” I exhale.
What happened to you, Winter who likes the cold? What the hell happened?
I stare down at the blank screen of my cell trying to piece it together but only coming up with shards, broken pieces of possibility. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve come across a damsel in distress, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this one slip through my fingers.
CHAPTER FOUR
WINTER
It’s all gone to hell in a handbasket.
I wave at the smoke, trying to find a ladder, a step, a small child… anything to get up high to switch off the smoke alarm.
I hear the front door open.
“Winter?” comes Archer’s voice, an upwards inflection as he no doubt spots the smoke-fest his apartment has become. “Winter!” Louder now.
“In here!” I yell back.
He comes barreling into the kitchen, hands outstretched, eyes darting between the stove and me, back again, up to the smoke alarm.
He grabs a broom from the corner and uses the end of it to reach up to the smoke alarm and switch it off, immediately spinning around to turn off the stove burner.
The alarm might not be ringing any more, but smoke continues to float around the room like we’re at a vape convention.
“What the hell’s going on in here?” Archer asks, moving to open the kitchen window and doing his best to shoo the smoke out. I can’t tell if he’s mad or simply curious.
I point to the pan on the stovetop. “I’m so sorry. I thought I’d try and make dinner, some pasta…”
Archer looks into the pan. “Where’d all the water go?”
“Water?” I ask.
He smiles and the knot that’s formed in my stomach loosens just a little. “You do know you cook pasta in water, right?”
“Oh,” I squeak. “My father did all the cooking growing up. I don’t think I inherited any of his skills in the kitchen, sorry.”
Archer takes the pan and tosses it into the sink, turning on the tap. He’s still smiling, slowly shaking his head to himself. “I appreciate the sentiment, I really do, but perhaps we’ll leave the cooking to Gordon and Jamie, yeah?” He swings around to open the fridge, revealing a stockpile of TV dinners, beer, and what appears
to be copious tins of whipped cream. None it seems to add up to the well-toned, muscled-up man in front of me. “I’m not much of a cook myself, as you can see.”
He spots me eyeing the whipped cream. “Hey, a man’s got to have his vices, right?”
“So you eat it?” I query.
He laughs. “What else would I,” suddenly working out where I’m going, though it wasn’t my intention at all. Sometimes my mouth gets in front of my head. He wags his finger at me. “I’m not that kind of guy. You’ve got the wrong impression.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve seen my share of bachelor pads. What you’ve got here is straight out of the single-guy textbook.”
Archer looks around. “It’s not too bad,” he says, pointing out a floral tea towel by the sink. “See?”
“Who gave you that?” I laugh. “Your mother?”
He picks it up. “Well, yes, actually.”
Crapola. But I keep my expression firm. “I rest my case.”
He goes to flick the tea towel at me. I jump back through the lingering haze laughing, allow myself to be chased into the living room. “Okay, okay,” I say, trying to dodge him. “It’s not that bad.”
He places the tea towel down and stands there with his hands on his hips looking every bit the knight in shining armor… or rather tight red tee, ‘Lifeguard’ in bold lettering at the top, ‘Miami Beach’ below. For a second I imagine the kind of hard and wonderful things that are lurking below, shaking myself out of my stupor when he catches my eye.
I blush, pulling my hair across my face turning to busy myself by opening the sliding door, but, of course, it won’t budge.
Archer comes up beside me, reaching up to undo the bolt at the top. The door slides open freely, cool, sea air rushing inside and with it the sounds of seagulls and laughter and clearly drunk guys chanting ‘Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream!’ like a bunch of rowdy three-year-olds.
But I’m aware of another smell right beside me, of surfboard wax and sweat, salt and sand, an ocean-made man. It sends a hot flicker of sensation lashing at the tender spot between my thighs.
I step back like I’ve been branded.
“Everything okay?” asks Archer, seemingly always on alert.
I brush my hair back. “Fine. Totally fine.”