Lips Close to Mine (Wherever You Go)

by Bielman, Robin

  Other features worth mentioning:

  They come in denim, white, and black.

  They make my ass look spectacular.

  They also make me look five pounds lighter.

  Too tired to put on my PJ’s? No worries. They can be sleepwear, too. And they don’t wrinkle!

  They’re never too tight, so I can eat all the junk food I want.

  Name they go by: Levi’s. Fuck. I can’t even think about pants!

  Chapter Thirteen

  Levi

  “I don’t know what to do with you,” Harper says.

  It’s a damn shame we’re in public, because I can think of a few things.

  She hides a smile, but she’s got this expression—a tiny crease in the right corner of her mouth and a twinkle in her eyes—that I think means she’s smiling on the inside, so I readily grin at her in return.

  “I can give you a list.”

  “Really?” she asks with teasing curiosity. “And what would be on this list?” She sits across from me at the poolside table where I’ve been waiting the past few minutes. We’re at the Annenberg Beach House to film, and I’ve brought her In-N-Out for lunch.

  “If I tell you, I’ll have to let you do them.” We both unwrap our burgers.

  She laughs. “Let me? What makes you so sure I’ll want to?”

  “Because you know I like to reciprocate.” I nod to her lunch. “Got you a two-by-four, no onions, with an extra toasted bun to help it soak up excess burger juice, just how you like it.” Two-by-four means two patties and four slices of cheese.

  “You remembered all that?” We talked about our favorite burgers the night we spent together.

  “I remember everything you’ve said to me.”

  That earns me another inner smile before she ducks her head and lifts the hamburger. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” We eat in easy silence, sharing the fries I pulled from the takeout bag and placed between us.

  I’ve missed her the past few days, way more than is smart. The good news is I had a great talk with Cane Bertin last Sunday. We hit it off so well, I left the party with him to grab a beer and meet his producer. The film is a great opportunity to do something different, and I’m hopeful he’ll want me to shoot with him in Australia. He’s locking down plans in the next few weeks and said he’d be in touch. If I get the gig, I’ll be on location for two months, which sounds great. It’s exactly what I need.

  We finish eating, and Harper leans over the table to kiss me on the cheek. “That was really good. Thanks.” She stands, trash in hand, ready to toss it. “And now you can cross that off your list.”

  I’m pretty sure she means the barely-there press of her lips, which isn’t anywhere near the X-rated activities playing shot-by-shot in my head. “No way, Ham. Cheek kisses don’t count.” Without thought, I grab her around the waist. She leans into my body like she’s been waiting all week to get close to me again. It’s not the reaction I expected, and I forget the kiss I was about to put on her cheek to prove my point. I aim for her mouth instead.

  The kiss is short, but so damn good it takes super human effort to pry my lips from hers. It’s Friday, the sun is shining, I’ve come off a long four days of work, and all I want is to have some fun with this incredible girl, but duty calls first.

  “Fine,” she concedes. “That was much better than the kiss I gave you. But there will be no more of that. We’re here to work.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re bossy?”

  “Maybe. Now, where to first?”

  We start in the pool. The lifeguards help keep an area free of other visitors until we ask a few parents if they’d like their kids involved. I’ve got release forms with me and hand them out while Harper meets her young company. She’s super vigilant with them even though they’re all good swimmers. She’s had a watchful eye on everyone in the pool since we got here, actually.

  I get the footage I need, some of it choreographed, some unrehearsed. Sixty minutes of film I think Brad will be happy with.

  Harper and I walk down the sand to the ocean next. There’s no red bikini today, but her red one-piece reminds me of the female lifeguards from Baywatch, only Harper is way hotter. I’m hyperaware of her. Every accidental brush of her arm or meeting of our eyes makes my dick twitch.

  And hell yeah, I pictured her in slo-mo, running down the beach.

  “Have you ever lifeguarded?” I ask.

  “I did in college. Went through the certification process my freshman year and worked at public and private pools until I graduated.”

  “Did you have to make any saves?”

  “A couple.” She visibly tenses with her answer.

  I quickly try to lighten the mood. “Any fakers? Guys who just wanted your attention?”

  That question doesn’t help at all. She digs her feet into the sand and stops abruptly. “Why would you even ask that? That’s a terrible thing for a guy to do, and it could take attention away from someone who might really need it. I’d punch a guy in the face if he pulled a stunt like that just to get me to notice him.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I thought I was giving you a subtle compliment, but I see how I screwed that up.” I start walking again. I’m an idiot, given she lost someone close to her to drowning.

  “I’m sorry, too,” she says, falling in step beside me. “I didn’t mean to be so defensive. It’s just that I take water safety super seriously and don’t like to joke about it.”

  “I get it. I was out of line.”

  “A little, but don’t worry about it.” She elbows me. “Let’s forget about it, okay, and have some fun the rest of the day and with the rest of the shoot. This job means everything to me, and I’ve only got today and tomorrow left to prove I’m the right ambassador for MASF.”

  Fun has been on my mind, and if Harper’s relaxed she’ll come across much better on camera. “Fun it is,” I say.

  I set up my tripod and light kit in the hard-packed sand out of reach of the tide. When I’m ready to shoot, Harper does cartwheels, writes Be water safe! in the sand, and skips in and out of the waves. She’s playful, energetic, dazzling. She makes my job easy. Once we get everything I think Brad wants, we hop in our cars and she follows me to the Stoner Park pool.

  “This place is great,” she says as we enter through the wrought-iron gate surrounding the pool area. “I had no idea this was here until Brad mentioned it.”

  The setup is sweet. Half the pool is a traditional design with deep water and laps designated for swimming, while the other half is designed like a water park—shallow with a slope entry. There’s a giant sprinkling mushroom and several smaller, colorful shapes that spout water. Take a few steps across the concrete and you can ride down a bright blue waterslide into a small pool.

  For families who don’t have a swimming pool in their backyard, or can’t afford trips to the large SoCal waterparks, the facility is available for a couple of dollars. Two lifeguards stand watch on their chair towers.

  Harper gives me some scripted dialogue with the pool in the background then I set her free to share her own words as she wades around the spraying structures. She recruits some kids with their moms’ permission, and I shoot over an hour’s worth of footage.

  We finish at closing time for the public facility. Once I have my gear put away, I pull off my shirt. It’s my turn to get wet.

  “Thanks again for your help,” I tell the lifeguards standing with Harper at the pool’s edge. Then I scoop her into my arms and carry her toward the mushroom.

  “Hey!” she protests, but wraps her arms around my neck.

  “You were amazing today,” I say. “Everything you said and did, and the way you interacted with the kids, especially with that teenage boy, was fantastic. His entire attitude changed after you talked to him.”

  “He really listened, didn’t he?”

  “You’re an easy person to get caught up in.”

  She touches the tip of h
er nose to mine. “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  “Hmm. Are you going to do something about it?”

  “This.” I step into the spray of water raining down from the mushroom. Harper squeals at the initial cold shock. I suck in a breath. The sun is on the downslide, so we weren’t exactly in need of a cool shower.

  Once we’re on the other side of the stream, cocooned by a three-hundred-sixty-degree sheet of water, Harper slides down my body. She gazes up at me, droplets clinging to her eyelashes, a look of admiration on her face.

  “You were amazing today, too, you know.”

  “You think so?”

  “Uh-huh.” She traces a finger down the center of my chest. “I like how you operate your equipment.”

  It’s too bad we aren’t hidden from view, because I’d like to insert my equipment into hers. She glances down, noticing the power she has over me. It’s ridiculous how often I think with my dick when I’m around her. Her eyes jump back to mine and lock. I slip into their depths and back to our night together, when we clicked in a way I never have with anyone else. The teasing. The talking. The laughing. The phenomenal sex.

  I groan when I feel her hand on my cock over my board shorts. My shaft thickens. Fuck, that feels good.

  “Let’s get out of here.” I lift her wrist, my dick protesting instantly.

  “Where to?” she asks, lacing her fingers with mine as we step through the water.

  “My house is closer.” I’ve dreamed about having her in my bed, her hair fanned out on my pillow, her arms above her head as I thrust inside her. I adjust myself inside my shorts. This isn’t about the bet anymore. It’s about her and me.

  “Closer is good,” she practically purrs.

  We dry off with the same towel while sharing intense, appreciative glances. Her body is lean but curvy in the right places. I could admire it all day. She slips on a sheer white cover-up and adds Chap Stick to her luscious lips.

  “I hope Brad likes everything we shot today,” Harper says on the walk to our cars.

  “I’m sure he will.”

  “I know PSAs aren’t your usual thing, but do you think these will stand out and get the campaign the kind of attention Brad has in mind?”

  “I think they’re going to blow every other PSA out of the water.”

  She chuckles. My pun worked.

  “They’re going to be different than your run-of-the-mill public service announcements and that’s Brad’s intention,” I continue. “Any time something is different, it gets noticed. Not to mention, he’s got the hottest swimmer alive delivering his message.”

  I load my gear into the back of the jeep, and I’m about to walk her to her car when my phone buzzes with a text. I glance at the screen. It’s Cade, so I pull up the full message. He wants to know if I can send my demo reel to him tonight. Shit. I thought I had a little more time to finalize it. The pro athlete is taking a chance on a guy like me with zero documentary experience. I think that’s part of my appeal, though. Like Brad, Cade wants something different. And I really want this job, so…

  “Sorry. It’s Cade. He needs me to send him a demo of my work right away,” I tell Harper.

  “Oh. Okay. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” She twists around, but I catch her before she takes a step. There’s a sudden chill in the air I don’t like.

  “Hey.”

  Her teeth dig into her bottom lip.

  “You should be really proud of what you did today.”

  She slips her arm from my hold, slides her hand into her bag. “Thanks.”

  I snag her key fob from her fingertips, unlock her car, and open her door. She climbs into the driver seat. “Good luck with the demo,” she says.

  It feels weird between us as we exchange pleasantries like acquaintances, but I don’t have time to fix the problem, whatever the problem is. I obviously wanted this night to go differently.

  “Drive safely,” I tell her.

  “You, too.”

  With Friday night traffic, it takes me forty-five minutes to get home. When I pull onto the driveway, my stomach clenches in dread and alarm. There’s a familiar white car parked at the curb. I contemplate backing out and speeding away, but Kayla’s already out of her car and standing at the end of the drive waiting for me. I’m not surprised my ex is ambushing me here. She knows Mateo and Elliot hate her and will get in the way of whatever she’s come to tell me.

  “Hi,” I hear her say as I hop out of the jeep.

  I stumble when I look at her. She’s wearing a long, light blue cotton dress, and my eyes dart right to her rounded stomach. She’s got to be around six or seven months pregnant now. For a minute, I’m back in high school closing my eyes at night and wondering what she looks like with my baby growing inside her. Did she look like this?

  I shake the unwelcome memory away.

  “Hey.” I keep several feet between us.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m good. You look well.” I might loathe her, but I can be nice.

  She drops her head and rubs a hand over her belly. “Thank you. This pregnancy hasn’t been as easy as—” Her focus jumps back up to me. “Thank you.”

  I knead the back of my neck. “What’s up, Kayla? Why are you here?”

  “I need your help.”

  “Sorry. I’m not available to help you anymore. That’s the guy who knocked you up’s problem.”

  “What if I told you that was you?”

  I flinch like she slapped me in the face. “It’s not me.” What the fuck kind of game is she playing now?

  She takes a step onto the driveway. “It could be.”

  “No. It can’t. We were broken up when you got pregnant.” I back away. She has this ability to trick me into believing untruths. “I need to get inside, and you need to work your shit out with your boyfriend.”

  “Husband.”

  “Congratulations.” I breathe a sigh of relief. That is the best piece of news she’s ever given me.

  “He’s leaving me.”

  “Not my problem.” Does it make me a pussy that I want to scream for Mateo or Elliot to come outside and help me get away from her?

  “I can’t do this by myself again, Levi. I just can’t.” Her bottom lip starts to tremble. Tears fill her eyes. “I told him about us, and that’s why he’s leaving.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He didn’t know about the couple of weeks you and I got back together, and now he thinks the baby might be yours.”

  “The baby is not fucking mine!” My body is shaking. It’s been months since I’ve seen Kayla, and I want her gone. I want to rewind the last five minutes and drive past my house when I see her car. She has no right to stand in front of me and plead despair. She is fucking crazy if she thinks I’m going to buy into her web of lies again. “Sorry,” I say. She’s cowering, and that wasn’t my intention. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

  “What’s going on?” Elliot says from behind me.

  I look over my shoulder and whatever my best friend sees on my face must be bad because he steps between Kayla and me. “I told you never to come back here again. Get in your car and go. Now.”

  “This doesn’t concern you, Elliot,” she says, swiping a tear off her cheek.

  “Levi is my concern, so go back where you came from and leave him the hell alone.”

  “You’d send a pregnant woman away?”

  “Do you need me to drive you? Let’s go.” Elliot takes Kayla by the elbow and steers her toward her car. He’ll do it. He’ll drive her away to save me further grief and then take an Uber back.

  She wrenches free and jogs up to me. Her arms go around my neck. I’m stunned by how fast she moved, but not by how much I hate having her body up against mine. The feel of her swollen stomach makes my skin crawl.

  “Levi, please. We need to talk.”

  I gently grab her arms at the same time as Elliot, and we pry her off me. “We don’t, Kayla. Talk to your husband.”


  Elliot’s eyes go wide when he hears that. He keeps a hold on her and has to practically drag her to her car. She shakes her head and shouts at me. “Levi, I still love you!” “Please don’t do this!” “This could be our baby!” “We’re not over!”

  Lies. All of it. She’s fucked things up with her husband and thinks she can come running back to me. I scrape both my hands over my head and watch Elliot put her in the driver’s seat. He says something to her I can’t hear, but she settles down then closes the door and drives away.

  “You’re not moving out,” Elliot says when he reaches me. How did he know I was thinking that? “I took care of it.”

  “How?”

  “I told her the next time she showed up here, I’d call the police, and it didn’t matter if she was pregnant or had a baby in her arms. I also informed her you’d get a restraining order. She’s fucking crazy, man. You can’t believe anything that comes out of that girl’s mouth.”

  That’s what scares the shit out of me.

  August 26th

  Dear Harper,

  When I was ten years old, I had a pet turtle. My dad put together an aquarium for her. She was semiaquatic so we put a big rock in her enclosure, a heat lamp to keep her warm, and of course, water so she could swim. She liked to eat lettuce, carrots, and mealworms, and she liked it when I fed her in the grass in the backyard.

  I could watch her swim for hours. Just like I can watch you.

  I know that sounds weird. But I got her during a time when I needed a friend. My grandfather had passed away, and it hurt how much I missed him. Spending time with my turtle helped.

  The past few months have been a different kind of hurt, but from the moment we reconnected, being around you has helped. This is probably the worst analogy ever, but you have to admit it’s an interesting coincidence that the two things that have helped me the most both love the water. For the record, you are much better looking, softer, and smell better.

  Right now you’re probably asking yourself, “Is he drunk? High?” The answer is a little of both. But if your ex showed up saying shit you didn’t want to hear, you’d need a mental break, too. I hate her, Ham. Really hate her. Does that make me a bad person? That I didn’t see what kind of girl she is makes me doubt every decision I’ve ever made.