Wilder Love

by Rose, Emery

  So, I cleared the dinner dishes from the table, stopping Remy and my dad from trying to help. More uneaten food from my dad’s plate going in the garbage. I stacked the plates in the dishwasher and wiped down the countertops, the sound of my dad and Remy’s laughter drifting through the open glass doors as I joined them on the patio again. I needed to man up. Face this shit.

  “Jimmy?” Remy said.

  My gaze snapped to her and then across the table to my dad. I’d obviously missed part of the conversation.

  “What’s wrong?” I said, worry creeping in as I studied his face. He looked at me blankly then shook his head, trying to snap out of it.

  “Nothing. Just forgot where I was going with this conversation.” He chuckled to himself and lit a joint. It wasn’t funny, so I couldn’t laugh with him.

  His short-term memory was slipping. I’d been noticing it over the past few weeks. He’d remember a story about something that happened twenty years ago but completely forget why he’d come into the garage or the kitchen. Or if he’d eaten breakfast that morning. He blamed it on age. I wasn’t convinced. Remy had offered to be his chauffeur. Big surprise, he shot her down.

  “Talked to Dylan today,” my dad said, relaxing in his chair, his face tipped up to the evening sun.

  “About what?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

  “He’s working on a new app.”

  “He is?” Remy huffed. “God, he doesn’t tell me anything. What kind of app?”

  My dad held up his joint. “Cannabis. For medical purposes.”

  I sank back in my chair and laughed. Then I laughed some more. That guy. He had his finger in every pie. “He’ll own half of Costa del Rey by the time he hits thirty.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s his goal in life,” Remy said matter-of-factly.

  I hadn’t told Remy or my dad that Dylan made me a business proposition. I wasn’t sure how I felt about going into business with Remy’s brother. Or if it was even something I could consider. I had no capital, and no bank would ever give me a loan, but he was willing to invest his money on a long shot. I told him I’d think about it, but it was more of a brush-off than a promise.

  I wasn’t in the habit of making promises these days.

  I still wanted Remy, that hadn’t changed, but I was scared to let myself love her again. I’d lost so much already, and if I let her in only to lose her again, my heart couldn’t handle it.

  We were in limbo, caught between our tumultuous past and our uncertain future. What did I have to offer a girl like Remy St. Clair? I worked manual labor for a demolition company, slept in my childhood bedroom, and couldn’t even get a bank loan because I was a convicted felon. She was rolling in money with the world at her feet, living with a rock star in New York City.

  I had nothing left to give her. Not even myself.

  “It’s not going to work,” my dad said later, after Remy left and my dad and I were still sitting outside on the patio.

  “What’s not going to work?” I asked, watching the moon being chased away by the clouds.

  “You can’t keep lying to yourself.”

  “What are you talking about?” I knew what he was talking about. My dad had this uncanny ability of getting to the heart of a problem without being given the details. His observational skills were still on point.

  “Remy. You still love her. She still loves you.”

  “I don’t remember you getting so involved in my love life in the past.”

  “I never did. I always stayed out of it. But times have changed. I refuse to die until I see you happy.”

  As if he had the power to decide when he would die. That was optimism taken to a whole new level. And with that, he stood up, clapped me on the shoulder and left me alone on the patio.

  I retreated to my shaping bay in the garage—I’d painted the walls midnight blue—and trained the lights on the board I was making. It was for Dylan St. Clair, of all people. I’d watched him surfing. He was a goofy-footer and charged hard. Dylan had actually spoken to me and communicated his needs. He wanted something fast that would turn hard and fit into the tighter transitions, so that was what I was going for. The board I was making for him, a shortboard—five-foot-eight—would be snappy and maneuverable. Skatey when you wanted to generate some speed, but you could step back on the tail and hammer some vertical wall.

  By the time I stopped working, it was after midnight, and I had a missed call from Remy.

  I called her back, watching the stars reel in the night sky from my spot in the hammock that used to be mine. The hammock where I’d had countless phone conversations with Remy not to mention all the other things we’d done in this hammock back when we were still trying not to cross lines. Nine years ago. Eight years ago. Seven years ago.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  We both laughed and then we were quiet for a few moments, just listening to the sound of each other’s breathing.

  “What’s on your mind, Firefly?”

  “You. What else?”

  “What about me?”

  “Can you… will you come over?”

  I scrubbed my hand over my face. “Why?”

  “Dylan’s not home. He’s gone to Cabo for a long weekend. With Sienna.”

  “They’re still together?” I asked, surprised.

  She huffed out a laugh. “Who knows? He doesn’t share much. He said it’s complicated.”

  “I can relate.”

  Remy didn’t comment on that. “I just thought… maybe we can spend some time together and… I don’t know…”

  “What would we do with our time?”

  “Oh, you know… things.”

  I stifled a laugh. “What you’re trying to say is that you’re horny and this is a booty call.”

  “Just forget it. It was stupid—”

  “I’ll be over soon.”

  “You will? Oh. Okay. See you soon then.” I was about to cut the call when she said my name.

  “Yeah?”

  “Would you bring some ice cream?”

  I laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  When she opened the front door, I handed her a bag of mangoes.

  She pulled the handles apart and stared into the plastic bag. “Mangoes?”

  “They’re better for you and you can suck the juice off my fingers after I feed them to you.”

  Blushing, she turned away, taking the bag of mangoes with her. I reached behind the Bougainvillea where I’d stashed the bag of ice cream and met her in the kitchen. The ice cream, as it turned out, wasn’t necessary, so I stowed it in the freezer.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as she stripped off her T-shirt and flung it in my face. I caught it and dropped it to the floor, following a trail of discarded clothes and her perfect lace-covered ass to the swimming pool. With her back to me, her wild waves of midnight black hair glowing blue in the pool lights, she dropped her panties and kicked them aside. Looking over her bare shoulder, she gave me one of her Mona Lisa smiles before she dove into the pool.

  Apparently, I was game because I pulled my T-shirt over my head and pushed down my shorts. My dick was calling the shots. I might have been drunk the other night but not so drunk I’d forgotten how good it felt to be buried deep inside Remy. I also hadn’t forgotten all the things I’d said to her and later regretted.

  Butt naked, I dove into the pool and swam underwater in search of Remy. She was a sitting duck, treading water in the middle of the pool. Wrapping my hand around her ankle, I yanked her under. She flailed, her arms windmilling, and tried to use my chest as a wall to push off of with her other foot. I released her ankle and caught her around the waist, pulling her against me as we surfaced, with Remy spluttering and her hair plastered to her head.

  She twisted out of my hold and swam to the edge of the pool, gripping it with her hands. Trapping her in my arms, she turned around to face me. My erection pressed against her stomach, making it painfully clear just how much I wanted her. She w
rapped her legs around my waist, and her arms around my neck.

  “What are we doing, Remy?” I asked, partly out of curiosity but mostly for self-preservation.

  “I thought it was obvious.”

  “Explain the rules of the game so we’re clear.”

  “Sex and surfing. That’s all I want from you. It’s simple. Anyone can play.”

  There wasn’t anything simple about us. “You want sex with no strings attached?” I asked for clarification.

  She nodded. “Bingo.”

  “I call bullshit.”

  Her dark brows raised. “Call it what you want. Are you up for it or not?”

  “Well, I’m obviously up for it.”

  “Yeah, I can feel that. We’ve had sex on the beach. How about sex in the pool?”

  My fingers dug into her bare ass cheeks. “Would I be your first?”

  She gave me a wicked grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “New rule of the game. I ask a question, you answer honestly.”

  “Does it go both ways?”

  I nodded. “Yes or no questions only.”

  She tapped her chin. “Okay. That’s a yes.”

  “Game on.” I turned us around and flung her off me. She flew into the air and hit the water with a splash.

  “What the hell,” she shouted when she bobbed to the surface.

  “If you want me, come and get me.” I draped my arms across the pool ledge and waited to see what her next move would be.

  She glared at me then swam to the opposite end of the pool and levered herself out. In all her naked glory, she sauntered around the perimeter of the pool, hips swaying, her posture perfect, a look on her face that I’d never seen before. Predatory. She was coming for me. Her wet hair partially covered her breasts and my gaze drifted south, over her taut stomach, hips and pelvic bone, and down those long legs that had been wrapped around my waist only minutes earlier. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. All the blood rushed out of my head and straight to my dick. It was hard as stone, bobbing on the surface of the water.

  I had no clue what we were doing, but it felt dangerous. Therefore, I was in. Old habits die hard.

  She towered above me, giving me a prime view of her beautiful pussy. I needed to be inside it but not in a pool. Hated to burst her bubble, but that wasn’t happening. The whole lube thing, or lack thereof, made it far less enjoyable than one would suspect. I’d figured that out the summer I was sixteen and we didn’t need to repeat my stupid mistakes. I snagged my T-shirt from the pool deck and laid it out at her feet.

  “Sit,” I said with a flourish of my hand.

  Remy sat on the edge of the pool in front of me, her legs dangling in the water. I lifted one of her legs out of the water and planted her foot flat on the deck and then the other. Nudging her knees apart, I slid my hands under her and pulled her toward me until her bottom was at the very edge, right in front of my face.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Eating my dessert.” My tongue dipped into her soft folds and then I feasted.

  * * *

  We were one week into this arrangement, and I was under no illusions that this could actually work or that Remy would be happy with this for much longer. Whatever we were doing felt temporary. She’d given me the keys to her brother’s house and late at night, I’d slip into her room under the cover of night, climb into bed behind her and slide inside her. Even when she was still half asleep, she’d reach for me, her mouth seeking my mouth, kissing and sucking and biting. She was always so ready for me. Wet and warm and eager.

  I’d fuck her and then I’d leave her, never staying the night. It was easier to pretend that it was just fucking, with no emotions attached but we both knew better. She didn’t ask me for any promises. Didn’t ask me for a damn thing. Which made me feel like a dick. I knew Remy, and I knew that down deep, she hadn’t really changed. So, I knew this was hurting her, and I knew she wanted more from me.

  But I wasn’t sure I could give her more.

  Knocking softly to let her know I was here, I eased open her bedroom door. Her queen-sized bed was empty, and I followed the sound of raised voices to the open French doors. Firefly was sitting on the balcony, her legs tucked under her chin, a glass of wine in her hand. She held a finger to her lips as I lowered myself to the ground across from her. From here, we had a partial view of the pool and every word of the argument going on below us was amplified.

  “…same old shit every fucking time, Sienna. You’re twenty-five years old and you’re still letting your daddy call the shots.”

  “That’s not true. I just have to handle the situation—”

  “It’s not a fucking situation. It’s a family wedding that I’m not invited to. Nothing has changed. Nothing ever will.”

  The sound of something smashing against the tiles made Remy suck in her breath and close her eyes. “Oh Dylan,” she whispered.

  “Dylan, stop. Please,” Sienna cried. “I love you.”

  “You don’t love me,” Dylan shouted. “You never have. I wasn’t good enough for you when I didn’t have money. Now I have money and I’m still not good enough.”

  “I’m doing you a favor. You would hate every minute of it. It’s a formal occasion. You’d have to wear a tux and socialize with my family and—”

  “And I guess the asshole your daddy chose to be your date is good at all that. Why are you even with me, Sienna? If I embarrass you so much. Don’t your rich country club boyfriends fuck you like I do? Is that why you keep coming back for more? A bit of rough on the side, is that it?”

  “No. I love you and I can’t lose you. I want to get back what we had.”

  “You had me. You had all of me. But you broke your promise.”

  “I couldn’t… my parents threatened…”

  A chair flew into the pool, another chair swiftly on the heels of the first one and I could only guess who had hurled them. Remy muttered something about the Titanic while the scene downstairs raged on. We shouldn’t be eavesdropping on this conversation. I tried to coax Remy inside, but she stubbornly refused to budge.

  “You’re acting crazy, Dylan.”

  “You make me fucking crazy. You said it would be different this time. Lies. All. Fucking. Lies. Why do I believe anything that comes out of your lying lips?”

  “I shouldn’t have come over. You’re such an ass.”

  “I’m an ass yet you’re the one who has broken every single promise you’ve ever made to me. Fuck it, Sienna. I’m done.”

  “Dylan!” Sienna screamed over the sound of wood splintering.

  Remy and I exchanged a look, and I stood up, heading for the door. “I’ve got this.”

  She was right on my heels as I jogged down the stairs and stopped in front of the open French doors, surveying the graveyard of broken planters and spilled earth. Two chaise lounge cushions floated in the pool, the wood frames capsized. A teak table was smashed against the pool tiles, one of the legs broken off. Shards of pottery crunched under my Vans and I stopped, holding up my hand to stop Remy from venturing any further in her bare feet.

  “I’ll clean it—”

  I wrapped my hands around hers and pulled her to her feet. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Shane?” I turned to look at Sienna as she walked toward us, her pale hair glowing in the pool lights. She wiped the tears off her face and forced a smile. “Hi. It’s good to see you. Sorry about all this. I just… Dylan and I were… we keep trying, you know?” Her thin shoulders sagged. “I messed up. Again.”

  “It happens.”

  She drew a shaky breath and nodded, her eyes darting to Remy. “Remy. I’m so sorry. I fucked up our friendship and…” Her shoulders shook, and she started crying, covering her face with her hands.

  Remy pulled her into a hug and Sienna held on to Remy like she was her lifeline. Remy’s eyes met mine over Sienna’s shoulder as she stroked her hair and tri
ed to comfort her. This scene looked so damn familiar.

  “I’ll go talk to Dylan.”

  Remy nodded, and I left her to take care of her friend. Following the scent of smoke and the cherry glow of a cigarette, I found Dylan at the far edge of his property. Sliding down against the glass fence onto the grass next to him, I eyed the cuts and bloody knuckles on the hand wrapped around the neck of a scotch bottle. He took a drag of his cigarette and tipped back his head, exhaling a plume of smoke into the night air.

  “I bought this place for the view,” he said, jerking his chin toward the hilltop view of Costa del Rey spread out below us and beyond that the Pacific Ocean shimmering under a silver moon. He took a drag of his cigarette and passed me the bottle. I took a swig, feeling the burn and then another one before I handed it back to him. “My booze is more expensive. My clothes, my car, my fucking house…” He laughed humorlessly. “But I’m still white trash. I’m still the asshole who breaks shit and punches walls when I get angry.”

  I leaned my head back and looked up at the stars reeling in the sky. I knew from experience that breaking shit and punching things—or people—didn’t solve anything. Neither did lashing out verbally and trying to make them hurt as much as you were hurting.

  “Love hurts,” I said, rubbing my chest as if it would alleviate the tightness, the ache that never seemed to go away.

  “Like a motherfucker.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and chugged. “I guess you’d know all about that. You still love my sister?”

  I huffed out a laugh. This was the second real conversation I’d ever had with the guy and it was the second time he’d asked if I loved his sister. “What do you think?”

  He side-eyed me then looked straight ahead and took a drag of his cigarette. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  We were quiet for a few minutes, lost in our own thoughts. Dylan stubbed out his cigarette on the grass and tossed it over the fence, and we passed the bottle back and forth in companionable silence.