“It’s probably raining again in Nashville,” I said. “I can’t believe how nice it is here.” Even now, with the sun setting over the water, it was comfortably warm.
“We got lucky with the weather. Sometimes it’s chilly in the spring. But I like the beach when it’s cold, too.”
I glanced around. There were still people everywhere, treating it like a summer day. Or evening, now that daylight was waning. “I’ll bet it has a completely different energy when it’s cold.”
He nodded. “It’s calmer, quieter. A good place to be alone and reflect.”
“Did you used to do that a lot? Come here to be alone?”
“Yeah.” He turned to look at me. “I’m glad I’m not alone right now.”
“So am I.” My heart skipped a beat. “I could get used to this. To the beach,” I clarified. I could get used to being with him, too. A part of me never wanted our time together to end. But that wasn’t something I should be imagining, not when I knew that our affair wasn’t meant to last.
He set his drink down. “Let’s put your new tattoo on.”
“We’ll need a damp cloth. It won’t stick without water.”
“We can use a corner of a towel.” He removed one from our beach bag. “I’ll be right back.”
I watched him walk over to a drinking fountain across the boardwalk. While he was gone, I dug through my shopping bag for the tattoo, a design with black roses and a swirly pink butterfly. Spencer had picked it out for me.
He returned with the damp towel and resumed his seat. He looked natural in the setting, tall and tan in a ribbed tank top and colorful board shorts. Me? I’d slathered on a high SPF lotion to keep from getting burned.
“Where should we put it?” he asked. “Where do you want it?”
“Where do you think it should go?” He knew my body well, and I trusted him to make the decision.
“How about at your bikini line? Then I can see it every time I touch you there.”
Please, yes. I got up and removed my sarong, standing before him in my bathing suit, tingling with anticipation.
No one paid us any mind, not even when he tugged my bikini bottoms down a little. Immersed in his task, he saturated the tattoo with moisture from the corner of the towel, holding it against my skin.
Sixty second later, he peeled off the paper and exposed my new body art. In the silence that followed, he dabbed off the excess water and rubbed a tiny bit of sunscreen on it.
He righted my bikini bottoms. “The lotion will help make it last longer.”
I glanced down at the design. It was partially concealed beneath my bathing suit, but still beautiful. It would look even better when I was naked in his arms.
I reached for my sarong, covering myself up. He watched me with unfettered desire in his eyes.
We went back to drinking our slushies. I needed to cool off. He obviously did, too.
After we finished them, he said, “Your lips are blue.”
“So are yours.”
We laughed and took a selfie. We’d taken tons of them today, posting them on Instagram. Our affair was definitely out in the open.
“Do you think we’ll remain friends after we stop seeing each other?” I asked, battling a sudden burst of emotion.
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
“I don’t know, either.” I glanced at a trio of teenage girls who passed by. They acted brash and bratty, mirroring what I used to do, flaunting themselves to a group of boys watching them. It made me worry for the girls and distrust the boys. “Have you stayed friends with any of your other lovers?”
“No.” He frowned. “Have you?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t sound like the odds are in our favor.”
“Yeah, probably not.”
It wasn’t feasible, anyway, I decided, since we were both supposed to move on with our lives and not look back. Me, in particular, I realized, with my wifely pangs to settle down.
He turned toward the ocean again. I did, too. Someone was playing music now. A live performer, banging a drum. It was getting dark, and people were getting rowdy.
“Do you remember when I wanted to pierce your eyebrow?” Spencer asked, still watching the sea.
It was a strange conversation for him to start, but I went with it. “Yes, I remember.” It had been toward the beginning of our Tinder hookup, maybe just a few days in.
“Why did you want to do it?”
“It was just one of those rebellious things, I guess. Piercing someone else.”
We faced each other, the drumming getting louder, like heartbeats on the shore, rising with the waves.
“Why did you refuse?” he asked.
“Honestly? I’ve always been scared of needles.”
He smiled a little. “I wouldn’t have hurt you, not if I could’ve helped it.”
I returned his smile, enchanted by how he was looking at me. His eyes were black against the backdrop of the sky. But they were always dark, always compelling. “Don’t even think of trying to talk me into it now.”
“Which one was I trying to convince you to pierce?”
I pointed to the left. “It’s a little less arched than the other side.”
He kissed the brow in question, making my pulse flutter. He was good at being gentle. He excelled at being sensual, too. Whatever he did pleased and excited me. And for now, I was going keep him as close as I could.
Until I couldn’t keep him anymore.
* * *
We ordered breakfast from room service, and the dining room table in our bungalow was laden with food. Neither of us wanted to cook, and by now most of our groceries had run out, anyway. We would be flying home tomorrow, our trip coming to a close.
While we ate, I thought about all of the touristy things Spencer and I had done. One of my favorite places was Griffith Observatory. Not only was the hilltop view specular, portions of Rebel Without a Cause had been filmed there. Yep, the location where James Dean had worn his iconic red jacket. Fashion was everything to me, especially with how hard I’d worked to become a stylist. If I lived in LA, I would probably be dressing movie-industry people instead of country music personalities, like in Nashville.
“What do you want to do today?” Spencer asked. “Any ideas of where you’d like to go?”
I opted for something personal. “You can take me to your old high school.” I explained my interest in it by saying, “I’m curious to see where you misspent your youth.”
He cocked his head. “As opposed to where you misspent yours?”
“I went to a public school with overcrowded classes and overworked teachers. And besides earning a slutty reputation and having my name written on various walls and desks, I was always in detention with the other misfits.”
“Spending your Saturdays in the library?”
“Not quite.” I crinkled my nose. “Our punishment was picking up trash in the yard, like some sort of prison road crew.”
He lifted his brows. “What was the nature of your crimes?”
“Mostly I got into trouble for mouthing off to my teachers.” I’d always had an aversion to authority.
An amused look appeared on his face. “Now, why am I not surprised?” The amusement faded when he said, “I attended a private academy. Rigid, disciplined. The kind that’s supposed to keep its students in line.”
I watched him cut into his pancakes. “I’ll bet you found plenty of ways to break the rules.”
“I got suspended a few times. But they never expelled me. I was a bit of an enigma back then. A troubled kid who always made the honor roll. As messed up as I was, I was still a good student.”
“Not me. I was lucky that I graduated and finally buckled down in college.” I tasted my eggs Florentine. We’d gotten separate entrees, but we were sharing a fresh fruit platter and
a basket of muffins. “Can we go to your old school? I just want to see the outside of it.” I didn’t expect to wander the halls with him.
“If you insist. But it’s just a big stuffy campus with rich kids in preppy uniforms.”
“I still want to see it.”
“All right, but please don’t ask me to drive by my aunt and uncle’s place.”
“I would never do that.” I knew better than to subject him to revisiting the home he’d hated. “Besides, it’s a gated community, isn’t it?”
“I still know people in that area, and I could get in if I wanted to. But I prefer being locked out.” He blew out a noisy breath. “I keep hearing that you’re supposed to forgive the people who hurt you. Not for them, but for yourself. But it’s not easy, letting the pain go.”
“That’s how I feel about Kirby.”
“Yes, but Kirby wants to repair the damage he caused.” He softened his voice. “You’re like family to him, Alice. You should give him a chance.”
I tensed, my spine going stiff. “He’s not my family.”
“He could be if you’d let him.”
“Why? Because he’s related to my sister’s husband? Your aunt is family and look how awful she was to you.”
“My aunt doesn’t give a crap about me. But Kirby cares about you, more than you realize.”
“I’m so sick of you taking his side.” I got up to leave the table, stomping over to the living room.
Spencer followed me. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”
I glared at him, standing my ground. “Why can’t you take my side for once?”
“And why can’t you accept that Kirby cares about you?”
I scoffed, and he reached for me, ever so gently, ever so warm. He had a knack for doing that. I tried to wriggle away from him, but he wouldn’t let me go. I shivered, hating the effect he had on me.
Hating it. Loving it. Feeling confused by it.
“You can’t be all nice now,” I said. “It isn’t fair.”
“I’m just trying to do the right thing.”
“And making me want you.” In spite of how angry I was, I caressed his face, skimming the back of my hand along his beard stubble. It was impossible not to touch him.
He leaned forward. “Now who’s making who want who?”
I pulled him closer, rubbing my body against his. I played with his hair, wondering how it would look if he grew it long.
We stripped each other bare and stumbled into bed, almost as if as we were drunk on each other. It wasn’t a reference I should’ve used, but it was the only one that came to mind. As I moaned and sighed, he traced my temporary tattoo, peppering my skin with warm, wet kisses.
He used his tongue between my legs, and I gripped the sheet, tugging on the material, eager to come. I knew it wouldn’t take long. I was already losing my sense of reason. I closed my eyes, going hot and damp.
Suddenly I couldn’t remember anyone else ever making me this aroused. Only him. I climaxed, making throaty sounds, bucking against his face.
I opened my eyes and saw that strong, handsome face. I reached out to trace the sharp edges of his cheekbones.
We switched places, and I used my mouth on him, giving him the same intimate pleasure that he’d just given me. He stopped me before I went too far, even if his muscles were quavering, even if I could’ve taken him all the way.
I took charge of the condom, rolling it over every big, hard inch. He groaned and entered me, pushing deep inside. I clasped my legs around him, squeezing tight.
I didn’t want to go home tomorrow. Or maybe I just didn’t want to go back to living alone. I liked sharing this space with him, sleeping beside him each night and waking up with him each morning.
But I had to stop thinking about things like that. Once we were back in Nashville, I couldn’t let him matter so much.
* * *
My plan didn’t work. We’d been back in Nashville for a month now, and the more time I spent with Spencer, the more important he became. I was knee-deep in our affair and protecting my heart, too. By now, I was beginning to want more. But his feelings hadn’t changed, not as far as I could tell.
On this sunny afternoon, I arrived at his house, with a stack of copies of the magazine he was featured in. I’d gone downtown to get them, to an old brick-and-mortar bookstore. I had a digital copy on my iPad, but I wanted hard copies, too.
I rang the bell, but he didn’t answer. I tried the door and found it unlocked. He’d obviously left it that way for me.
I set down the magazines and called his name. He didn’t respond, so I searched for him. Finally, I spotted him in the backyard with Cookie and Candy, playing fetch with them. It made me wonder if he would be good with kids, too.
Not that I should care, I told myself. Spencer wasn’t going to be the father of my children. At some point, our affair would be over.
I went outside to greet him, and the dogs dashed over to me. They wagged their tails, rolling over at my feet. I scooped both of them up and nuzzled their furry heads.
Spencer watched me, and I leaned over and embraced him, with the dogs between us. He laughed when one of them pawed at his shirt. They were his babies. For now, they were mine, too. But someday, I still wanted the human variety.
I released the dogs and said, “I got the magazine. I bought all of the copies they had.”
“I don’t understand why you want so many of them.”
“Because I have a crush on you.” I fanned my face, pretending to swoon, even if the feeling was real. “Let’s go look at it together.”
He ducked his head, embarrassed by my enthusiasm. “I’ve already seen it, Alice.”
“You saw the digital version. You haven’t seen the glossy pages. You look even sexier that way.”
He cringed, but it only endeared him to me that much more. He seemed boyish today, chuffing like a kid.
“That’s all I need,” he said. “To ogle myself.”
“Come on.” I tugged him inside, leading him into the living room, where I’d left the magazines on the coffee table.
The dogs accompanied us, jumping onto the sofa to see what the fuss was about.
“Check this out, girls.” I opened one of the copies to Spencer’s layout. “The new heartthrob in town.” I turned to a photo of him perched on his motorcycle, where he’d been looking off camera at me. “This is my favorite.”
Cookie sniffed the picture, and Spencer groaned. He could deny his sex-symbol status all he wanted, but his Instagram had blown up since the magazine came out. He already had tons of female followers, but as of yesterday, his fan base had practically doubled. I’d also picked up new followers, simply from being associated with him. He’d definitely been right about that. Having a hot lover was making me popular. Luckily, I’d gotten work out of everything, too. Derek had referred me to some important jobs. The work I’d done for Spencer was changing my life.
“He’s a reformed bad boy,” I said to the dogs. “See, it says so right here.”
Cookie sniffed the magazine again, and I bumped Spencer’s shoulder, teasing him. But deep down, I couldn’t bear to think about the next woman who was going to share his bed.
Why couldn’t he be the right man? Why couldn’t he be my future? I ached that I wasn’t allowed to love him, that I had to fight my feelings.
“Kirby called me this morning,” he said.
I closed the magazine with a frustrated snap. Kirby was the last person I wanted to discuss.
Spencer continued by saying, “He’s planning a get-together at his house, and he invited us. It’s going to be a family party, with his kids and grandkids and whatnot.”
I frowned. “Mary didn’t say anything about it.”
“He hasn’t spoken to anyone else about it yet. He wanted to check with me first.”
“Wh
y? What’s going on?”
“Nothing, except he’s hoping I’ll finally give in and meet his family.” He met my squinting gaze. “I said that I’d go if you did.”
I debated my options. On one hand, I worried that I was being railroaded into this. But on the other, I thought that Spencer needed more family-type ties. Why? I asked myself. Because I wanted him to become a family man himself? Either way, at least I would get a chance to see how well he got along with children. For all I knew, fatherhood might actually be in his future someday.
I could hope...couldn’t I? That maybe he could morph into my Mr. Right. That eventually he might start having the same types of feelings for me that I was having for him.
I said, “We should accept the invitation.”
“Really?” He pushed his hair away from his forehead. “I expected you to put up more of an argument or refuse to go at all.”
“I think it’ll be nice for you to bond with Kirby’s family. They’re the best part of him.” Especially my niece and nephew, I thought. My sister and Brandon, too.
He cleared his throat. “There are other things about him that are admirable.”
“If you say so.” Which he did, over and over, like a broken record, annoying me to no end. “When is this party, anyway?”
“He hasn’t set a date yet. But I’ll let him know that we’re on board.”
“Are you nervous about it?” I couldn’t tell by his expression.
“A little, I guess.” He leaned in my direction. “But it should be easier having you there.”
“I’m only going to support you. I’m not doing this for Kirby.” I leaned toward him, too. “But for now, why don’t you take me out to the garage and ravish me on your Harley, like the hot guy in the magazine would do?”
“Come on, Alice, that guy isn’t real.”
“He is to me.” I put my hand on his thigh, creeping toward his fly, letting him know that I was serious about what I’d said.
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