Sex on the Beach (Southern Comfort Book 2)

by Melanie Shawn

  When we reached the entrance, I found out how she was feeling. She stopped and stared at the door as if she were being asked to walk the plank.

  I looked up at the massive colonial-style estate, framed by a set of white columns, and tried to see it through Bella’s eyes. It was difficult to do since I’d grown up with it.

  Since I wasn’t sure what the etiquette was, I started to walk forward, but she stayed in place.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Hmm, hmm.” She nodded, her eyes staring straight ahead, standing stock still.

  “We don’t have to go in if you’re scared.”

  “Yes, we do.” She nodded.

  I wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince me, or herself.

  She bit her lip before looking at me. “Is it okay if I hold onto you?”

  “Darlin’, I’d be offended if ya didn’t.” I offered her my arm.

  Hell, I wanted to tell her that it was damn near tradition in this town to bring girls to the Abernathy so they could snuggle up to ya, but I didn’t think bragging about the other ladies I’d brought here was really gonna help the situation.

  Beside me, Bella inhaled slowly through her nose and then exhaled through her mouth. She gripped my arm tightly and I could feel her nails digging into me. I was sure that I’d have half-moon marks embedded in my skin and I wasn’t mad about it.

  After two deep breaths she nodded. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  We walked inside and I handed her the headphones that people wore for the guided tour.

  “Aren’t you going to put them on?” She stared at them like they were a bomb about to detonate.

  “I’ve heard it once or twice before.” And I could recite the damn thing backward and forward.

  “Right. Okay.” She released my arm from her clutches, slid the headphones on, and immediately returned to her death grip.

  I wasn’t sure why she’d decided to start facing her fears, but I was damn sure glad I was the man she trusted to help her do it.

  CHAPTER 12

  Isabella

  My hand trembled as I lifted my ice cream cone to my mouth and stared up at the starry night sky. After the haunted house, Jimmy had suggested getting ice cream and then going up to Peachtree Peak to park. We were sitting on his tailgate stargazing while we ate ice cream. If I googled “perfect first date” I would expect tonight to be the first result on page one.

  I wasn’t sure if the tremor was left over from the adrenaline that had flooded my system while going through Abernathy Manor, or if it was because of the coldness of the ice cream, or if it was because my hormones were on overdrive being alone, under the stars, sitting so close to Jimmy.

  A drip of ice cream started to run down my cone and I twisted my head to catch it. As my tongue licked up the liquefied mint chocolate chip, I heard a moan beside me.

  My cheeks heated thinking about what may or may not have inspired that reaction. If I had to guess, or hope, it would be the memory of my tongue sliding up his cone. If that were the case, we were both on the same page.

  “So, the morning on the boat…” he began.

  Yes. The morning on the boat, that’s exactly what I was thinking about, too.

  “You said that it was your first time.”

  My breath caught as anticipation fluttered through me. Jimmy had been the perfect gentleman during our date, and it was driving me a little—okay, a lot—crazy. While we were walking through the haunted house, I kept having fantasies that he’d pull me into a dark corner and devour me. I did make a note to myself that I’d been reading too many romance novels when devour was the first word that came to mind as a descriptor. But sadly, no romance novel nookie took place.

  When he asked me to go out for ice cream after helping me into his truck, I was crossing my fingers and toes that he would lean forward and kiss me. He did not. After we parked and he took out a blanket for us to sit on, I was willing him to cop a feel when he helped me hop up and get settled. But my will was not done.

  Sadly, he’d kept his hands and his mouth to himself the entire night. And although I was now living my life doing and saying what I wanted, that was a lot easier to do when the person I was with was a stranger. Now, that he was Cheyenne’s brother, I wasn’t so brave.

  But hopefully, I wouldn’t have to make the first—or in this case, third—move.

  “It was my first time.” My response came out a lot breathier than I’d intended.

  “Cheyenne mentioned that you went to school together, and who your father is. I thought he did that 20/20 special from his yacht.”

  I stared at him for a few seconds trying to fit what I was thinking into the sentence he’d just spoken. Why was he talking about my father?

  Finally, my brain joined the party and informed me that Jimmy and I were not just on different pages, we weren’t even reading the same book. I was reading Fifty Shades of Grey while he was reading Moby Dick. Or, well… some other nautical book that didn’t have genitalia in the title.

  “Um, yes, he did. But I’ve never been on it.”

  He shifted, and his knee rubbed against mine. Feeling his denim against my bare skin was oddly erotic. Or maybe I just thought everything he did was erotic.

  “What about friends? Didn’t they have boats?”

  I couldn’t believe that we were alone, under a starry sky, and talking about boats. I thought for sure when he’d suggested driving up to Peachtree Peak that the least we’d be doing was making out.

  As I stared at the man asking me about boats, the man I’d had two sexual encounters with and had yet to kiss, the man whose five o’clock shadow was making him even sexier than he was the day before, even though I would have sworn that was an impossibility—as I stared at that man, an unwanted thought occurred to me.

  Jimmy may not actually be attracted to me. Not in a romantic way, at least.

  A glaring detail had been staring me right in the face this whole time, I’d just been blissfully ignorant of it. But now it looked as obvious as Pinocchio’s nose. I’d been the one to initiate things both times we’d had any intimate contact. It was very possible that he just saw me as a friend.

  From what I’d heard and witnessed with my own eyes, Jimmy Comfort was not in short supply of female attention. Maybe he enjoyed my company as a friend and I kept trying to take things in a different direction.

  I tried not to be embarrassed or frustrated at his lack of interest. The friend zone wasn’t the worst place I could be. And I had enjoyed the night with him, even if I’d spent most of it expecting something to happen at any moment.

  Determined not to let this derail a lovely evening, I finished off my ice cream and wiped my mouth. Sitting up straighter, I changed the dial in my head from “Let’s Get it On” and tuned into “Why Can’t We Be Friends?”

  “I didn’t really socialize much. Cheyenne was the closest thing that I had to someone I’d categorize as a friend, and yesterday was the first time we’d ever done anything together off of school grounds.”

  “You didn’t have friends?”

  I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic, asking a rhetorical question, or genuinely surprised. It didn’t actually matter though because it didn’t change my answer.

  “No. I didn’t.”

  “Why not?” He turned toward me, actively listening.

  His follow-up question led me to believe that he was truly curious.

  “My father was really strict. I wasn’t allowed to go to anyone’s house after school, attend any after school activities, or invite friends over. And then sophomore year, he took me out of school completely. I finished high school with tutors.”

  His dimple made an appearance as a half-grin spread on his face. “I bet you went crazy in college.”

  “No, not really. I started working for my father’s company as soon as I graduated high school, and I took most of my classes online. I worked twice as hard as the average employee because I never wanted anyone to think that I’d go
tten the job because of any sort of nepotism. So that meant I put hours in after everyone else clocked out, and on weekends. When I added in my studies… I never had any time to be crazy.”

  His jaw dropped. Not figuratively, either. Literally. “How did you deal with that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean how did you survive and not go crazy? You were basically being held hostage in your own house until you finished high school and after that, you were held hostage by your workload.”

  I was quiet for a moment, taking in what he’d said. Any time I had any negative thoughts about my upbringing, I’d shut them down because I didn’t want to be the stereotypical, “poor little rich girl.” Having someone see things from a different perspective was…validating. “I guess I never thought of it like that.”

  “How did you think about it?”

  “I guess…I just thought I was sheltered.”

  “Well, that’s one word for it. Damn, I would’ve lost my shit.” He ran his hands through his thick brown locks and blew out a breath. “When I was growing up, I basically only had to live by four rules: graduate high school, don’t get anyone pregnant, don’t die, and don’t end up in jail. That was it. And those were imposed on me by Hank. My father never gave two shits what I did. I couldn’t imagine having someone hovering around me trying to dictate my every move.”

  “It was…fine.” I felt like I should elaborate, but I wasn’t sure what else to say. He obviously thought my childhood was strange, and I conceded the point. But I wasn’t sure there was more to add. These were the times I wish I had more confidence to handle situations like this.

  Just then, a chime sounded, breaking the tension.

  Relieved for the interruption, I reached into my purse. When I saw the text, I said, “It’s Cheyenne, she wants to meet for lunch tomorrow.”

  I was typing back my response when Jimmy said, “Cheyenne mentioned that you two just randomly ran into each other.”

  “Yes.” I pressed send and put my phone away. “I had no clue that she was here. We didn’t keep in touch after school.”

  “Not even on social media?”

  “No. I wasn’t allow—” I stopped myself mid-word. What sort of a twenty-five-year-old confesses that her daddy didn’t allow her to have social media accounts? After his reactions to my upbringing, I didn’t really want to add anything else. “I don’t have any social media.”

  There. I gave out the same amount of information without incriminating myself. My father would be proud. Or maybe he wouldn’t. I honestly had no clue, because I didn’t know the man.

  “Not even Facebook?”

  “No.”

  “Twitter?”

  “Nope.”

  “Instagram?”

  “None. I have no social media presence.”

  “You don’t?” He seemed genuinely shocked.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  If he had any more follow-up questions about my lack of an online profile, he didn’t share them, and for that I was grateful.

  “So, if it wasn’t for my sister, what brings you to Firefly?”

  “Um, I’m here to visit someone.” My father always said less is more when it came to communicating. He drilled into his staff and by association, me, that answers should never give more information than what the question posed.

  Short. Concise. No fluff.

  That conditioning had stuck with me. As much as I appreciated the practicality of the lesson, I did realize that it might also be why I felt so awkward in social settings.

  “Who is the someone?”

  His energy had shifted from a laid-back vibe to a crackling tension. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I detected a smidge of jealousy.

  “Mrs. B, er, um, Mrs. Beasley.”

  “Really?” That seemed to come as more of a shock to him than my lack of social media accounts.

  I nodded. “She was my nanny.”

  “Really?” He repeated.

  “Until I was seven. That’s when my mom passed away and I went to live with my dad.”

  “Cheyenne mentioned that. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss as well.”

  “Were you close to your dad? I mean before you moved in with him?”

  “No.”

  “That must’ve been really hard.”

  I was trying to get used to someone being so attentive to me, but it still wasn’t comfortable. So, I decided to put the focus back on him. “What about you? I know that Cheyenne went to live with your grandparents. Did you stay with your dad?”

  “Sort of. I mean, yes, he lived in the house that I lived in. But he wasn’t really there. Hank basically raised Billy and me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, Pop had always been a big drinker, but before mom died, he was what I think people refer to as a functioning alcoholic. That’s what I’ve picked up from what my brothers tell me, anyway. But after she was gone, he went straight to non-functioning alcoholic.”

  “That must’ve been difficult for you and your brothers.”

  “I’m sure it was for my brothers but to be honest, I don’t really have that many memories from before my mom was gone. I mean, I have some, but they’re all sort of fuzzy. I don’t know if they’re real memories or just things I’ve imagined because of stories I’ve heard or pictures I’ve seen.”

  I nodded, unsure of what to say.

  “What about you? Do you remember a lot about your mom?”

  I didn’t have an answer right away. No one ever asked me about her. Which I supposed made sense, considering ninety percent of the people I interacted with were my father’s employees. Why would they bring her up?

  “Not really. My dad left when I was four, and after that she sort of checked out. Most of the memories I have of my mom are of her being in bed.”

  “In bed?”

  Shit. I’d said too much. If I told Jimmy about her condition and didn’t tell him about mine, would that be lying?

  “She was depressed. I mean, she was never formally diagnosed but it was pretty obvious looking back.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure Pop had some issues going on that weren’t diagnosed either.”

  As much as I wanted to ask him more about his family and upbringing, I knew that if I did, I would be opening up the door for him to ask me about mine.

  So instead, I tilted my head up and looked at the stars. It wasn’t a bad view, but I had to admit, the one beside me was much better.

  CHAPTER 13

  Jimmy

  I wasn’t proud to admit it, but Bella wasn’t the first girl I’d parked at the peak with, or the first I’d snuggled up with in the bed of my pickup truck. But she was the first person who’d given me butterflies in my belly while doing it. And the first to leave me at a loss for words. Very unlike me.

  Even as a teen, I’d always been confident with the fairer sex. I’d never struggled with not knowing what to say or how to act around them, unlike some of my friends.

  Talking to girls, being with girls, had always been something I was naturally gifted at. Add to that my Comfort genes, which afforded me a tall athletic frame, broad shoulders, and a four-pack I hadn’t done one single sit-up to earn, and I wasn’t a lonely boy.

  My nerves tonight had nothing to do with being insecure or unsure. They strictly had to do with the company I was lucky enough to be keeping.

  Bella was special. What I felt for her was special. I’d never given any real thought to falling in love. It wasn’t because I believed in the curse, necessarily. It was more a case of things not working out in the romance department for Comfort men. Whether that was due to supernatural intervention or just plain bad luck, I hadn’t ever been tempted to throw my hat in the ring of love. On some subconscious level, I was pretty sure if I did, I’d get knocked out cold. I’d never met anyone that was worth, as Billy put it, taking that kind of fall for.

  But now that I had, I was putting my mouthguard in, strapping up my gloves, a
nd stepping through the ropes. I was ready to take on any opponent to fight for what I felt for Bella.

  “Are the stars always so bright here?” she asked, gazing up at the sky.

  “Sure are. We have a special agreement with the big man and he shines a little extra light on Firefly.”

  She turned her head toward me, a playful grin on her face. “Really? And how exactly did you strike this bargain with the big man?”

  “We just promised that we would appreciate it. That’s all he really wants, just to be appreciated for the miracles happening every day that no one notices.”

  “Hmm.” She hummed as her eyes turned back to the dark blanket of sky lit up with thousands of twinkling lights. “That’s a really beautiful way to look at life.”

  “Hey, we only get one shot at this thing and I, for one, want to make the most of it.”

  Her eyes sliced to mine and I couldn’t put my finger on what might be going through her pretty little head. It was clear that I’d struck a nerve with my statement, but I had no clue what nerve I’d struck.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Did I say something wrong?” Shit. This conversation had taken a sharp turn down a road that I didn’t want to be traveling.

  “No.” Her head turned back and she looked back up at the sky.

  I stared at her profile highlighted by moonlight. The slender curve of her jawline, the ridge of her high cheekbone, the slope that turned up at the end of her nose, the fullness of her lips, I studied it all wanting to commit it to memory.

  I was so lost in her beauty, it startled me when she spoke.

  “Can I tell you something?”

  “I love hearing somethings.”

  She grinned and let out a nervous laugh. “It’s going to be hard to believe, especially for you.”

  Especially for me? “Now I really want to hear it.”