Trying to distract myself, I reach out towards the console, intending to turn on the stereo system. Feeling her eyes have remained hot on me, I stop.
“I’m sorry, Bubble, did you not want me fiddling with your buttons?” I make it clear with my expression that I know exactly the words I’ve used and the double entendre they represent.
I watch fascinated as her mouth opens and closes, a blush hitting her cheeks and neck that makes me shift in my seat. It does something to me to see her react to me like that. I have a fast vision of whispering dirty, filthy things into her ear, just so I could follow the resulting blush they’d cause down her neck and chest with my tongue.
Looking at the road and not me, she says, “I was just going to say that if you put the stereo on, you’re probably not going to like what’s in there.”
“Why? What are you listening to? Oh, Christ, don’t tell me…are you a Belieber, Bubble?” I tease her, holding a faux shocked palm over my mouth.
“No, you jackass,” she says laughing, “Lots of new artists send my dad stuff all the time. Every once in a while I take a few and give them a listen. You never know what you’re going to get and I like the feeling of hearing something new. Even the bands that send him covers of Alabama Smoke songs - if their take is fresh, you hear their lyrics in a completely different way. It’s kind of cool.”
I love the way she looks at things. Her father in the business he’s in, she would have access to more current and popular music than most would dream of, but here she is, listening to the raw and the unheard. It says a lot about her.
“Sounds kind of cool to me, too. I’m in,” I tell her and she flicks her fingers over the buttons on her steering wheel, music filling the car. It takes me a few bars before I recognise that the song playing is a cover of Soundgarden’s ‘Black Hole Sun’. Who ever the group is, their version of the track is something else. Darker, haunting almost, and the vocals of the female singer gives me goose bumps.
“Jesus.”
“Right?!” Piper says, her enthusiasm as clear as her appreciation. “That’s what I love about listening to new artists. Cover or not, the music is not yet popularized or played to death by radio or streaming. Sometimes it’s about the simplicity of things, Seth. It doesn’t always have to be about making the most noise. The work needs to speak for itself.”
I know we’re no longer talking about the music, but about all the noise I’ve made in my career. The noise and bullshit I’ve created – intentional or not - have become distracting. Far from simple. My work doesn’t speak for itself because my actions scream over the top of it.
“Hmm”, is all I say as we settle into a comfortable silence, listening to new and rebooted music all the way to the beach. I honestly can’t remember the last time I enjoyed being this still. Quiet in the company of another person, content in the moment, happy to just be.
Pulling into the parking lot, it hits me that I don’t recall the last time I saw the sea. So completely different from anything I was familiar with, when I’d first arrived from the U.K. the L.A. beaches were something I couldn’t get enough of. When did that stop? I look out at the golden sand, noting the darker colour where the wake has licked onto the shore, and soothed by the movement of the foamy edge as it draws back before coming again, I feel myself take a breath.
“You ok there?” Piper asks quietly, and I realise she’s been watching me.
“I can’t remember the last time I was near the sea, that’s all. I’d forgotten.”
“Forgotten what?”
“I don’t know, a lot of shite. To look at the view, I guess.” But it’s more than that, I can’t put my finger on what, but it feels bigger than pinpointing one specific thing.
As we both get out of the car, I look up at the cloudless sky, the sun still shy because of the early hour, but I can tell it’s going to be a beautiful day. Piper has taken us to a spot she knows, a place she says isn’t trendy or popular like most of the other spots along the P.C.H. There are only a few early risers on the sand and in the water.
While I’m getting down the boards, Piper stands at the back of her car to change. Do I want to watch? Fuck yes. Do I? Nope. My pervert limit for the day is dangerously close to full, and I want to save room for ogling her in the surf.
I’d discovered my wetsuit had a large tear down the front, so I’d come without. I was pissed when I’d found it; particularly knowing I was not the one who had caused it. Too many fucking people in my life use my shit; take my shit and destroy my shit.
I know the water will be cold as fuck, and will probably shoot my nuts up into my throat until my body temperature adjusts, but I wanted to come surfing more than I’d wanted to stay home.
We work in a companionable silence, grabbing our boards, stuffing our shit into one bag and then trekking down to the beach. An older guy is rinsing off under the showers as we walk past, he waves to Piper and then gives her the thumbs up. She gives him the thumbs up back.
“Someone you know?” I ask, curious about the non-verbal exchange.
“Not really,” she replies, “I just see him here surfing sometimes, but the thumbs up means the swell is good.”
We spend about an hour or so in the water, Piper catching more waves than I do. Some I let her have because I can see she wants them, even though I fuck with her and make her think I’m going to steal her water. Other times I’m content watching her pop up on her board while I sit back admiring the view. I thought I had steeled myself for seeing Piper’s arse in a wetsuit, but if anything the black neoprene has only made it even more enticing. How the hell she’s managed to make so much thick fabric sexy I don’t know, but my dick just knows she has. I’ve had to put my hands under my thighs, pushing them into my board several times to stop myself from grabbing it or smacking it. A few times I’d swear she knows what I’m thinking and is taunting me even.
Then reality kicks in and I’m certain Piper see’s me only as a client, and that this becoming inconvenient attraction I’m feeling towards her is completely one-sided. Mine.
We’ve chatted on and off between the waves, taunts and small talk mostly, but it’s been easy conversation I’ve enjoyed. Amazingly, we’ve not truly argued much either. I feel like I know a little more about her, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping that she’s seen a little more of who I am too. We’re sitting in the lull, neither of us in a hurry to catch a swell back to the shore.
“Ok, it’s time,” she says and I look over at her sitting on her board, and like me, her hands are paddling gently to keep her in place.
“Time for what? To head in?”
“Mmm, we should head in soon, I’m starved, but that’s not what I meant. I mean it’s time for you to tell me what’s really going on here, Seth. I’ve spent a couple of days with you now, and from what I can see there are two Seth Mitchell’s.”
She pauses then, watching me, watching the surf, but clearly waiting to see if I’m going to tell her to fuck off or if I’m going to listen.
When she realises I’m not going to say anything, she continues.
“I think, somewhere along the way, the reality TV persona you became known for – the brash, mouthy, controversial, in your face Brit – started to bleed into who you are off screen, and you don’t know how to turn him off. That, or you’re scared to. Best as I can figure, the first guy gives no fucks. He does what he wants. Says what he wants. Forget about consequences, because there are none. And if there are none, nothing matters, right? Success, failure – it’s all the same. But then there’s the other guy, the one you mostly keep hidden. I suspect he’s the one that does give a fuck. Probably a lot of them. Problem is, the first guy, he’s the one who gets all the attention, so if he’s gone…” Piper trails off, leaving her sentence unfinished but speaking volumes none-the-less.
Above the blood pounding in my ears I hear the ocean’s swell and break, different beats but part of the same rhythm. I hear a dog barking happily and gulls calling out, probably
all claiming the same spotted morsel of food as their own. I make myself listen to all of it, concentrate on it, because my heart is racing and the need to lash out at Piper is riding me hard. A hundred and one snarky, sarcastic and downright mean comebacks form in my mind and weigh heavy against my tongue. I should tell her to take her psychobabble bullshit and shove it up her arse, paddle in to shore, call a fucking Uber and never look back. Who the fuck is she to say those things? Be that direct with me?
But also, how fucking brave is she to have said it? Fearless, strong and confident. Not only in her assessment of me, of my situation, but in her skills to manage it. To deal with whatever response I’m about to throw out. I can’t help but admire all of that, admire her.
I’ve got to give it to her though. Piper hit the nail on the head. Well, a big part of it anyway. Naturally, Rash - the bastard - was right, she does know what she’s doing; I didn’t even see this little chat coming. I’d honestly thought we were going surfing.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Piper. Tell it like it is why don’t you?” Despite everything that rocketed through my mind, the thrum of anger and feeling exposed, there is no heat in my voice. Only the huskiness that comes with choking down emotion you’re trying to contain. “Oh, don’t worry about me over here, bleeding feelings and shit into the ocean, it’ll only attract the sharks. No big deal.” I laugh without mirth, something she doesn’t miss.
“See, there it is again. Your sarcasm as a cover response,” Piper’s words aren’t chiding, more a statement of fact. She paddles her board even closer to mine, so now our knees touch and she puts a hand on my board behind my back. Whether she knows it or it’s just instinct, she doesn’t look at me, and I’m grateful. “Talk to me, Seth. Please. There’s no one here. It’s just you, the ocean and me.”
Well, fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Everyone talks about turning points in their lives, a crossroad they come to where they consciously make a decision knowing there is a better outcome ahead.
It’s a crock of shit.
No one truly knows what’s going to be a turning point and what isn’t. Even as it’s happening, there’s no way of being sure that this moment is the moment, and so you’re left to make a choice.
Cling to the hope that it is or let it pass you by.
I have no fucking clue which this is, but still, I find myself taking a breath and picking a spot on the beach as my focal point.
Here goes nothing.
“I don’t know how, but at some point I forgot what my goal was. I forgot why I came to L.A. Reality TV gave me the break I needed, the money, the recognition, but it also came with the persona that got me there, you know? Like, branded events and promos and appearances for the show, that’s who everyone expected to show up. I remember about a year in, I was pulled aside at an appearance on a popular talk show. A few of the cast were there, not just me, and right before we were due to tape our segment, the shows producer and wardrobe woman approached me to ask if, and I quote, “I’d mind if they changed what I had on to something more, Seth Mitchell”. What the actual fuck, right? Wasn’t I Seth Mitchell? See, he’s the bloke they’d lined up for, to ask to sign their tits. Apparently whoever he was, he wasn’t me. So, I adapted. But pretty soon, anytime I turned “Seth” off, so to speak, everyone kept asking what was wrong with me. Wrong with me? Not really considering how I was going to come back from it, I stopped turning him off.”
“Mmm, sounds about right. Unfortunately. I told you when we met that I know people who have had a similar experience, but there’s more to it than that for you, Seth. Isn’t there? Tell me what happened then?” she asks quietly and it’s then I realise Piper has done her research. Thoroughly.
So much for me writing her off as a twelve-year-old flossy with barely the experience to manage a paper route, because I know exactly what she’s asking.
Or rather, I know exactly who she’s asking about.
In the time we’d been talking, we’d drifted into the flat, the waves around us slow and low at the end of the break line. Piper has one leg tucked up onto her board, and I’ve thrown my leg closest to her onto her board, too, my ankle resting just above her knee that’s still in the water.
“What happened then was, I started dating Claudia. I say dating, but the way you asked the question, along with the fact you’ve been around this business long enough to know how it goes, I’m guessing you’re aware it was more of a strategic industry-relationship. Our shared agent at the time had set it up.”
Piper nods and then adds, “I’d figured, but didn’t know for sure. I’m glad you confirmed it though, thank you for being honest. I don’t know what it was in the end that made you breakaway from that agreement, Seth, from that relationship, but it was a smart move.”
Yeah, so not going there.
I may not have seen this sneak attack coming, but as comfortable as Piper had made it for me to talk with her, I’m not ready for her to know all the details of that bloody nightmare.
“With all due respect, Bubble, that shit-storm is a conversation for another time. Anyway, with my management team telling me that dating Claudia would be a great career move for us both, I’d jumped in both feet. I should have looked into the water first. I’m not proud when I tell you it took me nearly two years to end that shite, and by that stage, I was so far away from doing what I wanted to be doing, from being where I wanted to be, that all I had left was anger.”
Piper reaches over, her small hand landing on my thigh. The move is meant to comfort, to provide support, but the arsehole in me wants it to mean something else entirely. I look down and notice how small her hand is, how delicate her fingers are. Unlike her toes, she has no rings on her fingers, but her wrist has a ponytail elastic around it.
“And what was it you wanted to be doing, Seth? Who do you want to be?” she asks.
“I want to be an actor, Bubble, it’s all I ever wanted to be, but I seem to have taken the wrong turn somewhere.”
Taking her palm from my thigh and giving my shoulder a bump, she drops her other leg back into the water, her change of position causing my own to fall from her board, too.
“We’ll then, it’s a good thing you have me to get you back on track, isn’t it. Let’s head in, I really need to eat. My place is close by, I’ll cook us breakfast.”
CHAPTER 7
Piper
I don’t know why I suggested going back to my place. Well, I do, I’m starving and live close. But I didn’t think when I extended the invite, what my true intentions were. When we get to my townhouse, I don’t look at him, just park and get out of the car. I’d taken off my wetsuit, both of us rinsing off at the showers before we left the beach, and I don’t know if it’s because I DJ’d myself this morning thinking about him but I constantly thought I felt his eyes on me. Especially when we showered across from one another. I knew one side of my bikini bottom was up my butt, but for some reason my brain said ‘don’t make it obvious and fix it, act like it’s nothing.’ Maybe it was the self-consciousness I’ve had about my large butt since being a teenager, but I swore I felt his eyes on me. That stupid part of me that no matter how much time passes, how old I get, how comfortable I’ve become with my body, my ass still triggers. I have like zero boobs, I’m petite and toned, until I turn around and bam. I was made fun of relentlessly as a teenager because white chicks with asses wasn’t a thing yet.
Anyway, we’re both wearing towels wrapped around our waists and for the most part, we’re quiet. I felt like we covered new ground with him telling me about Claudia, and even though he told me a lot, I felt like there was so much he wasn’t saying. I was beginning to see that Seth was very forthcoming, honest. If he wanted to talk about something, he did and was open, just how he was open in saying he didn’t want to talk about other things. But I felt things were becoming easy with us, I didn’t feel that rage to strangle him anytime this morning, that was a start, right?
Following in behind me, I toss my keys an
d bag onto the floor by the door, and turn to see Seth grabbing my mail off the floor before handing it to me.
“Oh, thank you,” I say and he looks up at me while he’s still crouched on the ground. His eyes pin me to my spot and we just exchange this weird energy with our eyes. “Did you want to take a shower before breakfast?” I whisper.
“Are you taking a shower?” he asks, rising to his feet. His hair’s still damp and one side is tucked behind his ear while the other rests against his face. There’s that urge to push it aside, but he does it himself and I inhale deeply, slowly. Remembering how the tips of his hair felt in my fantasy, tickling my shoulder as he fucked me from behind.
“What?” I ask, recalling he asked me something.
Taking a step closer, his atmosphere absorbs into mine, his chocolate irises penetrating my soul it feels like and slowly, so damn slowly, a small smile lifts a corner of his lips.
“I asked if you were showering,” he repeats.
“Oh,” I exhale, closing my eyes to gain control and I step back. “No, I was just gonna change my clothes and get cooking.”
“Then I don’t need a shower.”
His accent is thick and almost impossible to understand his words. I wonder if it’s lust clogging his throat, if he sounds that way in bed. STOP. He’s not into you; stop looking into it like he is. He’s your client and confiding in you as he should, don’t take advantage of his vulnerability. Besides, when I recall my first trip to the mansion and the pool party, the tits were in ample supply, not the booty, but whatever. With my inner-twat-self putting me in check, I regain composure and turn toward the hallway, heading to the spare bedroom without telling him what I’m doing. When I re-emerge with clothes in hand, I step just within arms-length and hold them out toward him.
“My brother keeps clothes here, if you wanted to change…you can use the bathroom or bedroom…”
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