Falling for the Playboy (Playboy in Paradise Book 1)

by S. L. Scott

  She lowers her gaze as I strip my briefs off and pull the dry boxers on. I chuckle at how she is looking everywhere except at me. “You do remember that you’ve seen me naked before, right?”

  “I remember … quite vividly.” With a new found determination, she looks up and then surprises me by walking across the room, and standing well within my personal space. I have to admit, I like that she surprises me like this. But I can’t tell what she’s thinking. She’s unpredictable and that frustrates me. I think she’s going to do one thing and she does exactly the opposite. To prove my point once again, she runs her finger down my chest, and says, “I don’t want to fight with you, but I need some answers.”

  “Okay.” I agree because we do need to talk. I was just hoping to be rested before we did it.

  “Why were you on the beach yesterday morning?”

  I grab her exploring finger just as it reaches my happy trail—a trail that if I let her wander down further will lead us to do things we can’t take back. Things like three-word phrases being confessed that would end me if I was rejected. Things like selfishly wanting to own her body and doing things to her that would make my fantasies blush. And things like making her promises too soon that won’t do either of us any good. She makes me want a future that’s not possible, and one I don’t deserve. She makes me believe in the possibility of happiness, which is everything I’ve convinced myself is unattainable. So I stop her because this is not the time for any of that, much less sex, and she’s not going to put up with my bullshit anymore.

  “I was going surfing, dawn patrol. The surf report said the waves there were decent. I wasn’t stalking you or anything like that.” Even though that’s what it sounds like. I leave that part off, not wanting to freak her out, so I stick to the facts.

  “But you come here sometimes,” she says, looking me straight in the eyes, and cocking an eyebrow, waiting for me to answer. Not a direct question, but she needs an answer.

  I’m not sure she really wants to know that I cruise by her place like a horny seventeen-year-old, so I resort to my usual tactics. “Do you want the truth or do you want me to tell you what you want to hear?”

  “You already know this about me. The first day we met you knew the answer to that.”

  She’s right. I knew she’d only want the truth. I’m going to confess my dirty secret, though I know that she’s not going to be happy to hear it.

  “I’ll admit that I’ve driven by hoping to see you, but tonight is the only time I came up here. I just needed to see you. I needed to know you were home and safe.” I sigh, running my hands in my hair out of frustration. “Wait, I have come to the apartment before without you knowing.”

  Her eyes widen. But when her lips part, I get momentarily distracted looking at them, the fullness, the deep pink color, the way she licks them. It’s all very distracting.

  “Evan?”

  I look up, my eyes meeting hers again. “Sorry,” I say with a light shake of my head. “The other night I couldn’t sleep, so I drove over here, too. I just wanted to check on you. In some fucked up way it brings me peace to know you’re safe on that couch, but that night you fell asleep on the surfboard—”

  I see her mind turning as the dots connect. “You put me on the couch, didn’t you?”

  The problem with honesty is that it leads to hope that things will work out the way they should. That’s bullshit though because it rarely does. “Like I said, I don’t usually come up to the apartment, but … I did when I saw you on the floor. I was hoping you wouldn’t remember. I know from personal experience that a surfboard is not a good place to sleep.”

  “You stalk me?”

  Stalk? Stalking … I wouldn’t consider what I do stalking. “No, I’m more like a peeping Tom—”

  “Peeping Tom is better than saying stalking?”

  “Not better, just more accurate,” I correct her. “Like I said, it’s usually just a drive by. We’ve all done that shit before.” I scrub my face with my hands, knowing how deranged this all sounds when I say it out loud.

  She should be just as upset by my admission as I am by my own creepy behavior, but she’s not showing any emotion which makes me nervous. Once again, she surprises when she says, “Tell me about the morning I drowned.”

  I don’t over think this or try to cover to make myself sound better. The truth is good. “Right when I pulled into the lot, you were heading out, attempting to surf. A very poor attempt, I might add.”

  “What can I say?” she says nonchalantly, “I had other things on my mind during my one and only lesson.”

  She’s cracking jokes. Maybe there’s room for a little hope after all. But the memory of her wipeout takes precedence in my mind. “I was already in the water before you fell. That’s probably why you didn’t see me. God, Mallory, if I hadn’t been there …” I look away as memories of her drowning collides with my past, blurring the lines between long brown hair and short black hair. Different people entirely, but so similar I feel my stomach churn. Instinctively, I reach for her hips, my hands gently on her body, tentative, but reassuring to me. “Can I hold you?”

  Her concerned eyes look down. She’s unsure of how this is going to play out. My fear is that she might not even want it to. Stepping forward, she closes the gap, and I wrap my arms around her. The tension between us is thick and heavy, weighing us down.

  “Hold me, Mallory,” I whisper so quiet that I’m not sure if she heard. Maybe it’s best if she didn’t. I don’t know anymore. I’ve lost myself. I’m lost in all that she is and I need more.

  She touches my shoulders, both of us knowing this is not how two lovers embrace. It’s not even how two friends embrace. This is how two enemies who’ve decided to call a truce hold each other and it’s painfully frustrating.

  “Damn it, Evan! Hold me like you did that first night.” She probably thinks she shouldn’t have said that, but like me, I can tell she’s tired of playing this volleying match. Lowering her voice, she says, “You made me feel beautiful and cared for.”

  Wanting to also feel that same connection, I squeeze my arms around her. “You are beautiful and I do care … too much.” Enveloping her body with mine, I risk it all and lightly place kisses across the top of her head. “I’m sorry for being a coward. I’ve just never met anyone who means so much and I don’t want to hurt you again.”

  As she rubs her cheek against mine, I regret not shaving. I have a lot of regrets when it comes to her, the least of which is probably not shaving.

  “Can I stay?” I ask, hoping she doesn’t throw me out just from the suggestion alone. She’d have every right to do so, but I hope she doesn’t.

  “You can stay,” she replies though she doesn’t sound convinced she’s doing the right thing, but I’m not going to argue. This perfect angel has given me another chance and I won’t blow it this time.

  “It’s late. You want to go to bed? I’ll hold you while we sleep. I promise not to do anything else.” The alcohol from earlier mixed with the emotions of tonight has worn me down.

  She takes me by the hand and leads me to the couch. “I’m sorry we have to sleep on the couch.”

  Through my exhausted brain, I offer, “We don’t have to. We can go to mine.”

  “I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head with worry.

  “Nothing tonight, but holding and sleeping. Scout’s honor.” I hold up the Boy Scout’s promise sign.

  She acquiesces as she leans her cheek against my chest. “Evan?”

  I rub her back, giving her any comfort I can because I know I’m damn lucky that she’s letting me back in even if it’s just for tonight. “Hmm?”

  “Promise me tomorrow that you’ll be there when I wake up.”

  My chest aches as her words stab my heart. I can’t show my weakness, but I can give her what she wants because it’s what I want, too. “I’ll be there, I promise.”

  She releases a sigh then says, “Okay, let me grab a few things and we can go, but firs
t, I really need to know who the girl at the beach was. You said you weren’t with her, but it looked—”

  “I’ve been with her before.” I feel ashamed of my past, but I won’t lie to her. “One time. Over a year ago.”

  “She kissed you—”

  “I didn’t kiss her tonight. I didn’t bring her to the bonfire or leave with her. She was there and wanted to hook up. I told her I wasn’t interested.” I look back up because I know this might set us back again. “I think it was obvious to everyone there who I’m interested in. You know my history or rumors of my history, Mallory. I can’t change it, so please don’t hold it against me. It’s not who I am anymore.”

  I turn back around feeling exposed and fucking vulnerable. I don’t like this feeling. I don’t like that I have to admit my deepest secrets to her, but if it opens the door to her heart even just a little, it’s worth it. Staring out the glass door, I watch the rain turn to a light drizzle then stop. Hawaiian showers happen often, but don’t last long.

  She doesn’t say anything as she moves about gathering her stuff for the night. I realize the boxers I’m wearing fit too well, too well to be hers. She put me in some other guy’s underwear. I’d be bothered if I wasn’t impressed by her nerve. When she’s ready, I take her hand and we walk to the car. She’s different tonight—fragile—more careful. I’ve done this to her. I’ve broken her spirit and her trust. Silently, I vow to never hurt this girl again.

  “You drove drunk tonight … a couple of times. You shouldn’t do that,” she says, not reprimanding, just informing me. “I’ll drive.” She holds her hand out for the keys.

  Placing them in her hand, my fingertips scrape lightly across her palm and our eyes meet. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have.”

  She nods and walks to the driver’s side of the car.

  It’s quiet in the car on the drive over, and yet feels calming under the circumstances. We walk hand in hand down the path, and I open the door allowing her to enter first. She stops, and peeks in, hesitant to enter. I wait a few seconds, and then ask, “Are you all right?”

  She walks all the way inside, turns with an unconvincing smile on display, and says, “Fine.”

  I set her bag down and step into host mode. “I’ll grab you some water, unless you’d like something stronger?”

  “No, water’s good.” She takes her bag, and asks, “Do you mind if I get ready in the bathroom.”

  Although I’m disappointed I won’t get to see her naked, I’m eased by the fact that I’ll be holding her all night. “Make yourself at home.”

  I bring the waters to the nightstand and stand there looking down at her boxers on my body. After taking them off, I pull a pair of my own boxer briefs from the dresser and slip them on. I sit on the edge of the bed listening to the various sounds coming from the bathroom: the faucet being turned on and off, the brushing of teeth, and the zipper of her bag. The door opens and she appears like an angel in the doorway with the glow from the bathroom light illuminating her from behind. She’s the hottest damn angel I could ever imagine even dreaming of, much less seeing. She’s wearing a tight white tank top and a pair of white panties. So simple and yet, she’s gorgeous.

  Heading straight for me, she sits down on my lap. Her arm wraps around my shoulders, and she smiles at me. “I didn’t think I’d ever be back here and now that I am, I’m glad I came.”

  “Why are you glad? I need to know. I need to hear you tell me.”

  She crawls on top of the covers then tucks her body underneath. Flopping back onto the pillows, she says, “Because this is where I slept the best since I’ve been in Hawaii.”

  Her playful side makes my heart pound from pure happiness. I lean down and kiss her on the shoulder before getting up to brush my teeth. Not able to contain my own theories on the reason she slept here so well, I say, “You sure it wasn’t exhaustion from that night’s activities?”

  She grabs the pillow next to her and tosses it at me as hard as she can. Scrambling out of the line of fire, I laugh as I run into the bathroom.

  When I return, she’s curled up on her side, facing my side of the bed. I slide under the covers and brush a section of hair from her forehead. “Hi, beautiful.”

  “Hi.” There is a lightness in her eyes that eases my worries. “You still sleepy?” she asks.

  “No, I think I’ve gotten my second wind.”

  “I think I did, too,” she whispers as her fingertips stroke feather light over my cheek. Her hand comes to rest on my neck. “Can I ask you more questions?”

  “Sure, but only if I get to ask some.”

  “That’s fair.” She acts as if she doesn’t know what she wants to ask me, but I can tell it’s a ploy. “Why aren’t you in school?”

  I glance away, chuckling before I respond because one thing I’ve learned about Mallory is there is always more going on inside that pretty head of hers than she lets on. “I’ve gone two years. Technically, I’m a junior.”

  “Why aren’t you in school? I mean, Kate told me you didn’t go last year and you’re not registered for the fall either. Why?”

  I try to formulate the perfect answer. Usually, I try to avoid this line of questioning and yet this is the first thing she wants to know about me. Figures. “I got into some trouble. I didn’t want my grades to slip and there was no way I could’ve stayed and not ruin my grade point average.”

  “That seems contradictory. If you cared that much about your grades then you wouldn’t have gotten into trouble in the first place, right?” She raises her eyebrow at me not scolding, but curious, sincerely interested in what I have to say. “What kind of trouble?”

  How do I answer this without saying too much? “I got a little out of hand with my professors.”

  She doesn’t say anything, but a fresh smirk on her face signifies she understands completely. I think she has me figured out more than I want to admit.

  “I kind of thought I was smarter than them,” I add.

  She laughs softly, rolling onto her back. “Why does that not surprise me?”

  “Geez, I have no idea,” I say, letting a little sarcasm slip out.

  She rolls back over and rubs my arm. Her gentle touches affect me more than she knows. She is warmth and sunshine and the light to my dark. She makes me want to bare my soul even though I shouldn’t.

  “Where’d you go to school anyway?”

  This always reveals more than I’m comfortable sharing with people. I’m usually embarrassed because they will instantly think I’m an arrogant prick, like I’m bragging. “A school in England for a year and then I transferred to one over in Connecticut.”

  Her eyes narrow and I can almost see her brain cogs turning. “Where in England?”

  I roll over, avoiding eye contact, draping my arm over my eyes, and whisper, “A small town outside of London.”

  “Oxford?”

  Um … I don’t answer.

  “And, the school in Connecticut, Yale?”

  Closing my eyes, I think of my cover. I always have a cover with girls and yet nothing comes to mind to help me out when I need it most.

  She shimmies against me, resting her body half on top of mine. I take a deep breath, wanting to grab her and rub against her and kiss her breathless. I desperately want to be inside of her, but after taking another deep breath, I come to my senses. I promised her I wouldn’t make a move and need to keep that promise.

  “Evan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You went to Oxford and Yale?”

  “Yeah.”

  I move my arm, bringing her tighter against me so she can’t see my face. “Yes, those are the two schools. Have you heard of them?” I ask an octave too high to sound natural and once again sarcastically. I’m kind of hoping this will throw her off the scent. I also know she’s smart, so I know this plan won’t actually work.

  She moves over me, hovering above and looks down into my eyes. Her minty breath is warm and makes me feel dizzy from the close proximity. Th
is is a similar feeling to how I felt the first day I spent with her.

  She hits me in the arm. “You’re really fucking smart then?”

  “Just because you go to those schools doesn—”

  “Admit it! You’re a smarty pants.” She giggles then says, “I already knew it anyway. So you can just admit it now.”

  She’s adorable. “Fine,” I say with a smile plastered on my face. “I’m a smarty pants. Happy?”

  Lowering all the way down, she rests on my chest. “But not just smart. You’re like super intelligent.”

  It’s not a question, so I don’t feel the need to say anything more about it. “Can we change the topic? It’s my turn anyway. What year are you?”

  She pauses as if she’s now a little uncomfortable being the center of the conversation. “I’m a senior this fall. You already know where I go to school, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because you’re observant, always paying attention to the details. What gave it away?”

  “Beside the University of Colorado t-shirt you slept in the other night, Noah put the mascot on your surfboard.”

  “Ahhh, yes, that’s right. The surfboard.”

  “I don’t want to talk about him or that board. Do you have a boyfriend back home?”

  “Oh!” She seems surprised. I hear a hint of irritation as if the topic itself is offensive. “If I had a boyfriend, do you think I would’ve slept with you?”

  “No, but making sure, just in case. I don’t want to have to deal with an angry haole. And for the record, we haven’t done that much sleeping together.” I snicker.

  With a loud laugh, she rolls onto her back and rubs her stomach. I place my hand on top of hers and she doesn’t move it, which lets me know I haven’t overstepped any boundaries.

  She surprises me by continuing. “I had a boyfriend last year, but we broke up a few months ago.”

  “Why’d you break up? Better offer? Did you have a line of guys waiting to take his place?”

  An annoyed scoff escapes her and she replies while entwining our fingers. “He broke up with me for another girl. He’d been cheating on me for a while though.”