Summer's Temptation

by Ashley Lynn Willis

  “You’re the biggest jerk on the planet,” I say.

  He eyes me while making the hill of sand higher, scooping up handfuls and patting them around the base. “Am I?”

  Of course he’s not. The title of Biggest Jerk on the Planet is reserved for my ex.

  “Girls know what they’re getting with me. You can’t say the same about the guys you date.”

  Wyatt’s name hangs unspoken in the air. I’m tired of my ex always looming over me, and I’m tired of this conversation. It’s too personal.

  I sit up on my knees and scoop sand into my hands, then dump it on top of his sand hill. I assume he’s making a castle even though we don’t have a bucket. “My turn to ask a question.”

  He cuts the sides of the mound into vertical walls, forming a perfect circle. “Hit me.”

  After dusting off my hands, I lean into him. With a fingertip, I trace the black filigree cross on his bicep and underline the date beneath. Gooseflesh erupts where my finger touches his skin.

  “Who’s the cross for?” I’ve been desperately curious about the tattoo since I saw it yesterday.

  He stops working on the castle, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “My mom.”

  “How?” I know it’s none of my business, but if he has a tattoo memorializing the date for all to see, he has to expect questions.

  He watches me for a second, head cocked as though deciding how much to divulge. “Car wreck.” He drops his focus to making a perfect dome shape out of the top of the mound.

  It’s my turn to swallow hard. “How old were you?”

  He sweeps his palms over the sculpture. “Sixteen.”

  I swallow again, and it’s grainy and bitter, as if I gulped a mouthful of the sand in my hand. “Sheesh. That completely blows.”

  Surprisingly, his lips tip up. His smile is so beautiful, it thumps me right in the gut. Before I know it, he’s chuckling, his eyes sparkling like usual. “You’re so eloquent.”

  “I’ve been told that a lot.”

  “I bet.” He cuts his finger through the middle of the mound, forming an irregular circle, and swipes away sand to create small trenches.

  While he’s distracted, I grasp for a less depressing question that’s not too out of left field. “What was your favorite game to play with your brother growing up?” Okay, that was totally out of the ballpark, but his smile grows brighter. I love the way his eyes crinkle at the edges.

  “Dissect the dead frog.”

  “Eww! That’s disgusting.” But it totally fits Brian since he’s a budding doctor.

  His hands move quickly through the sand, forming a tangle of trenches that make no sense to me. He pauses to go to the lake and bring back water cupped in his hands. He sprinkles it over his creation. While I watch him carve away damp sand, he launches into a story about the time his brother left a dead toad under Tyler’s mattress as a joke. It stunk up his whole bedroom. I learn about his childhood, and I tell him about the time I broke my arm climbing the neighbor’s fence to retrieve my sister’s Barbie. Never mind that she’d been the one to toss the doll over.

  We take a break to beach the jet ski and grab some bottles of water from the campground vending machine. It’s not until we head back to shore, and our little patch of sand, that I see what he’s made from the mound. When I sat next to the sand sculpture, it just looked like a rolling landscape of valleys and hills, but standing directly over it, I see the unfurling petals of a rose.

  “It’s beautiful.” Is there anything this man can’t turn into a work of art?

  He smiles, and if I didn’t know how deep Tyler’s cockiness runs, I’d say he’s a little shy. “A rose for a rose.” He runs his hand down my arm lightly.

  Now I’m suddenly shy too. I drop my gaze and dig my toe in the sand next to the flower. I have no idea how to respond. The comment was almost romantic, and romance isn’t something Tyler does. He nudges my arm playfully, probably trying to lighten the moment, and I peer up at him. The sun glints off his eyes, making them so blue, they shine like aquamarines.

  His smile shifts to ornery. “I can sculpt some hooters if you’d prefer that. It’s easy to make realistic nipples out of sand.”

  I shake my head. Leave it to Tyler to turn a sweet gesture into something crude. But I’m oddly relieved. Thinking Tyler has a soft side doesn’t fit with his image. “I take it you’ve sculpted a lot of boobs?” I sit next to the rose and take a sip of water.

  He nods, his expression totally serious as he sits beside me. “Some call me an expert at boob sculpting.”

  I’m about to teasingly punch him in the arm when my stomach growls too loudly to ignore.

  Tyler pokes my belly button. “Someone needs to get fed.”

  He has so thoroughly distracted me with childhood stories, I haven’t noticed how hollow my stomach feels. “I’m starving. What time is it?”

  I search the horizon for Dylan or Josh’s boats. Only a small catamaran glides across the lake, the sun hanging low behind it.

  His brow furrows as he scans the sky then the lake. “Shit.”

  My stomach growls again. “Based on the sun, I think it’s around seven.”

  He curses again and stands, dusting sand off his behind. “Did you drive?”

  I nod, and he seems to relax. “But my keys are in my bag on the boat.”

  “Shit.” He holds his hand out to me. “They’ve probably left by now.” He pulls me to my feet.

  “Liz won’t leave me,” I say to calm him. “But she will be pissed. Come on.”

  Ten minutes later, we pull up to the dock. I jump off the jet ski and hurry toward Liz. She’s waiting by my car, eating a granola bar.

  “’Bout time,” she growls through a mouthful of oats. “I’m starving.”

  “Sorry.” I point over my shoulder at the pier. “Tyler’s putting away the jet ski, then we can leave.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “What happened to you two?”

  “We got to talking and lost track of time.”

  “For over three hours?” She eats the last bite of granola and stuffs the wrapper in my beach bag.

  I take the bag from her and dig for a snack. “I said I was sorry.”

  “Are you going to tell me what happened out there?” She seems to have forgotten her annoyance because her eyes have brightened as though she expects a scandalous story.

  I grab a granola bar and unwrap it. “Well, Liz, we stripped each other naked and made hot monkey love on the jet ski. While we were getting it on, a boat of male models came by, and I did them too. It was awesome! Have you ever had sex on a rocking boat? Totally worth being a whore for.”

  Liz smacks my arm. “You’re such a bitch.”

  “Nothing happened.” I take a bite of the bar.

  “Did you want something to happen?”

  I shake my head, but my denial is half-hearted at best. “He’s not my type. At all.” That’s the honest to God truth, but he’s still delicious to look at.

  She needles my arm with her elbow. “You might be able to talk him into running for state legislature. I doubt he’d want to go any further than that, but he’d probably win based on looks alone. Maybe the cocky smile would do it.”

  I can’t believe what I’m about to say, but I’ve been thinking about it ever since Tyler called me innocent. “I’m considering what you said at the beach earlier.” I take another bite and chew slowly.

  Her brow scrunches and she worries her bottom lip, a typical Liz thinking pose. “About how I used to hate girls with big tits?”

  “You said that on the pier, not the beach. I’m talking about the other thing we discussed.”

  Her brow is still furrowed, then she must finally remember. Her eyes widen and light up at the same time. “No! You’re shittin’ me!”

  “Shhhh!” I peer behind me to make sure Tyler isn’t in earshot. Besides a father-son duo loading fishing gear, no one’s around.

  “Are you serious?” Liz asks.

  I s
hrug as if it’s no big deal even though just thinking about a fuck buddy is monumental. “Maybe.”

  She leans against the car, folding her arms over her chest. “What made you change your mind?”

  What I won’t tell her is that I hate my vibrator. It’s impersonal like she said, and the orgasms it wrenched from my body sucked compared to the ones I’d had with my high-school boyfriend and Wyatt. Those had been earth-shattering mega quakes. The ones with my vibrator had been aftershocks, barely registering on the Richter scale. I also crave the touch of warm flesh, feeling kisses and hearing moans. I miss the slapping of bodies and driving toward the peak. The bottom line is my body craves sex. Since I’m not getting into a relationship anytime soon and relationships define sex for me, I’m scared I’ll never feel a man’s body against mine again unless I learn to redefine my sex life.

  “I’m not as ready to give up men as I thought,” I answer. “But I don’t want a boyfriend, and I’m not willing to sleep with multiple guys. If I pick one guy and take him to bed whenever I want, I’m compromising. Finding the middle ground. Getting my cake and eating it too.”

  She cringes, leaning her chest against the car and folding her arms onto the roof. “You make it sound so clinical.”

  “It has to be. If it’s not clinical, it’s ripe for emotions, and I’m not going there.”

  I won’t tell her Mr. Westbrook plays a part in my decision too. He’s enticing enough to tempt me into giving love another shot, and I’m so determined to protect my heart, I’m willing to play all angles.

  Liz raps her short fingernails on top of my car. “I’m okay with you having a fuck buddy, Cassie. I think that’s a good idea, but I’m not sure Tyler’s the right man.”

  “You’re the one who said he’s perfect fuck buddy material.”

  She casts me a nervous look, and her fingernails tap faster. “You’ve really thought this through?”

  I nod, finishing off the last of my granola bar. “I also don’t have to worry about him getting a girlfriend and ending our arrangement, since he doesn’t do relationships at all.”

  “You were with him for almost four hours today.” The crease between her eyebrows deepens. “Did you have any idea how much time had passed?”

  Seemed like twenty minutes to me. “Not really.”

  “Caleb was the last guy who made me forget the time.”

  We both groan. Caleb, a short little guy with more game than Adam Levine, broke poor Liz’s heart. He’d been a player just like Tyler, but a dishonest one. Tyler’s upfront with his women, but Caleb had claimed to love Liz and went so far as to tell her he’d stop with the womanizing.

  The next month, she’d found him making out with a Phi Beta Nu. He promised he’d never do it again. The next week, she found him in a bar bathroom with a Delta Theta Alpha. He promised never again; he loved her too much to risk losing her. The next day, she heard rumors he’d been making the same promises to another girl in our sorority, and Liz finally came to her senses. Liz had bought into the saying, “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” Only, he’d fooled her three times before she let him go.

  “Point taken,” I say, “but Tyler’s totally not my type. If by some crazy act of God, pigs start flying, the clouds part and baby Jesus descends to earth, and I get feelings for Tyler, I’ll end it. I promise.”

  Tyler rounds the corner of a boat bay and heads toward us. He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, Liz.”

  “Whatever,” Liz says, her annoyance back. “We’re having a cookout at your house. At least the food should be ready by the time we get there.”

  I snag a granola bar for Tyler and hand it to him, then we all hop into my car. The lake is fifteen minutes from Lakewater proper. After only five minutes on the road, soft snoring drifts from the back seat to the front. I peer in the rearview mirror and see Tyler slumped over, head resting against the door. He’s put on a baby blue T-shirt with dark blue edging, and his golden skin is luminous against the soft fabric.

  Liz stares at him, nibbling her lip, then turns toward me. “If you two have good chemistry, like Caleb and I did, it’s not always easy to keep your emotions in check.”

  “I’m not getting hurt again,” I whisper back. “Self-preservation is the strongest thing I have going for me right now.”

  Her bottom lip turns white where she’s gnawing on it. “I hate Wyatt for doing this to you.”

  “Me too. Me too.”

  We’re quiet for a few minutes, miles of road passing beneath our tires. I’m lost in my thoughts, she in hers. The beautiful boy in the back sleeps softly, and I can’t seem to keep from peering in the rearview mirror to watch the way his hair falls across his temple.

  The farther from the lake we drive, the more my resolve solidifies. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to ask him.”

  “Sleep on it.”

  I nod, but I’ve made up my mind. The only question is will he be interested?

  Chapter 8

  Philosopher Dan’s leaning against his lamppost, hands tucked beneath his armpits. He smiles when he sees me and pushes off the pole. “You bring my mustard, pretty girl?”

  I hold out a brown paper sack with his breakfast. “In the bag.”

  He takes the sack, peers inside, and smiles wider. I’m sure he’s eyeing the two yellow packets at the bottom of the bag. “Good job, pretty girl.” He looks back up, and his smile falters. He regards me more seriously than usual. “Something’s on your mind.”

  It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Class is on my mind. That’s all.”

  His eyes narrow. “Nay, that ain’t it.”

  I shift uncomfortably. I guess I have been a little uneasy since deciding to ask Tyler to be my fuck buddy. The idea of having causal sex is ludicrous, but it’s been revolving around my head all morning. I’m curious what a loveless affair would be like. Probably hot. And disastrous.

  He taps his temple. “You keep thinking real hard, you figure out what to do before the week’s over.”

  I hope I’m not that transparent. “It’s nothing, really.”

  He smiles. “Big changes don’t come from nothing.”

  Big changes? There are no big changes on my horizon. I open my mouth to protest, but there’s no point in arguing with a crazy man. I shrug and wave good-bye. As I head toward class, he chuckles as though he knows something I don’t. I’m halfway up the steps when the laughing stops.

  He says, “I don’t like bananas, pretty girl. Where’s my apple?”

  I pivot toward him. “They were out. Do you like oranges?”

  He nods. “Sure do.”

  “I’ll bring you an orange the next time they run out of apples.”

  He tosses the banana toward me, and I catch it. “Keep it. I won’t eat it.”

  I salute him with the fruit and hurry inside. The class is half-full when I walk in, and Mr. Westbrook is standing at the podium, looking incredibly hot as always.

  “Anyone want a banana?” I ask, directing my question to the boys in the front row.

  They all shake their heads, but Mr. Westbrook holds out his hand. “Missed breakfast.”

  I throw the banana at him. “All yours.”

  He snatches it out of the air. “Thank you, Miss Faye.”

  “No problem.”

  He smiles at me, and his green eyes shine more vibrantly than usual against his emerald sweater vest. “May I ask why you’re bringing unwanted fruit to class?”

  “Philosopher Dan doesn’t like bananas,” I say as I stroll to my seat.

  “I’m not really sure that answers my question.”

  “I usually bring him a sandwich and an apple, but they were out of apples at the bakery.” I settle into my chair and drop my book bag on the floor. “So he got a banana he didn’t want.”

  “Ah, I understand now.” He unpeels the banana, staring at me while he does it.

  I think he’s going to say something else, but he takes a bite instead. I direct my attention to
finding my notes from the last class, and a few seconds later, Freddy saunters in.

  Before he sits, he leans down to whisper, “Why is Mr. Westbrook staring at you?”

  I glance up from my notes. Mr. Westbrook is watching me while he takes another bite of banana. He blinks rapidly when our eyes meet and averts his gaze to his laptop. One-handed, he begins to type.

  “I gave him a banana?” I say, not sure why his eyes are on me.

  I don’t have time to ponder it though, because Mr. Westbrook calls class to order and breaks us into pairs to work on a team assignment. Toward the end of class, he walks through the rows of desks, handing back our homework from last week. I hold my hand up as he passes by. When he slips my paper between my fingers, his hand accidentally grazes mine. At least, I think it’s an accident because he pulls back when I’ve securely clutched the paper. I peer up at him, brushing my bangs from my eyes.

  He leans down, pinning me with a gaze that makes my stomach do a little flip-flop. “See me after class, Miss Faye.”

  As he walks away, Freddy whispers, “Ooooh, girl, you’re in trouble.”

  After I check to make sure I got a decent grade—an A—I slap his arm with it. He shuts up with an irritating smirk. While waiting for class to end, my stomach tumbles around, making me a little sick. What if I am in trouble? That’s highly unlikely, but I heard about a guy in tech writing a few years ago who got expelled for plagiarizing. Turned out, he’d just cited an article incorrectly, but he lost a semester while it was all sorted out.

  I glance at the clock, wondering what Mr. Westbrook wants with me. He continues handing back papers, gliding from desk to desk. The clock hits noon, and everyone darts for the door.

  Freddy pats my back. “Good luck.” He strolls out with the rest of the class.

  I stay seated while Mr. Westbrook grabs a manila file. When the last person leaves, he sits at Freddy’s desk. The scent of sandalwood and mint drifts the mere foot between us, and I draw in a deeper breath though my nose and feel my nerves ease. If I had to conjure the smell of heaven, his scent would be darn close.