Closer to You (Grindstone Harbor, #1)

by Cat Mason

  “Ah,” E nods thoughtfully. “Tea parties, walks on the beach, and acid induced hallucinations on the porch swing before bed. Are you gonna tell me why we waited so long to come here?” he asks, sarcasm dripping from every word.

  “Ass,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Talk all the shit you want. Just do it while you unpack the car. Once we get settled, we can go into town and find a store or something,” I say, grabbing my bag from the floor board.

  “You better be doing a Google search on that phone of yours for a place to eat,” he yells as he makes his way to the back door of the SUV. “Nothin’ pretty about me when I’m hungry.”

  “I know,” I laugh, shaking my head. “News flash: a full stomach doesn’t instantly put you in the running for People Magazine’s Sexiest Man of the Year.”

  “No,” he agrees. “But, I wouldn’t be hungry.” Slamming the rear access, he rounds the front of the vehicle, carrying some of our bags, and gives me one of his bright, full smiles. “And why would I want to be Sexiest Man of the Year? What happens on day three-hundred-and-sixty-six? Do they expect me to just instantly stop?”

  Shaking my head, I make my way up the porch steps, my fingers tracing the grooves in the wooden banister as I go. Everything about this place has memories flooding back to the front of my mind. I can almost see my Nana sitting on the bright purple porch swing she and I painted when I was six.

  This same swing was Patricia the cat’s favorite place to nap...

  In hindsight, painting it wasn’t the best idea...

  Poor thing ended up looking like the illegitimate offspring of that cat from the Alice and Wonderland cartoon...

  Knocking on the worn red trim around the storm door, I smile when I hit the hollow spot and the key tumbles out, landing at my feet. Unlocking the door, I make my way inside with Evan following not far behind me.

  It is like stepping back in time. Everything is just where it was last time I was here. The only thing missing is my grandmother...

  “Four bedrooms. One down there,” I explain, gesturing down the hallway. “Two others on the second floor, and one on the third.”

  Heading up the staircase, I open the double doors that lead to the master bedroom. The room is dark, the windows and doors that lead to the wrap around porch covered in heavy, dark drapes. The furniture is all covered in white sheets, photos have been removed from the walls and piled onto the bed, some of the frames now broken. “Figures,” I say, dropping my bag on the end of the bed. Bending down, I pick up the jewelry box my grandfather gave my Nana Jo on their wedding day. The handmade dark cherry stained, wooden box that she treasured for more than fifty years is now empty and broken. A few costume pieces lie strewn across the floor, but the majority of her things are no doubt in some pawn shop or sold off at the scrap gold price. My heart sinks as I run my fingers over the heart carved into the top with their initials. “Even the cash he made selling the place didn’t keep him from going through it like a damn scavenger.”

  Leave it to my father to be a greedy bastard. It takes a real piece of work to exploit the unexpected loss of their mother as the perfect opportunity to dig through her shit all to make a quick buck to feed his gambling habit. Hell, had it been left up to him, she would probably have been buried out in the backyard in a garbage bag.

  Walking over to the dresser, I remove the sheet and put the box back in its place before placing the broken lid on top. Moving to the window, I yank open the heavy drapes. The sun quickly fills the room through the large French doors. Unlatching the lock, I swing them open and step out onto the top level of the deck. Leaning into the dirty white railing, I breathe deep, inhaling the fresh air as I stare out at the water.

  I can feel my entire body relaxing already. The sound of the water lapping against the shore is so calming. It is just what I need right now.

  “Is it time to eat?” Evan yells, the sound of his voice echoing throughout the entire house. “I’m gonna demand hazard pay if I have to miss meals.”

  Pushing off the railing, I shake my head. “Yeah, yeah.” Glancing down at my black hooded sweatshirt, the arms and front now covered in old white paint flakes, dirt, and what I am sure is bird shit, I roll my eyes. “Shit. Two minutes.”

  Yanking the filthy sweatshirt over my head, I groan when my tank gets stuck and goes with it, leaving me in my jeans and neon green bra. “Oh you’re fuckin’ kidding me right now,” I mutter in frustration.

  A dog barking makes me jump. Spinning around, I spot the large black and white Great Dane running down the beach after a Frisbee. Scanning the beach, I lock eyes with a man in ragged, red running shorts and a long-sleeved black t-shirt. His eyes widen, but so does an amused smile.

  “Nice,” he mouths, giving me a thumbs up.

  Looking down, my jaw drops and my face heats when I realize that he can see right through the sheer green lace in the sunlight. “Fuckin’ pervert!” I shout, clutching my shirts to my chest with one hand and flipping him off with the other. Turning, I storm into the house, slamming the doors behind me. Tossing my dirty clothes to the floor, I yank a clean tank top from my bag, quickly tugging it over my head. “Asshole. Stupid, gawking asshole.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Evan asks, barreling into the room. When he sees that I am alone, he crosses his arms over his chest, smugly. “Did Casper, the pervy ghost, try and grab ass? Always knew he was a feisty fucker.”

  “This house isn’t haunted, jackass.”

  He nods, glancing around the room. “So, a spider? Overly friendly gull? I’m curious, since you were ranting like you were about to beat someone’s ass.” Quickly, I explain what happened while E scans the beach through the glass. Opening the door, he steps out and checks the decks before scanning the beach again in both directions. “No one out there, B. I don’t see a dog either. Stress from that crazy fuck getting to you?” he asks, stepping back inside. Closing the doors, he latches them, even testing to be sure they won’t open if rattled. “We can totally hang here and I can find a place to order in.”

  “I’m not crazy, E. There was someone out there.” Grabbing a clean sweatshirt, my wallet and phone, I shove around him and head for the stairs. “Blonde hair, cocky shit-eating grin. He even gave my tits a thumbs up!” I yell, the entire situation making me mad as hell.

  “Instead of a high five?” Evan asks, gasping in mock shock. “Oh, that’s just sick.”

  Stopping, I whip around and meet his eyes. Shoving at his chest, I only get angrier because his big, broad ass doesn’t even budge. “You’re such a dick! Some fuckin’ beach bum was peepin’ in my windows and you’re turnin’ into a stand-up comedian.”

  “Technically, he wasn’t peeping. You said you were outside,” he corrects me. His brows knit together as he scratches his chin. “If what you’re sayin’ is true, it sounds like you flashed some random guy while he was jogging with his dog.”

  “Are you serious?” I ask, jabbing him in the chest with my finger. “You’re defending him!”

  Swallowing his laugh, his face goes completely serious. “No,” he replies, shaking his head. “Not even a little bit. You see him again, point him out. I’ll fuck him up. Deal?” he chokes out, losing the battle to stay serious. Erupting into laughter again, he holds up both thumbs.

  “I hate you,” I deadpan, turning and stomping down the steps, heading for the front door.

  ***

  After making a stop at the store for things we need for the house, Evan demands we stop to eat before heading back. Parking, he shuts off the engine and climbs out, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. “Let’s go, woman. I’m fuckin’ starved.”

  “A sports bar?” I ask, climbing out onto the sidewalk. Looking up at the sign, I yank the hair elastic from my hair, letting my black hair fall around my face. “You are all excited like a kid on Christmas to eat at a place called The Penalty Box?”

  “I’m sorry,” he replies. “Is there another fine dining establishment in the middle
of Bum-mother-fucking-desolation that you’d rather me drive us to? According to Google, this is the only place in the fantastic town of seven-hundred and sixty-nine; other than a Big Boy Buffet, the McDonald’s inside the truck stop we passed getting off the highway, and some coffee shop that closes after the lunch rush.”

  “Fine,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Bottomless chicken wings and stale beer it is then.”

  “They have nachos too,” he announces, yanking open the door and gesturing for me to enter first. “And cheese fries.”

  “Well, that makes all the difference,” I deadpan, stepping inside. A couple of older men sit at the bar, both openly screaming at the television.

  “Can’t play like that and not end up in the box, McGee!” a man shouts, shaking his fist at the large flat screen mounted on the wall.

  “Can’t play a decent fuckin’ game with bullshit calls like that, Burleson,” another old man shouts, slamming his beer to the bar. “In my day, no one was cryin’ over a little rough play, or a cheap shot. You sucked it up, got off your ass and played the damn game to win. After, if you were still sore about it, you found the fucker and handled it off the ice, like adults. In the parking lot.”

  “You’re as crazy as you are ugly. Clean those glasses of yours and watch the replay,” the first man argues, slapping him on the back. “Hooking. Plain and simple.”

  Heading away from the madness, I slide into the back corner booth and snag a menu from the holder on the wall.

  “The only hooking you two grouchy old bastards are familiar with is the kind that ends with time in a nine by nine cell or a round of penicillin shots. Put a lid on it or I’ll cut off your beer tabs.”

  My eyes are drawn to the doorway beside the bar as a man steps out wearing tight, faded blue jeans and a dark gray flannel with the sleeves shoved up passed his elbows. His face is blocked by long dark blonde hair, and the boxes he is carrying. My eyes are on his exposed forearms and the large red wings with ‘68’ written across it in black ink. Liking what I see, my eyes move down, locking on his ass which is perfectly gripped by every inch of denim that touches it. Stacking the boxes on the end of the bar, he slams his hands down and hops over it effortlessly.

  Jesus.

  It should be illegal to look that good in a pair of jeans.

  “Oh yeah?” E asks, laughing at me from across the table. “I’ll be sure to tell Denim Dan over there that he should bring a wet floor sign when he takes our order.”

  My face heats, my eyes meeting Evan’s scrutinizing browns. “Please tell me that you’re telepathic and I didn’t totally embarrass myself by saying that out loud.”

  “And miss how awkward you get when you cram your foot in your mouth?” he asks, laughing harder. “No fuckin’ way.”

  “I hate you,” I mutter, my eyes going back to the menu.

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Welcome to The Penalty Box,” the deep male voice says, stealing my attention. “What can I get ya?”

  Looking up from the menu, my jaw drops. Standing in front of us, holding a pad, and ready to take our orders, is the goddamn peeping beach bum.

  Chapter Three

  Nothing but the Breast

  Tage

  “You,” she grounds out just as realization set in.

  Her.

  The sight of her in that scrap of bright lace stopped me dead in my tracks on the beach. It has also made my dick hard enough to pound nails into steel since the second I first saw her.

  I have seen pictures of Josephine’s granddaughter, even searched YouTube for clips so Jo could see her perform. They don’t do her justice. No photo or video clip could prepare me for Bristol Lachlan.

  “I’ll have that Bottomless Wings special, hot as you can make ‘em, with blue cheese dressing, an order of ultimate nachos and a beer,” the guy says, shoving his menu back in its place. I scribble his order down on the pad, but my eyes don’t leave the woman sitting across from him.

  She is fucking gorgeous.

  Even more so close up.

  “Fuckin’ pervert,” she mutters, clenching the menu in her hand.

  “It’s Tage, actually,” I reply, amused at her reaction. “But, you can call me Dan, Denim Dan.”

  “This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening right now,” she mutters, closing and opening her eyes as if she expects me to disappear.

  Sorry, princess. Not happenin’...

  “We, um,” the guy with her starts to ramble, his eyes shifting between us. “Wait. Fuckin’ pervert? Are you?” he asks, his eyes studying me carefully. For a second, I brace myself for a fight with this guy. No way I would want some random asshole getting a peep show from my woman. Instead of standing to his feet and beating my face in, he slaps the table and starts laughing his ass off. “Bristol, is this the guy you flashed on the beach?”

  “I did not flash him,” she says through gritted teeth.

  “Umm.” Scratching my chin, I think back to a few hours ago on the beach and smile smugly at her. I know this is pissing her off, but I like it. I don’t know why, but the more I get under her skin, the happier it makes me.

  Yep... There’s a special place in hell for my sadistic ass. I know.

  “You kinda did. But,” I shrug, my shoulders. “I’m more than happy to do a reenactment, if you’re not sure. Can I suggest early morning? Light’s good then, but that morning breeze off the lake can be a bit nippy,” I tease, waggling my brows. “Might want to wear a scarf and some warm socks.”

  Leaning back in the booth, the guy crosses his arms over his chest and grins. “This is entertaining as hell.”

  “Stop laughing, fuckface. Don’t make me fire your ass again today.”

  Fire?

  Looking down at her hand quickly, I notice there isn’t a wedding ring, or even a pale circle from one. If he isn’t her husband, is he a boyfriend? Do women fire boyfriends? Is that the term now? The thoughts race through my head, having me wondering if it has been so long since I have been in the game that I have missed some new dating memo or something.

  Hmm...

  Maybe, he’s a hired piece of ass?

  Male strippers, male escorts... Being a hired cock probably isn’t a bad gig.

  I’m sure it beats the hell outta yankin’ one out in the shower with Felicia the Fist at two am...

  “Tage?” Bristol asks, pulling me from my lust filled thoughts of being an on-call cock and getting to see those fabulous tits of hers on a more up close and tasteable level. Batting her lashes, her brown eyes soften as she tucks strands of her curly black hair behind her ear, giving me an unobstructed view of her face.

  “Yeah?” My dick stands at attention like a fucking begging dog, simply from the sound of my name on her lips.

  Raising her hand, she smirks before pressing a kiss to her middle finger and blows it at me. “Go fuck yourself.” Grabbing for her bag, she scoots to the edge of the booth. “Come on, Evan, we’re leaving. You’ll just have to settle for eating your weight in fried chicken at that buffet instead.”

  Damn, this girl has bite.

  And damn if I don’t like it.

  A lot...

  “No. I call veto,” he says, reaching out and grabbing her arm. “I’m hungry. We’re staying. Even if I have to sit on your feisty ass while I eat.”

  Bristol’s eyes narrow, and I begin to wonder if she is going to use the silverware on the table to carve out his eyes, or his balls. She looks ready to go prison style battle royale on him in about two seconds. But, Evan doesn’t flinch. Instead, he matches her scary as hell stare down with one of his own. “Fine,” she says after a few terrifyingly uncomfortable moments. Not even glancing up at me, she blows out a frustrated breath then tosses her menu to the other side of the table. “I’ll have a turkey club, cheese fries, and a bottle of Fireball.”

  “Good choice,” I say with a nod. “Our cheese fries are the breast in town.”

  “Simply the breast,” Evan laughs, slappin
g the table with his fist. “Nothing but the breast for Bristol Lachlan.”

  “Best,” I correct myself, cringing in embarrassment at my slip up. “I meant best.”

  My eyes move to her. Locking on her fingers as they pick at the paper napkin in front of her, my gaze moves up to her neck and face, taking in as much of her as I can see. A small blue stone just below her bottom lip reflects from the overhead lighting, drawing my attention.

  It makes me wonder if she has anything else pierced...

  “Yeah,” she grounds out, her voice cold and hard. “You’re both a bunch of crusty cuntpuddles.”

  Making my way back to the bar, I finish scribbling down her part of the order then hand off the ticket to my great uncle, Felix. “Fresh meat, eh?” he asks, waggling his salt and pepper brows at me through the pick-up window. “We don’t get newbies often. Who are they and what’s their story?” Leaning his elbow on the spice shelf, he waits expectantly like I am about to deliver the nightly news.

  “You’ll never believe it, Unc,” I reply, taking a deep breath. My uncle is by far the nosiest old man I have ever met. Snooping son of a bitch feeds on the small town gossip like one of those sucker fish on the side of a dirty tank. “They’re hungry,” I smirk, barely able to contain my laugh.

  “Think you’re funny, huh, pretty boy?” he asks, grabbing the slip. “You’re never too old to have your ass meet the back side of my fryin’ pan.”

  “They got into town today,” I reply, quietly enough that only he can hear me and not the almost equally nosy bastards behind me, busy yelling at the TV and drinking their weight in pale ale. Although, I know without a doubt, Uncle Felix will relay it all to them later anyway, in excruciating detail, when they close the place down playing poker. “Stayin’ at the Lachlan place.”

  “Was that so hard?” Wiping his brow, Uncle Felix adjusts his glasses, squinting as he stares over my shoulder. “Josephine’s granddaughter,” he says, nodding his head, seeming satisfied with himself for being able to answer his own questions. “No denyin’ that one there,” he says, tossing the order slip and heading for the fryers. “She’s the spittin’ image of Jo; back in her glory days, that is.”