by Kacey Shea
It’s the same table I sit at every time I visit Gio’s. My gaze trains on Rachel, cataloging her reaction as she takes in the view. Up here on the deck, with the summer breeze to temper the heat, the view of Laguna Beach is spectacular. The sky is painted in pinks and oranges, the beginning of another gorgeous California sunset, but it’s her that catches my attention and holds it like a vice. I couldn’t look away if I tried.
“Wow,” Rachel breathes, then lifts her gaze to mine when I don’t reply to the hostess.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
She laughs, the sound a little tight. “Ah, yeah. Twist my arm.”
I allow a smile to take over my lips as I pull out a chair for her, the one with the best view, then take the seat to her left. Walter spins in a circle, his usual one-and-a-half rotations before resting between our feet. I deftly go through the motions as the hostess hands over menus and conversation floats around us, but it’s as if a sheer bubble surrounds our table. I can’t concentrate on anything other than the way Rachel’s lips press together as she studies the menu, or the way her eyes soften when they drift to the ocean.
She’s beautiful, but that word doesn’t do her justice. There’s an essence about her, and sitting next to her does a strange thing to my heart. It sounds ridiculous. I’d never dare admit it. But the emotion is there all the same. Anticipation builds in my chest, a feeling I can’t quite name. One I don’t really want to dissect. It’s thrilling and terrifying, and my God, I can’t stop staring.
Rachel glances up from her menu, her eyes widening when they find mine. “What?”
It hits me that I’m probably smiling like a loon. I should stop. God, I’ll probably scare her away. Instead, my pulse speeds as her lips widen with amusement. There’s a good chance she’s holding back the urge to laugh at how ridiculous I must appear, but I don’t even care. Not if it brings her joy.
“Ma’am. Sir.” A server stops by to pour two glasses of wine. We place our orders and I include a few appetizers for us to share. And maybe to extend our dinner. We’ve only just arrived and already I don’t want this night to end. I might get to take her home after, and she’ll be sleeping in my bed, but it’s without me. Something I aim to rectify as soon as possible.
“So.” I take a sip of wine and lean forward. “Tell me about this wholesome childhood of yours.”
“Oh, I don’t know how wholesome it was.” She laughs.
“That sounds like a story right there.”
“Well, my brother was sort of obsessed with Madonna. He was always organizing these shows in the neighborhood. We’d practice for weeks, then perform his latest masterpiece for the parents. He was really creative and bossy too, the perfect director. Although he was sort of a stage hog because he also cast himself as the lead.” She laughs to herself and shakes her head. “After the Madonna show, I’m surprised my parents didn’t move.”
“Why’s that?”
“He had all the little boys dressed in drag and we were all singing “Like A Virgin.” The neighbors were horrified. Now that I think about it, after that he had to get song approval for future shows.”
“Is that how your makeup career started?”
“No. It’s more where my singing and acting career ended. I hated being in front of everyone, so I made myself useful creating props and decorating programs, that kind of stuff. It wasn’t until my brother and his best friend became obsessed with cosplay that I started playing with makeup. The rest, I guess, is history.”
Our server brings a plate of bread with different dips, then dinner soon after. The food does not disappoint, and I enjoy every second of our conversation. Rachel tells me more about growing up in Iowa. About living in Chicago through her twenties. Her brother, who must be a riot, but very clearly is protective of her. With each refill of her wine glass, her inhibitions fade and sharing comes easy. I’m enthralled. I could sit here all night. It doesn’t escape me that I’ve never before cared to listen to these kinds of tales. Not by anyone I’ve dated anyway.
Not that this is an official date.
I wish it was. So much so that while I respect the boundaries she’s set for us, I wait for a sign that maybe she’s changed her mind. A lingering glance at my mouth. A touch on my forearm as I say something to make her laugh. Anything. But if Rachel is interested in me that way, she does a phenomenal job hiding it.
I’ll have to work harder.
The sun hangs low in the sky by the time our plates are cleared and the wine is gone. “I’ll order another,” I say as I empty the last of the bottle into her glass.
“No, no.” She holds up her hand. “I’m good. Another bottle and I’ll break into song. Might even try to dance on the table.”
“I’d like to see that.”
“No. Trust me. You don’t.” She rolls her eyes. “Tipsy Rae is cute. Drunk Rae breaks things.”
“Can’t have that. This is one of my favorite restaurants, after all.”
“You come here a lot.” Not a question.
“I do, but it’s been awhile.”
“Oh?” Her smile boarders on flirtatious. “That’s surprising.”
“How so?”
She twirls a finger in the air and her cheeks appear flush. “Your date the other night would probably love this place.” Her tone teases, but do I detect a hint of jealously? I can only hope. Then my interest wouldn’t be one-sided.
I scrunch my nose. “Jenese? She’s an . . . acquaintance. I don’t take her to dinner. And I’d never bring her here.”
“Ah, that’s how it is.” She leans back in her chair.
A rueful chuckle reverberates in my chest. “Oh, no you don’t.” I shake my head.
Her brows lift. “What?” The innocent act doesn’t fool me, though.
“I answer one question and you suddenly have my number?” I point at her in mock accusation. “I don’t think so. I’m more complicated than that.”
She purses her lips, her eyes narrowing slightly before they dance with . . . something, and for about the thousandth time I wish I could read her mind. “You don’t do relationships.” She hums, holding my gaze as if she sees right through me. “They’re complicated and full of feelings that you don’t have the time or interest to be bothered by. Of course, you’re—” she sweeps my body with her eyes. “Well, you, so you have your hookups to get yourself off, and that’s that.” She picks up her glass in triumph.
Damn. Maybe I’m not as complicated as I imagine. “And what about you, Miss Independent and All-Knowing? Care to share how it is with you?”
“Not particularly.” She lifts her glass to her lips, smiling around the rim.
A chuckle escapes my lips. “That’s not fair.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that’s life?”
Oh, I’m well aware. I’m also aware she doesn’t want to talk about herself right now. Why is that? What’s she hiding? I’ve already seen her apartment, and met her roommates. It’s not her job. Something from her past? I want her to tell me, but I don’t want to pry it out of her. I need to earn her trust.
Rachel’s gaze drifts to the ocean. “This really is a beautiful view.”
“Come on.” I scoot my chair back and Walter jumps to attention. “I’ll do you one better.”
“Jude, you don’t need—” She stops when I cut her a look. “Don’t feel as if you need to entertain me. I’m sure you have things to do. Work. I promise I’m perfectly content back in the condo. Besides, I can’t possibly eat or drink anything else.”
Her excuses only make me want to prove her otherwise. “Good. Because we aren’t doing either.” I hold out my hand, waiting for her to take it. She’s not wrong. Usually, I’d work until much later than this. Probably should. But the instant I picked her up from work, I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything other than her.
She bites her lower lip as if weighing her answer. I think she wants to say yes.
“Come on, Rachel.” I glance down. “Don’t disappoint
Walter.”
Walter spins with excitement at the sound of his name, his body wiggling in a dance. He’s a creature of habit, and I guess I am too, because he knows what’s coming next.
“Oh, fine.” She stands and rolls her eyes again. “But only because Walter’s coming.”
Maybe someday she’ll say yes without the influence of my dog. Until then, I’ll employ any means necessary and hope this night never ends.
“Sure you aren’t cold?” I ask as a cool breeze lifts from the ocean. Shoes in hand, and Walter off his leash, we walk along the beach as the sun descends over the horizon.
“A little, but I’m fine.” She wiggles her toes in the sand, a relaxed smile on her lips and tendrils of hair dancing around her face. “This is worth it.”
I shrug off my suit jacket. “Here.”
“Oh, you don’t—” She stops when she catches my glare. “Fine.” She draws out the word, pretending to be put off, but as soon as the fabric wraps around her shoulders, she grins. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I loosen my tie and roll up my sleeves. Spotting a discarded plastic water bottle cap a few steps ahead, I scoop it up and drop it into my pocket with the dozen or so others. Chance wasn’t joking. The number of disposable bottles and containers I’ve seen washed up or left behind on the beach in the last week is staggering. I never noticed until I started looking. Maybe the sculpture Chance is creating will help shed light on the issue. Maybe it’ll inspire advocacy or volunteerism in the hotel guests who are moved by it.
“What are you doing?”
“Mmm?” I turn to meet Rachel’s gaze.
“What do you have in your pocket?”
“Oh, right.” I pull a few out to show her. “I collect trash. Stash it. You didn’t peek inside the last bedroom of my condo, did you? Piles and piles of junk.”
“Really?” Her brows shoot up, but she doesn’t appear to be mortified.
“No. I have a friend who’s an artist. Everything he creates is from repurposed materials. Trash, basically. And his current installment needs to be made entirely of disposable drink waste.”
“Now that I believe.”
“What? You don’t see me as a hoarder?”
She scrunches her nose and stares at me a long moment as if considering my question. “Too put together.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Her laugh is light and carefree. I wish I could bottle it up along with the ocean air. “As you should.” She stops walking to pick up a bottle cap half buried in the sand. She crouches down at the next roll of the tide, pulling her skirt up high on her thighs with one hand. With the other, she takes the plastic and swishes it through the water to wash it off. She stands to show off her find. Her ankles are wet, feet sandy, and hair wildly out of place. She’s never looked more gorgeous. “Like this?”
Rachel isn’t afraid to get dirty. Add it to the growing list of reasons I like her more.
“Perfect.” I reach for the piece of plastic, but I’m no longer talking about the trash.
Rachel’s lips part. Time freezes. A building buzz of energy in my chest renders me speechless and pushes me a step forward. Her gaze drops to my mouth. God, I want to kiss her. Touch her. Sweep her off her feet. I swear my hands might physically ache because they aren’t on her body.
“Excuse me! Sir.” a young voice interrupts. “Excuse me! Miss. Is that your dog?”
Reluctantly, I turn from her and take in the commotion. Walter in the middle of it. “Oh, fuck,” I mutter, then take off at a jog. Rachel’s laughter follows me, as I’m sure she takes in the chaotic scene. Walter has found himself a mate. A bright green turtle floaty near a family of four, and he’s humping it as if his life depends on it.
A little girl sits next to the beach toy, wailing. “Not Tashie! Daddy, save Tashie!”
Her mother holds her arm, keeping her from Walter and the turtle.
“Walter! No,” I yell. “Walter. Heel!”
His head twists over his shoulder to see me approaching and gives the turtle another round of thrusts before I grab him off his inflatable lover.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to the family. The father, along with the older son, bite back the urge to laugh. The mother glares, more so at her laughing husband than Walter, while the little girl clutches the rescued turtle, crying.
“I hope he didn’t break it. I’ll pay to replace it.”
“It’s fine.” The man waves me off.
I hook Walter to his leash and pull him back toward the surf. “Right. You all have a good evening.”
“Not as good as the dog,” the man mutters, then yelps as the woman slaps him across the chest.
“Really?” she chides. “In front of the children?”
“I’m not the animal humping our beach toys!” he defends.
I cringe, pulling Walter as fast as possible away from the family and back to where Rachel waits.
“Walter!” Rachel kneels in the sand and runs her hands along his fur. “Who knew you were such a naughty boy?”
“That was embarrassing.” Normally he doesn’t wander, but usually he has my full attention. It was my fault for not keeping a better eye on him. I blow out a breath. “Ready to head back?”
“Worried he might scandalize another child?” Rachel lifts her gaze to mine, pats Walter on the head, then comes to stand at my side.
I scrub a hand over the scruff along my jaw. “I’m concerned for unsuspecting inflatable toys, yes.”
“Such a gentleman.” She winks and bumps my shoulder with hers.
We walk back to the beach entrance, washing off our feet and Walter’s paws before hiking up the sand covered concrete steps leading to the parking garage. While Rachel climbs in the passenger seat, I take Walter to the back to towel him off. I consider grabbing the blanket I keep back here, but I rather like the look of my suit jacket wrapped around Rachel, so I leave it behind.
A few minutes into our drive home, I glance over to find Walter is fast asleep on Rachel’s lap.
“He wore himself out,” she says.
“Must’ve been all the humping.”
“Did you see that poor mother’s face?” Rachel laughs. “She was horrified!”
I join in, shaking my head. “I was more preoccupied with getting him off the damn thing without causing a puncture.”
“Poor turtle.” She giggles, wiping beneath her eyes, then going back to petting Walter’s coat. Her voice is soft and serious when she speaks again. “Thank you. For tonight.”
“Of course. We should do it again. Tomorrow?”
“You don’t need to feed me and show me a good time. I’m fine on my own.”
“Oh, I’m sure of that.” I swallow, then chance a moment of honesty. “I happen to enjoy taking you to dinner, and spending time with you. You make me smile.” I glance away from the road, needing to know her reaction. Unsure if she’ll dismiss my comments, argue them, or ignore the sentiment altogether.
Shadows from the street lights pass over her face. A slight smile plays at her lips. Pride fills my chest for being the one who put it there.
A familiar melody draws my attention back to the road. I glance down at the dash of my SUV to see Chance Bateman’s name scroll across the screen with an incoming call. Now, he’s someone I don’t mind picking up with Rachel in the car.
“Do you mind?” I point at the dashboard.
“Not at all.”
I press the button on my steering wheel to connect the call. “Hey, Chance, how’s it going?”
“Good, mate! Got a surprise on my doorstep just now. I’m guessing I have you to thank?”
“Sure do. I’m still working on the rest.” I glance over at Rachel’s puzzled expression. The way her nose crinkles just the slightest. She’s adorable. “Does this get us on track?”
“Definitely helps.”
“You’ll have more coming, just tell me when to cut off the supply.”
“Good. I’ll focus on getting
the scales complete. Hopefully the plastic comes through, or it’ll be a headless, hairless body.”
I almost laugh out loud. Out of context, my conversation with Chance must sound absurd. “I’m on it.”
“If I find out you took a trip to Costco for a few cases just to dump perfectly good water, our friendship is over.” His warning comes with laughter, but I know how important this is for him.
“I’d never cross you.”
A baby cries in the background. “Gotta run. Later, mate.”
I glance over to find Rachel’s eyes wide and her mouth ajar. “Questions?”
“I don’t know where to begin.” She shakes her head. “I really hope that was your artist friend, and you aren’t supplying some dude with parts for a headless robot.”
“Yeah, Chance is the artist I told you about. You know when we went to my favorite burger joint the other night? I convinced the corporate office to collect their bottle caps as a recycling effort.”
It’s quiet a moment. I can feel her gaze on me. At the next break in traffic I turn to meet her stare. “What?”
“First, you’re besties with one of my favorite rock stars. Now, I find out you have an Australian artist friend. How could you keep this from me?”
Oh. Of course she’d be impressed by my famous connections. I don’t know why that fills me with disappointment but it does. Because I want all her interest on me.
“Chance.” The way she says his name causes irritation to prickle my spine. “Does he look like Thor? If he’s single, promise you’ll introduce us immediately.”
Fucker. An irrational desire to murder Chance for choosing this moment to call rips through me. “I’ll do no such thing.”
“What? Why?” Rachel laughs, and though I realize she’s probably joking, the thought of giving her any guy’s number incites a wave of rage. “I thought we were friends.”
Fucking friends. Jealously coils in my gut at the thought of being “just friends” with Rachel. Does she not see how much I want her? How I go out of my way to spend more time with her? How she’s reduced me to following her around like a dog in pursuit of a bone? I thought a romantic dinner near the ocean and a walk along the beach after would seal the deal. Goes to show how much I still need to learn about this woman.