The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories

by Brina Courtney

  I pulled the blinds and opened the glass slider and we stepped out onto the small patio. The sand was empty, the ocean almost a shadow, the whitecaps dancing in the twilight.

  “Fifty seven steps to the water,” I said. “Give or take.”

  She smiled. “You counted?”

  “A couple times, yeah.”

  “Sounds like something you would do,” she said.

  “How's that?”

  She shrugged. “I don't know. Just is.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and we stood next to each other, watching the ocean. The silence wasn't uncomfortable. I was keenly aware of her presence, of the fact that her arm was only an inch away from mine, that the fabric of her shorts ruffled in the breeze and brushed against my leg. I leaned a fraction closer to her and I could smell her shampoo, some fruity scent that, on any other girl, I would have thought smelled ridiculous. But not on her. On her, it was just right. Perfect. I breathed in deeply, letting the scent wash over me.

  “You okay?” she asked, turning toward me.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You were breathing heavy.”

  I never blushed, ever, but I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. “Nah. I'm fine.” I wanted to kick myself. What the hell was I doing? Smelling her? Jesus Christ.

  I needed to focus – and not on the woman next to me who was making me feel like some horny teenager. “Mind if I ask you a question?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  What color panties are you wearing? How do you like to be kissed?

  I shook my head. Focus. “How'd you pull this gig?” I asked. “I mean, babysitting me. How'd that happen?”

  It was a good question, a safe one. Because it made me remember exactly why she was in my house. And it wasn't because she wanted me.

  She waited a few seconds before answering. “Because my boss told me this was my gig this month.”

  I stared at her, but she was locked on the water or the sunset or something far away, something I couldn't see.

  “Yeah, but come on,” I said. “Why you? Why not some guy who could push me around if needed, who could pretend to be on my side? I mean, I've heard how this stuff works. You're about the last person I'd think they would want to send my way.”

  She turned her head, staring down the beach toward the south. She stayed quiet for a long time, then pointed in the direction she was looking. “Because I spent a lot of time over there.”

  I looked. She was pointing south, toward Trestles. But I wasn't sure that's what she meant. Beyond that was the power plant. Then Camp Pendleton. Then Oceanside. She could have been talking about anything. “The beach?” I asked. “Trestles? Or further south? You grew up here?”

  “Something like that,” she said. Then she dropped her hand and snapped out of whatever reverie she'd been in. “Look, I should go. Suit'll be here at ten.”

  “Wait,” I said. I wanted to know. She knew everything about me and pretty much the only thing I knew about her was her name – and that she was starting to get under my skin. In more ways than one.

  She turned and stepped through the doorway, back into the house. “Put some thoughts down on paper about the speech. Email them to me tonight before you go to bed. I'll see what I can do if you need help.”

  I followed her through my house, back toward the front door. “You aren't answering my question.”

  She reached the front door and bent down, scooping up Rip. She held him close to her chest for a moment, smiling at him as he purred. Then she held him out to me and I took him.

  “Maybe use Rip,” she said, opening the door.

  “What?” I asked, totally confused.

  She dropped the sunglasses over her eyes even though the sun was long gone. Before she did, I caught a glimpse of those dark eyes and I was surprised to see they were wet. “Maybe use Rip. As the subject for your speech.”

  She turned and left before I could ask her anything else.

  THIRTEEN

  Gina

  I pulled out of Kellen Handler's driveway, completely unnerved. I should've checked his address before I'd driven him home. I knew he lived in San Clemente but I hadn't given it much thought. I'd been too focused on being professional, on trying to keep my personal demons out of the equation. It hadn't even occurred to me that he might live right on the beach. I let out a frustrated sigh. Where else would the world's top surfer live – a ranch home in the foothills? Even still, it wasn't like I'd grown up down the beach. Encinitas was a good forty minute drive away. But it hadn't mattered. I'd stepped out on to that patio and the memories came flooding back. Not just because it was the beach; I could handle the beach. Sort of. I'd done alright at the surf clinic earlier that day. But night time? The darkness held too many memories and it stole in on me on Kellen's deck, unexpected and unwanted.

  But that was only half of it. Standing with him in the house, watching as he hurriedly tidied up the kitchen. Seeing him with Rip, the shock of seeing his sweetness and sensitivity with the little cat. Watching the pain flicker across his face as he talked about Jay, his voice neutral, trying to give nothing away. And the deck. Standing next to him, so close I could almost touch him. I'd wanted to. I'd wanted to reach out and put my hand on his arm. But then the memories had come rushing in, of Luke and Leo and everything I'd tried to hide from. I'd been pretty successful at hiding. Until now.

  I grabbed my phone, desperate for a distraction, and dialed Gavin. I gave him a rundown on the day.

  “So overall it was good?” he asked.

  “Yeah, it was,” I said as I drove. “He's not a bad guy.” He wasn't a bad guy at all. I'd figured that out the minute he'd caved in the hotel lobby, and I'd gotten further proof that afternoon, watching him with those kids in the water. “Think he just needs a little direction.”

  “Alright, good,” Gavin said. “I'll call the tour guys and update them.”

  I told him about the speaking engagement I'd lined up for the next night and he seemed fine with that, too. But his answers were quick, like he was anxious for me to finish talking so he could say something.

  “I feel like you're about to drop a bomb on me,” I said. “Not sure why, buy my internal alarm is sounding.”

  He chuckled into the phone. “I wouldn't call it a bomb.”

  “What would you call it then?”

  “I would call it a difficult task,” he said. “Okay. The guy Handler roughed up?”

  The fight. Newspaper. I pulled facts as quickly as I could. “The Nike kid.”

  “Right. The father is making some noise about going public, maybe pursuing damages with the tour.”

  “That seems a bit far-fetched,” I said.

  “Their attorneys think so, too,” he said. “But the attention and publicity wouldn't help the tour or Handler.”

  “Right.”

  “So,” he said.

  I waited, saying nothing, focused on the road in front of me. I'd taken PCH instead of the 5. There was less traffic but it wasn't a straight shot back up the coast, hauling eighty miles an hour.

  “I think an apology might go a long way,” Gavin said.

  “Public?”

  “Private.”

  I sighed. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” he said. “I talked to both Turner and Wyckoff about it. They agree. They aren't worried about the legal aspects and I think that's right. I suggested a private apology because it gives us a chance to get ahead of the story if the family does decide to talk to the media.”

  I knew he was right. If Kellen apologized to the guy and then the family went public, the tour could issue a statement that he'd already spoken with them, that he hadn't waited for public pressure to do so. Being proactive would be favorable for both Kellen and the tour.

  But the dynamics of a private apology were usually extremely awkward at best. Given the fact that I'd be dealing with two testosterone-driven males in their twenties, plus some family that apparently had money to burn, made it all the l
ess attractive.

  “I'm going to set it up for the day after tomorrow,” Gavin said. “You think you can get Handler on board?”

  “I'll try.”

  I was in Dana Point and saw the sign for the hotel I'd be staying at. I'd decided to stay in a hotel for the first few days. We were going to be doing things that were mostly in Orange County for the first week and I didn't want to fight the traffic from San Diego every day. Plus, I was close by in case Kellen did anything stupid.

  “You need to do more than that. He can't go there and be anything less than conciliatory.”

  “I'm aware of that,” I said, frowning as I pulled into the parking lot. “I'm just saying it might not be that easy. A couple of alpha dogs, Gavin. You know how that goes.”

  “Well, convince him he needs to be a beta dog for one day,” he replied. “Doesn't have to be long or involved. He just needs to apologize.”

  “Anything else I can do?” I asked. “Maybe swim the English Channel? Run two marathons in a day?”

  He chuckled again. “If I didn't think you could pull it off, Gina, I wouldn't be asking.”

  “You aren't asking,” I said, parking the car and cutting the engine. “You're telling.”

  “Semantics,” he said. “But I think you can get it done.”

  I leaned my head back against the headrest. “I'll talk to him in the morning.”

  “I'll send you the details after I've got it set up,” he said.

  We hung up and I got out of the car and grabbed my stuff from the trunk.

  I wasn't looking forward to telling Kellen about the apology. I'd specifically avoided talking to him about the fight. There was never a good reason for a fight – Jesus, did I know that – and I doubted that he'd be the first to come up with one. That didn't mean it was his fault but ultimately it didn't matter. I'd seen him weaken a little over the day, give in a little to the idea of me and what we were trying to do for him. Not a little, I thought. A lot. He'd been great with the kids. He'd balked at the idea of the banquet but I knew he'd do it, and he'd do it well. But asking him to flat-out apologize to a guy he'd punched in the face? That might not sit too well. I was going to need some time to think of how to pitch it to him.

  I checked into the hotel and found my room on the top floor. I kicked off my sandals and tossed my bag on the bed, a massive king-sized bed with a thick, white comforter. I looked around the room, at the desk, the dresser, the microwave and mini fridge that served as my kitchen. It had all the comforts of home; everything I would need for the next couple of days, anyway. The room was stuffy and I found the AC unit near the window. I dialed down the thermostat and pulled the curtains on the window.

  Even at night, the view was spectacular. Lights dotted the marina, the tall-masted sailboats like soldiers standing at attention. I couldn't see the ocean past the bay but I knew it was there. It was always there. I stood there for a moment, staring, thinking before I drew the curtains closed. It was a beautiful view, one that most people would've been thrilled to have.

  I didn't need to see it.

  I'd seen it plenty of times.

  And when I looked at it, all I saw were bad memories.

  FOURTEEN

  Kellen

  I rolled over and hit the alarm on my phone, but kept my eyes shut. I wasn't ready to get up.

  I'd sat down in my living room after Gina left, trying to put her out of my mind. I needed to focus on what I was going to say to the girls at the surf school, but I couldn't get my mind to cooperate. I'd stared at a blank laptop screen for nearly an hour before giving up and closing it down. I'd turned on the TV, but just flipped through the channels mindlessly. I didn't go anywhere near the fridge or the beer and ended up going to bed before midnight. I couldn't remember the last time that had happened.

  But sleep was hard to find and I tossed and turned most of the night, dozing off every so often before being jolted awake by the speech hanging over me. I'd set my alarm so I'd have time to work on it in the morning, but I was awake, just lying there when the phone started vibrating on my nightstand.

  I opened my eyes. Rip was sound asleep next to me, curled up on my hip. He was always more attached after I'd been gone for a few days. Lucky for him, it didn't look like I'd be going anywhere anytime soon.

  I pushed myself out of bed and he fell over to the side, opened an eye at me and then shut it, apparently deciding he wasn't ready to get up. I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of orange juice, grabbed the laptop off the coffee table and went outside to the back patio.

  The beach was nearly deserted, save for a couple of walkers headed south toward the pier. The sun was up high in the east, casting long shadows over the ocean. I spotted a few bodies in the water and had a momentary thought of grabbing a board and joining them. But then I looked at the laptop and knew I'd just be avoiding the issue. I set the juice on the small glass table next to my chair and opened up the computer.

  The last time I'd written anything was in high school and even then it had been some half-ass attempt at an essay for my English class. I couldn't even recall the topic, but I did remember trying to get other people to write it for me. I'd struck out and had to do it myself. I'd had to stay up the entire night before it was due but I'd somehow managed to finish it. I sighed. I would've rather taken a fork to the eye than write another paper ever again.

  I stared at the blank screen and thought about the suggestions Gina had given me. She hadn't mentioned Jay and I was grateful for that. I knew I couldn't write about him and apparently, she'd figured that out, too. There was no way I could put my feelings about him into words and even if I had been able to, I knew that speaking those words out loud in front of a bunch of people I didn't know wouldn't go well. So I immediately ruled that out.

  A scratching at the glass door behind me made me turn around. Rip was standing up on his back paws, completely stretched out, scraping his front paws against the glass. I leaned back and slid the door open. He trotted out and hopped up on the chair next to me. He squinted into the breeze, his nose twitching. He did a couple of circles on the chair and finally plopped down into a tight little ball, closing his eyes again.

  I turned my attention back to the screen. I pecked at the laptop, my fingers clumsy on the keyboard. I didn't spend my time on my laptop hammering out documents, I spent my time scrolling through surf reports. I typed out a few sentences about learning to surf, like Gina had suggested. I read them in my head. They didn't totally suck so I typed a few more. I tried not to over think it and, after an hour of poking away at the keys, I attached the document to an email and sent it to Gina for her to look at. I wasn't holding out much hope that it would be good, but I hoped she might be able to fix it.

  I went back inside, made toast for breakfast, then spent time using the laptop the way I liked to, checking message boards and surf reports. The rumors about my suspension were already hitting the forums, but no one seemed to be able to confirm whether it was true or not. It was unsettling to read about myself like that. I rarely went hunting for my name on the Internet. There were always rumors but I didn't get involved with that shit. For me, surfing was about surfing, not drama concocted by kooks who didn't have anything better to do. But this time around? I thought that if things were going to be said about me, I probably needed to know what they were.

  The doorbell rang a minute before ten and a short, squat guy sporting a tie handed me the suit that Gina had ordered for me. I unzipped the black bag. Charcoal gray with pin stripes. The guy asked me to try it on so we could make sure it fit before he left and, after a moment's hesitation, I grabbed the suit and headed for the bathroom. The guy tugged on the jacket and the waistband and pronounced a perfect fit. It didn't feel perfect. It felt like a fucking straight jacket. But I thanked him and peeled it off as soon as he left.

  My phone rang and I crossed the living room in my boxers and picked it up off the counter.

  “Suit get there?” Gina asked.

  “Yeah.” />
  “And?”

  “The guy made me try it on.”

  “Did it fit?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  What the hell did I know about suits? “Yeah.”

  “Okay,” she said and it sounded like she was smiling. “I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess you don't own a shirt or tie to wear with it. So I'll bring those.”

  “I can't believe you're dressing me.”

  “I can't believe you don't own anything but shorts and t-shirts,” she countered, and this time I could definitely hear the laughter in her voice.

  “Whatever,” I said, a smile finding its way to my lips. “You get my email?”

  “Yeah,” she answered. “I was surprised you were up so early. I'm grabbing breakfast now and then I'll head over, if that's alright?”

  “That's fine.”

  “You want anything?”

  I didn't but I hated turning her down, especially when she was being so nice. She was still professional, still focused on business, but her demeanor had softened a bit. She was friendly, laughing. And I wanted more of that.

  “I already ate,” I finally said.

  “No worries,” she said. “I'll see you in fifteen minutes, then.” She hung up.

  I picked the suit up off the floor and carefully replaced it on the hangers. I pulled on the shorts I'd worn to bed, grabbed a T-shirt, cleaned up the kitchen and was wondering why she hadn't said anything about what I'd sent her when she knocked on the door.

  I tried not to stare. She wasn't dressed for work. She wore denim shorts cut to mid-thigh, revealing an eyeful of bare, smooth leg and a blue tank top that hugged all of her curves. And, damn, she had a lot of them. Her hair hung loose, just past her shoulders, the ends still damp from her shower. The scent of her shampoo was overwhelming She looked more like she was ready to head down to the sand than help me write a speech. I swallowed and tried to look away.