Sexy Bachelor

by Maggie Monroe

  He looked at his shorts and laughed. “Maybe not a bad idea. So, what time do I need to be here in the morning? Is it really five thirty?”

  Finally, someone who recognized five thirty was the most ridiculous time to go to work. “Yes, sorry about that part. The fishermen are in early. They like to get their coffee and donuts.”

  He slung his shirt over his shoulder. “All right. I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned and started walking toward the parking lot.

  “Jake. Wait.” The words were out before I could take them back.

  “Yeah?” He looked as confused as I felt.

  “Since you’re new and everything, would you want to get something to eat? But, totally not a big deal if you can’t, because you’re probably tired and you need to change and then you have to be here so early and—”

  “Sure.”

  My pulse whirled, making me slightly off balance.

  “Oh, really? Cool.” I hadn’t thought past the invitation.

  “I have an idea. Why don’t you come to my place? I have a feeling it’s part of the island you might not know so well. Maybe it will be something different.”

  “Have dinner at your place?”

  My stomach flipped. This was starting to feel like a date. When he had started walking away, a part of me wanted him to stay a little longer. But a date? That was something else. I questioned why I would be resistant to him though. He was cute and sexy. He had made me laugh all day, and he had this crazy calming effect on me that was hard to ignore.

  “I can’t guarantee it will be the best meal, but yeah, let’s try it. Consider it my thank you for the job.”

  I didn’t know how to react. Dinner was crossing the line, but it was hard to explain how something about him put me at ease—no matter how many times I caught him checking me out today.

  “Yeah, we can talk about writing,” I suggested.

  I had tried all day to bring it up, but he kept asking work-related questions. Maybe over dinner I would get to ask him if words hit him like they did me. If he woke up in the middle of night with a life or death mission to get the words out. Yes, there were things I definitely wanted to ask him.

  “But since you dunked me in the creek, I need to change. Give me the address and I’ll meet you in an hour.”

  He smiled. “Ok. I’m at the Brees Campground, last trailer on the right. You’ll see the name, Silver Sand Dollar.”

  “I don’t know what to make fun of first: the campground or the name.” I giggled and pulled my bike from the rack.

  “It’s high living for me.” He retrieved a pair of keys from his soggy shorts. “See you in an hour.”

  “Bye.” I grasped the handlebars and pushed down on the pedals—half-watching him walk away, and half-watching the road in front of me.

  In an hour’s time, I would be having dinner with a handsome writer. I didn’t think I could imagine up a better ending to my day if I tried.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Ben

  I spun into my usual parking space near the Sand Dollar, and raced into the camper. It looked like a tornado had blasted through the place. What was I thinking asking a girl over? Two weeks of solitude were starting to take their toll on my judgment. I shook my head and started hiding all signs of my bachelor lifestyle.

  I pulled the trash from the bin and tied the sack. As soon as I walked out of the camper, Alice stopped me. This was her usual time to hit the sand for beachcombing.

  “Hey, stranger. Haven’t seen you all day,” she purred.

  “Hey, Alice.” I didn’t have time for this. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”

  “Oh shoot. I was going to ask if you wanted to come over for a beer after my walk. I have your favorite. You drink that Texas stuff, right?”

  “That’s real nice of you, but actually, I have a friend coming over tonight.” Maybe this was the deterrent this woman needed. If she saw me with another girl, she might take the hint.

  “Oh, that’s too bad. But, baby, don’t worry. That beer won’t go bad. We’ll just do it another time.” She patted me on the shoulder and headed down to the beach.

  I was convinced nothing would dissuade her. I clutched the trash bag in my hand and jogged to the dumpster near the office. I still had a few minutes to jump in the shower before Chelsea arrived.

  ***

  I looked in the mirror one more time and rubbed my palm against the smoothness of my jaw. I looked more like myself than I had in weeks. I liked the beard, but it wasn’t really me. It was a part of letting everything go in my life—diet, friends, career. But I liked my face better this way.

  There was a small amount of cologne in a bottle in my overnight bag. I pressed halfway on the trigger. This was feeling more and more like a date. I couldn’t argue, Chelsea had been the one to ask me to get dinner. But I took the reins and asked her over here. I hadn’t set out to make a date with her or any girl this summer. As far as I was concerned, I was off the market. Becs had made sure to cure me from wanting any more dates.

  Tonight was all about having a good time.

  I pushed open the camper door to check on the fire I lit before showering. The coals were blazing . I hoped she liked steak, because that was what was on the menu. So many girls I dated ate salads and fat-free cardboard, I didn’t know what real girls ate anymore.

  I smiled thinking back to her expression when we tumbled into the creek. She was more real than any girl I had been around in a long time.

  I rolled the sleeves on my plaid shirt and slid my feet into my new flip-flops. I knew I looked like a combination of a Texas boy and a Carolina transplant, but I felt comfortable in the khaki shorts and my old shirt. It was better than a tux.

  I heard music blaring from Pirate’s Booty. Alice must be back from her walk to collect seashells. She had buckets of them all over her yard. I didn’t understand why she brought new ones back every day, but then I didn’t understand much about her.

  The fire blazed as I poked it a few times with a skewer. The moon was bright on the horizon as I tried to pick out a few stars. The sky never looked the same as it did in Texas. My heart hurt a little thinking about Texas, back when life was easy and simple. I missed the ranch. But the surf pounding in the distance reminded me I wasn’t done here. It wasn’t time to leave yet, even though I didn’t know who or what had set the timer. It just wasn’t time.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Chelsea

  The last time I had been to Brees Campground was after prom my senior year of high school. A big group of us had parked in the tent spaces and run off to the beach. It could have been the full moon or maybe the freedom graduation offered right around the corner, but whatever it was, my friends and I splashed in cocktail dresses, chased each other on the beach, and laughed harder than I could remember. Prom night went down as one of my favorites ever. And here I was again, more than six years later, meeting an almost total stranger for dinner.

  I slowed my car along the gravel drive that bordered the horseshoe of camper trailers. I didn’t remember the names being so funny. Under the Seashell? I might have to write these into a parody song.

  There was Jake’s Jeep next to Silver Sand Dollar. I touched up my lip gloss again and ran my fingers through my hair. This was only dinner with a new summer resident, I told myself for the twentieth time. I took a deep breath before climbing out of the car and walking to the silver camper.

  All day I knew he had flirted with me, but it was different than the advances coming from Derek. Jake was confident and sure of himself. He didn’t pout or punish me if I didn’t flirt back. In fact, it seemed to make him smile more, the more I resisted his innuendos.

  It had been surprising spending the day with him. I caught myself laughing unexpectedly and teasing him when I knew I shouldn’t. He took everything in stride and nothing about the store stressed him out.

  What I really wanted to know was how long he had been writing and if he had any advice to launch me into the writing world. I neede
d any help I could get to break into the music business. It was worth a shot.

  I noticed two chairs arranged in front of the fire. I tapped on the door, feeling a surge of nerves begin to take hold.

  He swung the door open and greeted me with a smile and a smooth face.

  “Wow. Hey.” I stood, staring at the once scruffy jaw. “I—uh—you look good without the beard.”

  “Thanks.” He rubbed his cheek. “After the dip in the creek today, I thought it was about time. Saltwater and facial hair are not a good combination. I’m not really a beard guy.”

  “Oh, I thought it was part of the whole writer thing.” I tried to make a joke to cover my persistent staring. His face looked so different. So handsomely different. And there were dimples when he smiled. It took restraint not to reach toward him and touch his cheek.

  “I’ve got beer. Want one?” He revealed two longneck bottles in his hand and stepped back so I could enter the camper.

  Everything was red and white like a perpetual picnic. I took a beer from him and reached for a towel to twist off the top. These tops always hurt my palm.

  “Nice place.”

  “Thanks. It’s twenty-two feet of home for the summer. Want a tour? We can start dinner in a minute.” He shuffled me to the center of the room.

  “Definitely. Show me the chateau.” I looked around the small space, wondering where he wrote.

  “All right. This here is the culinary den of the place.” He pointed to the quaint kitchenette. “And this is the breakfast nook.” I liked how the table and bench jutted out, giving a better view of the ocean.

  He walked toward the back of the camper. “The master suite, complete with a bed. Yeah, that’s all that’s in here. And of course the master bath. If you turn just right, you can fit in the shower. I think I’ve learned new contortionist skills this summer.”

  I sized him up against the tiny shower, and wondered how someone with such broad shoulders managed to squeeze in there.

  “Wow, looks like you have everything you need.” I took a swig of the beer.

  “It is pretty damn perfect. This is the living room, I guess.” A red couch ran along the inside wall. He walked two steps to the kitchen and retrieved a plate of steaks from the mini-fridge. “You eat meat, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  He sighed. “Good. I was worried for a second. But this is what I’ve got. Come on. Let’s get these cowboy steaks on the fire.”

  “Cowboy steaks?” I had never heard of that before.

  “Yeah, you’ll see. Come on.” He led me through the door and motioned to one of the chairs. “All right, so we just throw them on the fire, and in ten minutes, they’ll be done.”

  “You mean like on a roaster stick?” I looked around for the utensils we needed to spear the steaks.

  He laughed. “No, like this.” He grabbed one of the steaks off the plate and tossed it into the center of the fire where it sizzled on the hot coals. “Want me to do yours?”

  “No way.” I chunked it into the flames right next to his.

  “Nice throw.”

  “Thanks.” I tipped the bottle back and watched as the steaks bubbled under the heat.

  Jake settled into the chair. “So, tell me, songwriter, what kind of music do you write?”

  I blinked. People didn’t usually ask about my music. They usually acted like I didn’t write at all. Everyone on the island knew I wrote music. I’d been doing it since the third grade, but that didn’t mean it was accepted as a way to make a living. This was a chance to have an actual conversation about the words that swirled in my head and seeped from my pores.

  “Anything and everything,” I replied. Ok, well that was about as vague and shallow an answer as I could muster.

  “Oh, that kind of music,” he teased.

  I nudged him with my elbow. “I meant that I don’t really try to write a certain song. I let the words hit me, and then I write it. It’s kind of hard to explain, but I feel it, I don’t think it.”

  I chugged on the beer, thinking maybe my first answer was better than my second. That was too much. He would surely think I was some kind of abstract artist who needed to be secluded in an artist-only loony colony.

  “How did you learn to write lyrics?” He kicked at one of the logs with his foot. He seemed comfortable with the fire.

  “It’s not something I went to school for. I think of it like poetry, I guess. I see the words together or feel them together.”

  “Feel them?”

  I twirled the bottle until I heard the beer sloshing. He had turned to face me, and I realized he was listening. His eyes scanned mine and his forehead fixed in concentration. “Yes, it’s a feeling, but it comes out as lyrics. It’s hard to explain.”

  “It makes sense to me. Those are my favorite songs. The ones that actually mean something—not just rambling strung together to fit a beat, but words with soul.”

  I followed his eyes, wishing it wasn’t getting dark so I could see the flecks of green. Right now, he was looking at me as if he understood everything I said and more, and I wanted to capture that look in his eyes and memorize it.

  He broke the silence. “If you didn’t go to school for music, what did you study?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, that? My master’s is actually in education. My parents want me to be a teacher. We compromised on me teaching music.”

  “Well, that sounds like a sensible idea. You get to do both, right?”

  “No, not really. All I want to do is write. I’m sending songs out every week to labels, and any day I’m going to sell one. I really want a contract so I can move. I’ll pay my dad back for college and grad school and I’ll be done with this nightmare.” I gripped the bottle in my hand like it could steady me. I didn’t mean to get so worked up.

  “Nightmare? I guess you’re talking about what I overhead this morning on the docks.”

  He turned to look at me. It wasn’t pity in his eyes. It was the same look he had at the kayak stand—understanding and warmth. The kind of look I wouldn’t mind seeing more of. I liked the way it felt when he looked at me that way.

  I tried to explain. “It’s a long story, but you could say I had a falling out with my dad recently and I’m ready to move on. First, I owe him for my tuition. It was part of the deal when I went to grad school. We came to a compromise after I told him I could make a higher starting salary with a master’s degree. I’m supposed to be grateful I got to go, but now it feels like I’m an indentured servant. Half of my pay goes to my tuition bill, and I get the other half.”

  The beer was empty, but I wasn’t sure if it was ok to ask for another one so quickly. I liked talking with him, and if he brought me another beer, I would stay and swap stories as long as the fire burned.

  Jake stood from his chair. “Why don’t I grab us a few more beers and the plate for the steaks? I’ll be right back.”

  I watched as he walked back into the camper and decided a pair of khaki shorts had never looked so good on a man before. My cheeks flushed, wondering if his backside looked as amazing as his chest and arms.

  “Here you go.” He returned seconds later with a cold beer. Using a long set of tongs, he reached into the fire and stabbed both of the steaks. “Cowboy steak is served. You ready?”

  I nodded.

  He handed me silverware and bread. “I’m not much on cooking. It’s steak and bread tonight.”

  The hot plate in front of me looked and smelled wonderful. This was plenty. “I love it. Let’s eat.”

  He cut into the steak and took a bite. “Mmm…might be my best yet.” He grinned, his mouth full.

  “So, I’ve done all the talking. Tell me about where you went to school and your hometown.”

  “There’s not much to tell.” He cut into the steak again. “I went to a small Texas school and played some football in college.”

  “Football?” I knew he was too naturally athletic not to have been involved in sports of some kind. “Wh
at position did you play?”

  “I was the quarterback, of course. But after the last concussion, I decided I needed to do something a little safer. I’d like to keep my memories.” He winked.

  “So is that how you got into writing? It’s the football safety net? I wouldn’t pair those two things.”

  He nodded while tipping a beer back.

  “Tell me about your book. I want to know what you’re writing. I feel like I’ve been cut off from writer minds since I moved back home.” I tasted the meat and enjoyed the smoky flavor.

  I watched him chew. Finally, he spoke. “I’m taking my time on this one. Just seeing how it goes. I need to feel it.” He winked. “You understand.”

  I knew he was trying to distract me and I hated to admit it worked.

  “Does that mean you haven’t started yet?” I wondered why he was so reluctant to share his work with me. I felt like I had just given him way too much personal information. I needed him to balance the conversation.

  “Something like that.”

  “But—”

  He cut me off. “Damn it, my neighbor does not understand volume control.” The music from next door had increased several decibels, drowning out the sound of the waves. “Thanks to you, I now know what she’s playing is beach music. Let’s go in. I’ve got speakers inside. We can continue this conversation. I want to hear more about your songs.”

  Slightly flustered, I clutched my drink and followed him inside the camper. It felt small and cool after sitting under the stars and in front of the fire. It also smelled like Jake’s cologne, fresh and soapy-scented.

  “Sorry about that.” He pulled the door tightly behind him. “Alice likes to play her music loudly, and if I go over there now, I might not be back for a while.”

  “Oh, ok.” I didn’t know if I should slide into the booth or sit on the couch. I wanted to keep talking. I wanted to get him to open up.

  He fiddled with one of the speakers before strolling to the couch and crossing his ankle over his knee. He had selected a country song, but I hadn’t heard it before.