by A. J. Sand
He loved this part.
When Lana tilted her head up and clutched the front of his shirt, he watched her with rapt intrigue. Her eyelashes fluttered before she shut her eyes completely, her body bucking and writhing. His shirt tightened more over his chest from her grip before she released a loud sigh of ecstasy that bounced along the restroom’s walls, and the sound sent tingles rushing over his skin.
He couldn’t drop his boxers fast enough when she smiled at him as he tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth and unfurled it down his shaft. “Turn around,” he whispered. With a mischievous smile, Lana hopped off the countertop and leaned toward the mirror, her gaze holding his in the reflection, wanton anticipation filling her eyes. She had a natural confidence in her sexuality that he was so incredibly attracted to.
“Arch your back a little more…” he said in another whisper as he angled himself to slip inside her. And the position was perfect once she adjusted her hips, too. Wes held her low on the waist and thrust into her, their eyes still pinned to the other’s reflection, with waves of pleasure sweeping through his body as she clenched around him. Lana echoed his momentum, equaling the rhythm by rocking her hips back against him, and a fiery sensation filled his pelvis when she dug her nails into his hamstring. Wes mashed his lips to her neck, and he shoved one of his hands down between her legs. Crying out, she sank just slightly when her knees wobbled—he loved it when they forgot to keep standing up. Lana braced her hands on the edge of the counter as the shivers of her orgasm ravaged her body.
“Fuck me on the wall, Wes,” she said in a harsh breath suddenly. Wes stepped back and swiveled her over to the space adjacent the counter. Lana yanked Wes’ shirt over his head before she steered his fingers where she wanted them, working them against her body, and as he watched her, he was almost completely under the control of his own waiting release. He trapped her wrists on the wall above her head with one hand, never breaking eye contact with her, and rubbed the spot on his own until she came again.
Gripping just beneath her butt, he lifted Lana until her knees were on his forearms then he pushed into her again. And with each thrust, they both expelled heavy groans, and she drew her fingers slowly and softly across his back at first, but her nails were soon sinking in. She licked his neck before pulling his face to hers, and a band of tension, a warning of his impending climax, tightened his loins. Wes pressed all the way into her body, felt her fall against the wall some more as he ground his hips against hers. Her lip was wedged between his two, as their mouths moved in a feverish kiss that almost stung as much as the clawing at his shoulder blades. He slid his tongue around her mouth, and every inch he tasted, every touch of her tongue, every moan she breathed out, fed the buildup within him, He soon released a rough grunt into her shoulder as his orgasm took over.
With equally loud exhales, they both laughed when he set her feet back down on the floor. And after he tossed the used condom and they freshened up, Wes dropped a light kiss on her lips. “Awesome night, Miss Lana Langston.”
“You’re pretty damn fun, Deuce.” Lana reciprocated the kiss before she pivoted toward the mirror and continued primping. Her skin was still flushed—yeah, he liked that he’d caused it—but he thought she looked fine, even sexier now, maybe. He was already reminiscing on a few minutes ago. He wished he had gotten more time to really experience all of her. Kiss and taste all the parts of her body that had remained covered, the parts he was still fantasizing about. This was the thing about quickies he didn’t like. Sex was so much better naked.
“You want me to wait for you?” he asked. “Do you need a ride home?”
“No…my friends are still here…”
“Cool. Have a good night, Lana,” he said, reaching for the door. “Call me, okay?” He meant that.
“Wes?” she said, just as he pulled it open. Lana put her hands on her hips and scrunched her nose. “Dude, I’m hungry. You want to hit the drive-thru or something? Totally in need of a foodie call right now.” Wes stared at her in silence before he laughed. He definitely hadn’t expected that offer. Most of the time he was in these circumstances, the woman would try to make immediate, concrete plans to see him again.
“What?” A puzzled stare shaped her expression. “Is it because I said ‘foodie call’?”
“No, it’s nothing,” he said, still chuckling.
“Oh, yeah, I’m totally famished now because of you,” she said in a sarcastic tone with an eye roll as she gripped her stomach. And after a quick drive to Carl’s Jr., they were back at Vices, sitting in the cargo area of his SUV with the rear door raised, their legs dangling, and eating and watching drunken people navigate the sidewalk to street height difference.
As she blended a mix of honey mustard and barbeque sauce with her finger, Lana asked, “Should you be eating these? Are you going to the U.S. Open? Is that what you’re training for?” She swirled one of the chicken nuggets they were splitting in the sauce.
Wes swiveled his legs back inside the cargo area. “Training for other stuff, but I’ll be there, mostly as a spectator, except for one event. Manager booked Abel and me for a few appearances that week though, too. Why? You were planning to criticize my surfing there?” he joked.
“No. I don’t think I’m going; don’t worry. I’ll have to wait for another chance to see you come in second place,” she teased back with a wink. “Speaking of prizes, how’d I do with my music selection tonight?”
Wes nodded. “You won just by playing The Cure. Great band and ‘Lovesong’ is a classic.”
“Yay! It was either that or ‘Pictures of You.’ So, good!” After a proud grin, she added, “Me and my roomies have this tradition where every first Sunday of the month, we go see this Cure tribute cover band in San Diego called The Remedy. They dress up like them and everything. You’d like them if you love the band.”
“Oh my God. I’ll take Abel and not tell him where we’re going. He hates 80’s and 90’s music that isn’t rap.”
“He might change his mind. It’s supposed to be exactly like The Cure would do it. Complete with a huge stage and lights…it’s crazy. I’m a big concertgoer. If it weren’t for rent and bills, I’d zigzag all over this country following my favorite musicians’ tours. You know who puts on a really good show every time? Madonna. Just so friggin’ amazing.” Lana shifted to her haunches between his splayed legs and then clasped his wrists. “What’s your favorite concert ever?” she asked, with excitement flowing through her voice.
“I don’t know about ever, but Kai White’s my best friend—”
“Yeah, yeah…I know all about your bromance with the rock star. I own a few of his CDs. No need to name drop,” she teased. But it was true; Wes’ best friend was a famous musician whom he had grown up with on the North Shore.
Wes chuckled. “…He flew a bunch of us out to Berlin for New Year’s for this sold-out David Guetta show, you know, that cool international DJ. It was a lot of fun. I had never been to Germany before…too cold for me, but really amazing for the short time.” Lana looked at him in the brief bit of silence and laughed. “What?” he asked.
“So, you usually talk music with your random hookups?”
“Did you just refer to yourself as a random hookup?”
Lana shot a pointed stare and a deep smirk at him. “Is that not what you are to me and I am to you? Why sugarcoat?”
“Touché…but, actually, yeah….I do talk music. Everyone loves music, so it’s a great way to transition from any awkwardness. People make this weird when it doesn’t need to be. It’s, like, the minute you have sex with somebody, it breaks some seal that says you can’t have a normal conversation ever again ‘cause you’ve seen them naked.”
Lana raked his hair back. “But you didn’t see me naked, Wes.” Her voice, all sultry, low and inviting, fell into the space between them, teasing at his never-quite-dormant arousal.
“Fair enough. Point taken.” Wes touched her side and stroked her stomach through her top. “But yeah
, talking music…and playing Scrabble…naked.”
Lana drew her brows together. “Okay…wait…I got a raw deal here. That was the other option? How do I make this happen…?”
“Easy. The operative word being ‘naked’…” He cocked his lips into a half-smile as he took a firm grip on both of her thighs, his thumbs easing under the hem of her skirt. Wes’ excitement intensified quickly, but they both had equally full homes. No round two.
“Lan!” The two of them turned toward the voice and found Rick shrinking back from the group of guys he was walking with. He rerouted his steps toward Wes’ SUV, all the while lancing Wes with a piercing stare. Wes only smiled back; he’d already pissed further than Rick had, so there were no hard feelings on his end. “I’ve been looking for you. Time to go.”
“Daddy came to pick you up. It’s way past your curfew,” Wes muttered as he jumped down to the pavement then helped her down.
“Shut it. And be nice,” Lana said, just as Rick reached the vehicle. “Rick. Wes. Wes. Rick,” she added with various hand movements. Rick stuck his hand out in a civil gesture completely antithetical to the coldness in his eyes.
“Hey, man,” Wes said, and Rick nodded once.
“Lan?” Rick said in an urgent tone, implying that he wanted to leave that instant and not a second after.
Wes held Lana by the waist, pulled her closer to his body, and melded their mouths in a kiss far too passionate for a woman he’d known only a few hours. He was under the spell of having to prove a point. His arrogance was a weakness he let best him frequently, and he recognized it, but he couldn’t help himself sometimes.
Rick cleared his throat and he put some space between himself and them. When the kiss ended, Lana circled her arms around Wes’ neck and, with laughter heavy in her voice, she said, “He’s not interested, you know. You’re so silly. Good-bye, Wesley Elliott.” With a peck on his cheek, she went off to link arms with Rick. But she turned back to him again, a playfulness in her glare when she caught him staring at her butt. “You’re staying a little longer?”
Wes shook his head. “Nope. Going home to think about you in the operative word.”
*
“Char?” Wes asked, incredulous, once he was parked in front of his house half an hour later. His cousin was fumbling with the top lock of the deadbolt at the front door. Sometimes it got stuck, but she was clearly drunk. She muttered a curse word before she spun to face him, looking embarrassed at first, but her expression quickly lightened up as she studied him.
“If you ask me anything about my night, I’m asking about yours, too. In front of my parents,” Wes warned as he walked toward her with a mischievous smile, but it was gone before he even let it settle in, and quickly became a grimace. “At least it’ll give them something else to talk about besides the shit they’re yelling at each other for constantly, right? How were they on the ride over here?”
Charlotte, decidedly not looking at him, sat on the steps, her body language reading like she was about to placate him. “Um, they were Uncle Beau and Aunt Syl, Wes…you know…” She flashed him a quick smile when she lifted her gaze, but her lip was trapped between her teeth. “And I had my headphones on.”
“It was bad, wasn’t it?” Wes clenched his jaw as he sat next to her.
“Wes…” She put her hand on top of his, and tilted her head onto his shoulder. “I don’t know if you want to hear this stuff. I wouldn’t if it were my parents.”
“I wish they were your parents,” he blurted out before shaking his head. “I mean I wish they were more like Uncle Dan and Aunt Vicky.” Wes sighed. “Abel’s been telling me for years to stop trying to fix them, but I can’t. He thinks it’s about their marriage, but it’s more than that; they’re self-destructing…as people. And I…I can’t give up on my mom and dad. If I could file the fucking divorce papers myself, I would, Char. Just to free them from the hell they’re in. Happiness is still out there. I just think neither of them remembers.”
Her eyes widened slowly as she took him in with the lift of her head, the moonlight highlighting her pensive look. “Wow…maybe deep down, Wesley Abraham, you’re some kind of a romantic.”
“…Or maybe you can just tell me what you know, Char.”
From her, a look of resignation followed. “I overheard mom talking to Aunt Syl a few weeks ago…” She paled as she held up her hands, an instinctive defense maneuver, and this worried him; it usually meant some unfortunate fan was about to meet a whole lot of shit. “And I can’t say for sure, Wes, so you can’t say anything or say you heard it from me or even pretend you know about this, but it sounded like they were discussing another woman. A woman—”
“What? Like my dad is having an affair? Fuck.”
Charlotte, looking reluctant and regretful, squeezed his arm. “I don’t know for sure, Wesley. Mom was whispering and speaking as vaguely as possible whenever I was within a few feet of her. Aunt Syl seemed upset. I don’t know.”
“Forget it. This shouldn’t be your problem…”
“Maybe it shouldn’t be yours either…” she whispered.
Wes sighed. “So, how did school go this year for you?”
“Good. I got around to declaring my major. I had thought about rushing one of the sororities once, but I decided to focus on being as involved on campus as possible so I can run for one of the student government positions in the fall. Grades are good. Three point four average for the year.”
Wes hugged her close to him. “Proud of you, Char.”
“The girls on my hall were hoping to see you before—”
They were both startled when the front door suddenly swung open, and Abel stepped outside, maneuvering aggressively to sit between them. “You guys are loud as fuck, especially when my window is right there,” he said, pointing. “Where’d y’all go tonight? Why do you smell like a night of regret, Char?”
“You’re an asshole. I’m going to bed,” she announced before she hopped up and ruffled both their heads as she slipped into the house.
“I hate that she’s old enough for us not to be able to boss around anymore. I just hope some dude wasn’t banging her on a wall or something,” Abel whispered after she shut the door.
Wes cleared his throat to mask his laughter. “Yeah…”
“Hey, baby bro, I got distracted with getting ready for mom and dad’s arrival, but how ya been? I’ve been meaning to ask. I know in a few weeks—”
“It’s the fifth anniversary of Erin’s death,” Wes said, sighing. “I’m fine. Truth is, Abel, she’s no more or less dead than she’s ever been.” He saw the quick snap of Abel’s gaze toward him in his periphery. Dead ex-girlfriends weren’t just gone on the anniversaries of their deaths; they were still not living the other three hundred and sixty-four days, too.
“Her mom says she’s been having trouble reaching you, so she called me.”
“I’ll give her a call.”
“They’re planning something…to honor her. It’s the same day as Ribsy’s bachelor party. Marcus called me, too. Wanted to know if I thought you’d answer the phone this year.”
“I hope you told him absolutely the fuck not. He has nothing to say that I want to hear, Abel. He was fucking my girl behind my back. To me, he’s as dead as she is.”
But once he was back on the couch to catch a few hours of sleep, he couldn’t think of anything other than Erin, like he always did around this time, and with her, it was never just a superficial passing thought.
Five years ago, Wes had been a milder version of himself. Indulging in his party lifestyle but considering what it would be like to share it with someone else. Erin Cartwright. Beautiful. Bright. His. Waiting after the competitions and appearances. Posing on the red carpets. The late night phone calls. Video messages when he was away. She had made him believe in a possibility that love could be something far better than his parents. So he let himself give in, opened his soul up to the vulnerability that came with loving someone else, and allowing them to matte
r in a way that could break you, even if you hoped they never would. Wes was so drunk on her, so high on everything she was, the very knowledge of her existence left him with a perpetual burn in the bones.
And all of it had been a lie.
He hadn’t seen her in the weeks before she died because he was on a surfing trip, getting barreled all over South America for Lava. They were supposed to meet up that day he got back, and when she hadn’t shown up, he had driven to her house, passing a gruesome car accident really close by there. Shiny car parts were scattered like metal breadcrumbs across the pavement. The burning cage of a car looked like Erin’s, but no one likes to think that way. Especially when you surmised that the Devil would’ve built a sustainable ice luge in Hell before it were possible for someone to survive all the lapping flames.
But someone had. Marcus. Though, with second-degree burns over ten percent of his body. Later, Wes would find out that Erin had been trying to drop Marcus off at his house before going to meet him. They had been arguing about Wes, and Erin, unfocused, had made the right on the red light without realizing an SUV was coming. It was some kid texting, but who still had the right-of-way. He smashed into Erin’s car so hard it tore the engine from its compartment, severing the fuel lines.
There was no driver’s side left. Burned beyond recognition.
No Erin left. Died instantly.
Just what he had to mourn in her place.
The end of her.
The end of love existing without pain.
Chapter 3 Good Girls go to Heaven but Bad Girls go to Fun Places
“Wes! Wake up!” Ian, their trainer, yelled, and a rough shove sent him flailing backward to the ground off the Indo Board he was using to strengthen his balance. He wished Ian would stop screaming; if the constant and painful contact with the ground wasn’t making him more alert, no amount of loud noises would.
“You know if I get injured, I can’t surf, right?”
“Well, I might be doing you a favor then. Where is your head today?”