Girls in Love

by Hailey Abbott

  Then suddenly he got the offer to captain some oil magnate’s boat around the Greek Islands, and he jumped at the chance. And, as luck would have it, his ex-girlfriend, whom Greer naturally couldn’t stand, was invited along as second-in-command.

  “I hope they’re seasick the entire three months,” Greer whispered to herself. Or maybe, she thought, smiling slightly, Brady would get sick of that ex of his and toss her overboard in a shark-infested cove.

  Imagining the Evil Ex’s legs being gnawed off by a couple of hungry reef sharks made Greer feel a little better. And she knew that soon enough, she’d be feeling pretty great. After all, there were plenty of boys in Pebble Beach to help her forget Brady, weren’t there?

  As if on cue, the DJ that Chace Warner had hired began to play a techno version of The Marvelettes’ “Too Many Fish in the Sea,” and several of the guests began to get down on the dance floor that had been constructed over the shallow end of the pool. From one of the upper-story windows of Chace’s Greek Revival mansion (an ostentatious new construction set on a hill overlooking the serene bay), someone waved a pair of girls’ underpants like a flag. Tacky, Greer thought. Highly tacky.

  “Is this seat taken?” The voice was deep and sexy, and Greer looked up to see a tall guy with black hair and ice blue eyes gazing down at her like she was edible.

  It was as if an invisible fairy godmother had suddenly created Greer’s ideal man with a wave of her wand. Greer raised her eyebrows slightly and gave him a closer look. He wore a pair of dark-rinsed jeans and a white Oxford rolled at the sleeves, which hung, untucked and unbuttoned, over a gray T-shirt. His arms were muscular and tan, and she thought she could see the shadow of six-pack abs under his shirt.

  She gave him a slow, sultry smile. “Now it is,” she said, patting the chair beside her.

  He had a pitcher of beer in his hand, and he refilled both their glasses as he settled in next to her. “My name’s Hunter.”

  She eyed him over her drink, liking what she saw more and more every minute. “I’m Greer.”

  He nodded, looking very interested in learning more about her. “Are you a friend of Chace’s?”

  “He wishes I was.” She smiled, knowing it would take the sting out of her words.

  Hunter laughed and took a drink of beer. “What, you didn’t fall for his charms? Because Chace likes to think of himself as a ladies’ man.”

  Greer spotted Chace on the other side of the pool, chatting with two girls who looked about fourteen years old. “For a ladies’ man, he seems to pay a lot of attention to children. Do those two come with a babysitter? Also, what’s with the shorts he’s wearing? Doesn’t he know that only old men wear madras?”

  Smiling, Hunter held up his hand. “Whoa, give the guy a break. That’s his beer you’re drinking.”

  “If it was better beer, maybe I’d be nicer,” Greer said teasingly. “It tastes like skunked Bud.”

  Hunter grinned even bigger, locking his ice blue eyes on hers. “You’re a spitfire, aren’t you?”

  She tossed her hair, which was positively gleaming thanks to the hot oil pack she’d used earlier. “I’m just calling it like I see it.”

  “Those gorgeous eyes of yours are pretty sharp.” His voice was playful, suggestive.

  He’s so obviously a player, Greer thought. Hunter was hot and he knew it—anyone could see that. Which meant that, according to her official goal for the summer, he was not the kind of guy she ought to be talking to. But he was so handsome, with his long, black eyelashes and high cheekbones. What’s the harm? she asked herself. It was the first night of the summer. Wasn’t she allowed to break her own rule just once? An early misstep, after all, would leave plenty of room for improvement.

  She reached out and touched his arm lightly. “Why don’t you show me around your friend’s house,” she suggested.

  Hunter looked carefully at her to make sure she wasn’t teasing him, and then he grinned and took her hand. He walked her into the house, through the huge living room to a dark, wood-paneled library. He pointed to the book-shelves and began to say something about the architecture of the house, or maybe about the number of volumes Chace’s parents had, but Greer wasn’t really paying any attention. She was too busy looking for a soft couch for them to collapse onto.

  They left the library when a group of four tipsy people came in to play cards, and they were chased from the sun-room by a slobbering, white dog who was intent on humping Hunter’s leg. But eventually they found themselves upstairs, in a bedroom with a four-poster bed covered with a silky, gray comforter.

  Hunter looked around. “I think this is where Chace’s grandma stays when she visits.”

  Greer scoffed. “Wow, you really know how to be romantic, don’t you?”

  Hunter took a step closer to her and she felt the warmth of his skin, even though they weren’t touching yet. “Actually I do,” he said softly, reaching out to run a hand along her cheek.

  She smiled. “The bedspread matches your shirt. Why don’t you go lay down on it,” she whispered.

  Hunter narrowed his blue eyes, as if he didn’t think she was serious.

  Greer laughed and gently shoved him toward the bed, feeling the swell of his muscles under her palms. She wondered who he thought he was fooling with the innocent act. Certainly not her.

  They collapsed onto the quilt, and Greer wrapped her arms around his warm, broad shoulders. He pressed his mouth against hers, and Greer felt that old familiar feeling, like she was at the very top of a roller-coaster hill and about to plunge down.

  He kissed her cheeks and then her neck, and she arched into him.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said playfully, kicking off her shoes. “You’re making me feel very welcome here in Maine.”

  Hunter pulled his shirt over his head, and she reached up to touch his tanned, defined muscles. “I think we might become very good friends,” he whispered.

  Greer shivered with anticipation as he bent down to kiss her again, and then she closed her eyes and let herself do what she’d said she wouldn’t, and it was wonderful.

  After a serious make-out session, they emerged from the bedroom with their arms around each other and their lips swollen from kissing. At the end of the long hallway, a dark figure came stumbling toward them. As the figure neared, they realized that it was their host, who was looking almost green in the face.

  “You going to pray to the porcelain goddess, buddy?” Hunter called out to Chace, and Greer giggled.

  Her whole body felt warm and tingly, and even though she told herself it was all an act on Hunter’s part, she loved the feeling of his arm around her shoulders.

  Chace waved at them as he barreled past. “Puke and rally!” he cried. “Never let the tequila get you down!”

  “That’s my boy,” Hunter replied, laughing. “See you back downstairs.”

  “Gross,” Greer whispered, but neither Chace nor Hunter heard her.

  Greer and Hunter made their way back to the party, and as they approached the pool, Greer disentangled herself from Hunter. She didn’t want to, but rules were rules. You could break them once, but then you had to stick to them. Trustworthy guy, she reminded herself. Find a trustworthy guy. To meet that goal meant she had to say good-bye to Hunter, no matter how much she wanted to snuggle up to him in front of the crackling fire someone had started in the fire pit.

  “I’m going to go home now,” she said, stepping away from him.

  Hunter turned to her in surprise. “Don’t you want to hang out?”

  A tipsy girl wearing nothing but a yellow bikini and wading boots rushed by between them, shrieking with laughter, pursued by a grinning guy in a sailing cap trimmed with gold braid. Greer sighed. These people were so not New Yorkers. She really ought to go back to the beach house before someone tried to hand her a fishing pole, or a live lobster, or some other Maine cliché in which she had no interest.

  She took out a pale pink Chanel lip gloss and smoothed it onto her lips. “
Come on, Hunter. We both know what that was all about upstairs.” She kept her voice light, but she was serious.

  Hunter’s blue eyes darkened. “What makes you say that?”

  Greer shrugged and gazed into the distance. She didn’t need to explain it to him, did she? Did players really need to be reminded that they were players?

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Whatever bad thing you’re thinking about me right now—I’m not that kind of guy.”

  Greer refused to look into his eyes. She wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t. It takes a player to know a player, and wasn’t she one of the greatest players of them all? Her middle name might as well be Heartbreaker.

  She reached up and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for a lovely evening,” she whispered into his ear. “See you around.”

  And with that, she turned on her heel and waltzed away. And the part of her that wanted to turn back around and run to him? She pretended that part didn’t even exist. She was Greer Hallsey, and she was Not Going To Be Played.

  5

  When the scruffy-looking band Chace had hired began playing a loud, atonal version of Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out,” Jessica turned to Connor and pointed toward the steps that led down to the beach. “Let’s get out of here,” she yelled over the din. “These guys are even worse than the DJ.”

  Connor held up a finger, mouthed, “Wait,” and dashed off through the crowd, leaving Jessica alone and slightly baffled. Where in the world was he running off to? She was about to get annoyed when he reappeared with a big grin on his face and a fresh beer in each hand.

  She took the one he held out to her gratefully. “You think of everything,” she said as they walked away from the noise.

  He patted his chest in mock pride. “That’s why they call me Connor Selden, Boy Genius.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I mean, Man Genius.”

  Jessica giggled and slipped her arm around his waist. He lay his tan arm across her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

  They walked down the old wooden stairs, past the dunes, whose waving grasses made whispering sounds in the wind. A little ways off, they could see the lights of the pier glittering like tiny stars. When they got to the sand, they kicked off their shoes, feeling the cool grains between their toes.

  The moon was almost full in the sky, and it created a line of white sparkles on the ocean. The breeze made Jessica shiver, and it blew her long, blonde hair into her eyes. Connor gently brushed it away.

  “I missed you every single day,” he whispered.

  Jessica liked him so much she could hardly bear to look at him. “I missed you, too,” she answered. She had spent so many nights lying in bed, thinking about being near him again. His short visit during the year had only made her miss him more once he left. She could hardly believe that they were finally together.

  He put his finger under her chin and tilted her face up, and then he kissed her deeply. She held him tight against her and felt like she was melting into him. She wanted to kiss him forever—except, as she’d admitted to Greer and Lara, she wanted to do more than kiss him this summer. She wanted to go farther with him than she had with anyone, and she knew that Connor wanted the same.

  They kissed until Jessica’s knees felt weak, and then Connor pulled away. “Should we keep walking? Get a little farther away from the party?”

  Jessica nodded. “Otherwise some drunk guys might show up and want us to play beer pong or something.” Connor chuckled. They held hands as they walked along the edge of the ocean, the cool water lapping at their bare feet.

  “I know where we can go,” Connor assured her.

  “You should know,” she teased. “You’re a local.”

  He laughed good-naturedly. “You have a point.”

  They walked quietly for a while. Jessica didn’t feel the need to fill the silence—in fact, she relished it. It just proved that she and Connor felt so comfortable with each other that they didn’t need to talk.

  She breathed in the salty smell of the sea and the hint of sunscreen that lingered on her skin. Ocean and Coppertone, she thought. Someone should make a perfume that smells just like it. They could call it Beach or Summer Sea or June, and they’d probably make a fortune.

  Up ahead, the sun-bleached trunks of a few old spruce trees had been gathered together to form a kind of shelter from the wind. Connor led her inside, and she saw little yellow wildflowers growing up out of the sand. The breeze seemed to hush itself, and the ocean’s roar grew to fill its place.

  “I like to come sit here sometimes,” Connor confessed, sinking into the sand and patting the space beside him. “It’s like my own little beach shack.”

  Jessica sat down beside him and put her head on his shoulder. “It’s so nice and peaceful,” she said. “Though, as you may have noticed, there’s no roof, which means you can hardly call it a shack. It’s pretty much just a bunch of logs.” Connor poked her in the ribs and she laughed, protesting. “I’m not saying I don’t like it! Look how beautiful everything around us is.” She looked up at the moon above them, suspended like some kind of giant chandelier. “I think it’s great.”

  Connor turned toward her. “I think you’re great.”

  Jessica thought he might have blushed to hear himself say that, and because he was so sweet and she didn’t want him to be embarrassed, she leaned forward and kissed him. He responded immediately, pulling her in close. Their tongues met and danced around each other, and their hands roamed up and down each other’s bodies. After a while Jessica gently pushed Connor down so that he was lying in the sand. She bent over him, kissing him passionately, and then she let her hand wander down to his waistband.

  Was now the time? she wondered. Were they finally going to do what they’d talked about? Sure, maybe it was a little soon—after all, they’d just been reunited—but she was ready.

  As her fingers wandered across Connor’s stomach she wondered if he was going to take off her shirt or if she should do it for him.

  She felt his hands reaching for her. But instead of removing her clothing, they were motioning for her to stop. She sat up, confused.

  Connor sat up, too, brushing a few grains of sand from his arms. “I don’t think…” he began. “Maybe we should—” And then he stopped.

  Jessica felt herself writhing in embarrassment. They’d talked about losing their virginity to each other for months, but now when she’d tried to move things forward, Connor had stopped her. She couldn’t believe it.

  Hurt and confusion bubbled up in her and she blinked away tears. Connor reached out and touched her cheek. “I just…” he said.

  She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. And though she wanted to ask him what was going on, she couldn’t form the words. Had she done something wrong? Had she somehow become a terrible kisser? All of a sudden she had a million questions, and she found that she couldn’t ask a single one.

  So she just stood up, hugging her arms around herself to hide her hurt, and walked out of the little hideaway. Connor got up and followed her toward home, but this time the silence between them wasn’t as comfortable as it had been before.

  6

  “Two eggs, eyes open, pig on the side,” Lara called to Earl, the portly cook, as she placed her ticket on the board in front of him.

  “Got it,” Earl grunted, flipping a pile of hash browns onto a plate.

  It was a Friday morning at Ahoy Grill, and Lara was busy fetching coffee and breakfast for locals and summer people alike. She still sometimes giggled at the slang Earl encouraged her to use. “Two eggs, eyes open, pig on the side” meant two eggs, sunny-side up, with bacon. Chili was “a bowl of red” and “Adam and Eve on a raft” meant two poached eggs on toast.

  She delivered two glasses of orange juice to a smiling, silver-haired couple and felt grateful to have her old waitressing job back. For one thing, she needed the money (the plane tickets to Ithaca and a new timing belt for her Beetle had put a serious dent i
n her savings account). And for another, she liked having something to do. Unlike Greer, Lara did not enjoy lying around in the sun all day, flipping through fashion magazines. And while Jessica was happy to do sporty things from dawn to dusk—surfing, biking, swinging lacrosse sticks with Connor, or whatever it was they did—Lara was not the athletic type, either. So having a job at one of Pebble Beach’s most iconic restaurants suited her just fine.

  She brushed her short bangs away from her forehead and quickly drank a glass of water. The only downside about working at Ahoy was that this summer she was doing it alone.

  Last year, Drew had been waiting tables right beside her. They’d commiserated over the occasional bad tip or rude customer and shared laughs whenever Earl did his Evil Dick Cheney with a Shotgun impression. They’d taken their breaks together, eating lunch in the cramped back room while Earl muttered to himself over the grill and Richard, Ahoy Grill’s manager, lounged in the corner, reading the Boston papers and cursing the bad luck of the Red Sox. All day long, as she worked, Drew had been there, a constant presence that always made her heart race and her skin flush. There was no getting around it: Ahoy Grill just wasn’t the same without Drew.

  She took an order for some doughnuts and coffee (“sinkers and suds” to Earl) and then leaned against the pink Formica counter to give her feet a little break. She’d forgotten how tiring waitressing could be, and though she’d worn sneakers—a pair of Chuck Taylor low tops—she wished she’d picked some with a little more arch support.

  Lara sighed. Sometimes listening to her interior mono-logue was like listening to her grandma. Lara was seventeen years old! What was she doing moping about being lonely and complaining about her feet? Next thing she knew she’d be out on the shuffleboard court with the rest of the blue-haired old ladies moaning about the price of milk these days.

  Richard sidled up beside her and slapped the Boston Globe on the counter. “The Sox!” he moaned. “That idiot Crisp charges the mound and he’s out for seven games. I’m telling you, a bad temper will get you nowhere.”