Double Mountain Trouble

by Katerina Cole

  He reached around my waist and slid his hand under my shirt so that it rested against the small of my back. I darted my eyes to his.

  “Der—”

  “Shhh.” He placed his cup on the railing and pulled me against him.

  His grip was strong, but I relaxed into him as his lips pressed against my mouth, hot and firm. Kissing him felt wrong, all kinds of I-shouldn’t-be-doing-this wrong, but maybe that was why I couldn’t stop doing it. I moaned as his tongue moved against mine.

  He broke free to whisper in my ear, “Let me take you home. Now.”

  My mind was screaming no, no, no. This was what happened the other night. This is what leads to confusion, hurt, and a ruined friendship.

  “If you’re worried, I promise I won’t make a big deal about it.” He nipped the side of my neck. “Just tonight.” His fingers stroked the skin along my back. It felt good. The way Derek touched me always felt good.

  My resistance wasn’t as strong as I wanted it to be. He had two free hands, and while one kept me pressed against him, the other slid along my stomach and made its way below my shorts. I tried to press back, to break free, but as soon as I leaned into the hand holding me in place, he plunged his fingers between my legs.

  “Oh, Der. You can’t. We can’t—” I rocked my head back, giving him full access to my neck. He kissed the skin along my throat. His fingers teased the sweet spot until I was pressing deeper against him.

  “Either you let me take you home, or I’ll make you come right here. And everyone will hear you.” He growled in my ear, sending more heat through my body.

  God, I didn’t want him to stop. But I knew this was a big mistake. He dipped inside me again, filling me with more want than I was ready to handle. “Ok, ok,” I stammered breathlessly. “But it’s the last time.” Maybe this was what I needed. I could get it out of my system and stop having these moments with him. Moments that made me hot, wet, and beg for anything he would give me.

  Abruptly, he shifted his fingers from between my legs, grabbed my hand, and led me around to the steps on the side of the deck. No reason to go back into the party crowd.

  The red cup was still in my hand. I chugged the rest of the coconut drink and tossed it in the bushes. The McIntire’s gardener would find it in the morning.

  Derek’s pace picked up as we neared the car. I knew he was worried I would change my mind. Somewhere in the back of my head, I kept waiting for my goodie-goodie self to emerge and tell him she was kidding and that the place he had touched between her legs had cooled off, but that girl never showed up. Not on the ride home. Not when I fumbled with the keys to my door. Not when he untied the knot on my halter. And not when I turned off the lights.

  The alarm was sounding, but it wasn’t mine. I thought crickets were bad, but car horns in the morning were like nails on a chalkboard. Where was the sound coming from? And why was there an arm draped across my chest?

  I sat straight up. Shit. It had happened again. Well, not completely again, but enough. I ran my fingers through my hair. Those horns had to stop.

  “Der, Der, can you turn off your alarm?” I shoved against his heavy frame. He slept hard.

  “Aw, sorry.” He reached for the floor, and eventually the sound stopped. He rolled back to the center of the bed, pulling the sheet over his head and covering the wave tattoo on his shoulder blade.

  “Thanks.” I looked at my phone. It was 4:45. He got up even earlier than I did. That must be how he always made it to the store first.

  I watched as he fell back into a pattern of deep breathing. Things had really gotten out of control last night. We almost had sex. As naked as we were, it seemed like we had, but no, it hadn’t actually happened. The crazy thing was I was just going to do it, but Derek said he wanted the first time to be special between us. Something about romance and candles. That was when I knew it had to be the last time. Every part of my body reacted to him except my heart, and that wasn’t fair. Last time, I swore.

  I cared about him enough to stop leading him on. I was never going to love him like that.

  I maneuvered to the edge of the bed, slipping one foot to the floor and then the other. If I could make it to the shower before he woke up again, I could avoid the awkward naked thing. He was completely wrapped in the sheet, and we had kicked the comforter to the floor last night. It was a run-for-it kind of situation.

  I waited for his next exhale, and then counted: one, two, three. I dashed to the bathroom and closed the door behind me.

  I picked up the timer. I turned the dial to seven minutes and reached for the shower handle. At least today I wouldn’t be late for work. That was a first.

  Seven

  Ben

  The pounding in my head became more and more focused until it felt like someone was piercing my temples with a knife.

  “Son of a bitch.” I winced and slapped the side of my arm. The mosquitoes around here were as big as horseflies.

  The campfire I had started last night was a pile of ash. Last night. I rubbed the corners of my forehead. I hadn’t had that many beers in a long time. I kicked one of the remnants out of my way as I headed toward the Sand Dollar. One of Quinn Jansen’s new songs had played on the radio, and that was the last thing I remembered—cranking the music and getting lost in the words.

  The bottle rolled. I wanted a shower first, and then I would be back out to clean up this mess. Carl and Flora had been clear about their tidy camp standards.

  “Looks like you had a good time last night,” a sultry voice called from behind him.

  I stopped and turned to look over my shoulder. I hadn’t noticed anyone else staying in the camper horseshoe, but I knew it was unlikely I would be the only resident all summer.

  A woman with white blond hair stood a few yards from the front of my silver refuge. She smiled and smacked her gum.

  The beer bottles littered what piece of land I could call my yard. Damn, I must have finished off the case.

  “Good morning,” I offered the woman, keeping one hand on the door and hoping she would leave as quickly as she appeared.

  “Good morning to you.” She bit hard on her bottom lip, and I saw her eyes rake me over like a piece of candy.

  Why in the hell did I have to deal with this right now? I pulled the handle and stepped one bare foot into the camper. I had no interest in talking to a forty-something woman already in a bikini. It was barely daylight.

  “See you around? I’m Alice. Staying in Pirate’s Booty right next door if you want to stop by some time.” She waved, only using the tips of her fingers.

  “All right.” I closed the door behind me and dropped my head. I would end up next to the cougar on vacation trolling for her next young thing. I knew I was being rude, but some boundaries had to be established right away.

  The only thing I had for dinner last night was a bag of corn chips and beer—an entire case of beer. Tom always said habits like that would catch up with me, but I didn’t care. The headache hurt like hell, but it was worth it. When was the last time I had listened to the music I wanted, drank what I wanted, ate what I wanted, and built as big of a fire as I wanted? The higher the flames, the colder the beer, the more I forgot.

  I flipped open the mini-fridge. It reached the top of my waist, but had plenty of room for a summer bachelor. I smiled. There was one more cold beer with my name on it. I twisted off the top and chugged a few swallows.

  The empty bottle landed in the trash can. I realized I had now spent my second night on the island in a less than comfortable sleeping position. The bed tucked at the rear of the trailer looked softer than a pile of feathers. I stripped my T-shirt and threw myself chest down on the red and white checked quilt. Sleep—I needed more sleep.

  “Mama, I’m fine.” I tried to soothe my worried mother. “I needed a break from work, that’s all.”

  “Darlin’, if you’re in some kind of trouble, then just come on home,” she suggested.

  “I’m not in trouble. Everything is p
erfectly ok. It’s called a vacation.” The last time my mother sounded this worried was when I got caught skipping school. My parents had grounded me for a month after that.

  “Ben, I don’t like to get involved with your Hollywood stuff.” I smiled. That’s how she always referred to my work. “But, I want to help you. Why don’t you come home and rest here? I can make all your favorites.”

  “As tempting as that is, I don’t need mac and cheese right now as much as I need to clear my head.” I could picture her, hair pulled back in a clip sitting in front of the bay window with a cup of coffee in her hand and a frown on her face.

  “It’s that girl, isn’t it? That’s what this is all about.” Her tone was sharp. “You know I don’t like to read those magazines, but her face was all over the stands at the checkout at the supermarket.”

  I thought about how to answer that question. Of course Rebecca was part of this, but not in the way my mother thought. It wasn’t heartbreak. It was humiliation and disappointment. One more failed relationship to add to a growing list for the world to tally up for me, one neon headline at a time.

  “Rebecca’s moved on. I’ve moved on. I don’t really want to go into it right now.” The pictures of Rebecca looking adoringly into some other guy’s eyes were still fresh. At least last night, with the help of some cold beer, I had forgotten about them.

  “Ok, let’s talk about something else, then. Where are you? Is it nice?” Her east Texas accent accentuated the vowels in each of her words.

  I gazed out the window as a pelican skimmed across the water. “Yep. It’s beautiful. You would like it.”

  I wondered if the set of pirates would be back later today to attack the sand dunes. I knew my mom would get a kick out of them. She frequently referred to her future grandchildren, but always followed it up with “no pressure here.” At twenty-eight I was in no rush to start a family. Hell, I wasn’t in a rush to find another girlfriend. Becs had cured me of that for a long time.

  “I bet I would. I’ve been trying to get your father to take me on a trip for months now, but he won’t leave. He says there’s no point in getting out of Texas. For once, I’d just like to take a vacation with him.”

  I had invited my parents to my first awards show in Hollywood when my career began to skyrocket, but my mother wouldn’t travel without my father and my father wouldn’t leave Texas.

  “Mama, why don’t you take a trip without him? Do something for yourself. I can arrange it for you.” I had offered on several occasions. I knew what her answer would be before the words were out of her mouth.

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “I know, I know.” I shook my head. “All right, let me get goin’.”

  Eventually, this call would circle back to Rebecca and my whereabouts. I had to cut her short. It was better for her sake if she didn’t know where I was, just in case Rick did call and try to pester it out of her.

  “Love you, darlin’. Call me if you need to,” she added.

  “You too. I’ll call later in the week.” I wanted to talk to her before Rick tried to reach her first.

  “I’ll tell your father you said hello.” The words hung in the air.

  I didn’t have anything to say to that.

  “Ok, Mama, bye.”

  I left my phone on the table. My father wouldn’t return the sentiment. We didn’t’ speak on the phone unless it was because he accidentally answered when I called.

  Joe Baldwin hadn’t quite gotten over the fact that his son turned down an opportunity to play professional football for a chance to chase imaginary bad guys and gorgeous women in pictures. It wasn’t that I didn’t love football, but at best I would be a second string quarterback, more likely a tight end on a low budget team. It was the concussions that scared me more than anything. I had had three: one in high school and two in college. And I knew the ones coming from the pros would leave a much deeper impact.

  At first, a local department store asked if I would model for them, next it was a national chain store, until somehow I wound up with an agent pitching me for small parts in action films.

  I fell into acting as easily as I could read an oncoming blitz. I never knew I needed that creative outlet until I held the first script in my hands. There was something exhilarating about creating life in the words on a page.

  I didn’t tell my father right away that I wasn’t entering the draft. I told my mother. We both knew she could soften the blow. The way she handled a crisis was impressive.

  I wedged into the shower. I meant to ask Flo yesterday why the water turned off so quickly. I didn’t think the entire shower had lasted ten minutes. I made a mental note to stop by the office later today.

  Sufficiently soaped and rinsed, I wrapped a towel around my waist. It was after one, and I wanted to head back into the village. As much as I enjoyed the junk food binge yesterday, I needed to make another store run and stock the Sand Dollar with some proper groceries.

  I grabbed the keys to the Jeep and slid my sunglasses on. The blaring sun hit me right between the eyes. Ibuprofen would be first on today’s list. I cranked the Jeep and turned toward the village.

  Eight

  Chelsea

  It didn’t bother me that on my one day off it was raining. I pulled my wrap a little tighter against my chest and repositioned a pillow behind my back. The ocean looked flat. The raindrops beat steadily against its waves, creating the illusion that it was calm. I knew it was anything but.

  I could sit here all day rocking in the hammock with my guitar and notebook of songs. I was tucked against the side of the house, protected from the wind while the thunderstorm raged on around me.

  The way you felt against my lips

  The way you—

  I changed the key and tried the notes again.

  The way you held that kiss

  It didn’t seem right. It didn’t feel right. My stomach turned. Just like kissing Derek, this song was wrong. I scratched through the words until they were illegible.

  You want to clip my wings

  Keep me in your cage

  But that’s not who I am

  And that’s not who I’ll be

  My fingers fell into a rhythm on the guitar as the words tumbled from my lips.

  I have my own dreams

  No matter what you say

  I’m still going to believe

  I’m still going to walk away

  I stopped to write down the last few lines. These words felt right. They were coming from a place in my heart I knew was true. I kicked along the deck so that the hammock began to swing again. I closed my eyes and strummed, humming the words in my head. I might have just written my own anthem.

  The rain had finally stopped. I stretched my arms above my head and carefully stepped off the hammock. The only thing I regretted was that it was almost dark and that meant the day was over. Tomorrow would come early, and so would another full day of clock watching at the store.

  I padded inside and closed the sliding glass door behind me. The air conditioner had been running all day, and it was chilly in the apartment compared to the humid air on the porch.

  I used the pen to secure my hair in a twist. It felt good to get it off my neck. Once I was in writing mode, everything else fell away and out of place. I hadn’t bothered to take a shower all day or even dab on moisturizer. The plus side was that I had written two songs that were nearly perfect.

  However, my stomach was growling and my brain would need fuel if I was going to keep up this writing marathon. In ten minutes, I had a pot of water boiling and a bowlful of spinach leaves washed.

  I dumped in a handful of spaghetti noodles when I heard the chime on my phone. It was Derek.

  I need to talk.

  Shit. This was exactly what I didn’t want to do. Lucky for me, yesterday was his day off from work. He told me he was going to surf all day. Today, I was off from the store so we hadn’t talked since the morning after Paul’s party. Eventually, I would have to fac
e him. It was stupid to think two days apart would put me back in the friend zone in his mind.

  I tried to think of a casual response to keep things light.

  What’s up?

  I’ll be over in 5.

  I grimaced.

  Maybe another time. I’m not feeling great.

  It was a complete lie, but I had spaghetti, salad, and an amazing song to craft. I watched my phone anxiously. After a minute, I slipped it into my pocket. Derek must have taken the hint. Relieved, I twisted the cork off a bottle of red wine and poured a glass of the crimson liquid. It tasted sweet on my tongue. It was amazing how it soothed all the stress from my body.

  “Chelsea! Chelsea!” Derek’s voice carried through my door along with several heavy knocks.

  I coughed on the last gulp of wine and rushed to the door. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

  “Der, what’s going on?” I stepped back as he barreled past me.

  He was carrying a straw bag in one hand. From the top, I saw pink petals peeping out.

  “Are you ok? Are you really sick?” His brow furrowed as he did a quick assessment of my condition.

  “I’m tired. Exhausted actually. I’m having a bite of dinner, and then I’m going to bed. Can we talk another time?” I followed him to the kitchen. Apparently, he thought I wasn’t seriously ill.

  The straw bag was on the center of the table, and he began emptying the contents: vanilla pillar candles, pink roses, a speaker, chocolate, and a bottle of wine.

  “What’s all this?” The nervous feeling had crept back to my stomach.

  Derek shifted on his feet. “The other night. It was all wrong. All wrong.” His hair, damp from the rain, clung to his forehead.

  “I know it was.” I sighed, wishing we were on the same page, but knowing that this display of romance said something completely different.