I had left my hometown.
I’d left Lola, Papaw, and Uncle Seth. Now I’d never see him again.
I leaned forward and covered my face with my hands. “I never got to say goodbye.” A small sob escaped me, and Papaw placed a warm, comforting hand on my back. I looked at my grandfather and wiped tears from my eyes. “I messed up. I didn’t think I’d be gone so long.” My voice lost power as I spoke. “What the hell have I done with my life? I could’ve been here helping you guys with the shop.” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, then I leaned back and took a deep pull off my beer. “But nope.” I shook my head. “Not me. Don’t need anyone except myself.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. We’re both having a tough time.”
I lifted my hands and let them fall. “I’m selfish. Thought all I needed was me, my bike, and a hot chick here and there.”
Papaw fiddled with the top button on his shirt. “Ain’t nothing wrong with a hot chick.”
I gave him a wan smile. “Thing of it is, I’m thinking hard about what I want out of life.”
“And what’s that?”
Lola.
Seeing her yesterday had sucked me right back into the vortex of what it had been like to be in love with her. I smiled a private smile when I remembered our years together. We’d met when we were twelve, and it was love at first sight. I couldn’t wait to kiss her, and once we finally did, we’d grab every chance to sneak down to the beach and make out like crazy. I loved the way we spent weekends together watching movies or just lazing on the cool wood of her bedroom floor talking about our plans for life. We would grow up and have a business together, something to do with surfing, we’d buy a cottage by the beach and Lola and I would plant a rose garden out front. We’d lay by the fireplace on chilly nights on a sheepskin rug and make babies. I loved her spunk and fire, loved her creativity and street smarts. How could I have forgotten my sweet Lola?
I stammered out my reply. “Well … you know … for starters, you and I are going to save the shop.”
My grandfather patted my knee. “And then what?”
“And then … then I’ll work the shop and fix motorcycles.” Neither of us wanted to admit that we had no idea how we’d come up with fifty grand in thirty days.
He took a long pull off his beer, and his eyes met mine. “Is that all you want? The shop and your motorcycle?” He held his beer bottle aloft and gestured around the room. “Not that I got anything against the shop. But what else?”
I thought about Lola and dipped my head. “Sure would be nice to share life with somebody.” Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was losing my uncle. I decided to open up. “Thought I was in love once.”
“With Lola.” He tapped my knee with his bottle. “I know love when I see it.”
I placed my head in my hands. “I should’ve never left her.”
“Aww kid. Life happens. You’ll make things right.”
I looked at him through blurry eyes and wiped the small tears. “Jeez. Do we have to sit here and cry in our beers?”
“Guess not.”
Wearily, I stood up and walked to the dusty carton rummaging through the relics, evidence of Uncle Seth’s life—a few medals from races he’d run, several copies of motorcycle magazines. “Who has VHS tapes anymore?” I held up the tape and chuckled.
I stopped laughing when I saw what was written on the side of the tape. Written in Uncle Seth’s scrawl were the words, “For Justice. Last Will and Testament.”
I dropped it like it was the snake that bit my uncle.
Papaw’s brows knit in concern. “What’s that?”
I jumped back an inch and held up my hands. “Don’t want to know.”
He hauled himself off the sofa. “Let me see that.” He turned the tape over and over in his hands. “Well I’ll be goddamned. This might call for a few more beers.”
We stared at each other, and all I could hear was the whir of the fridge. Finally, Papaw said, “Lucky your uncle’s got a machine that still plays these things.” He smirked. “He bought him one of those combo deals a lot of years back. Plays TV and tapes.” He moved to a counter that was covered with tools and cleared a few away. “Aha! There you are.” He slid the dusty TV to the edge of the counter, brushed it off, plugged it in and slid the tape into the slot.
My heart pounded hard, my palms sweaty. Last Will and Testament? We settled ourselves onto the sofa, and I perched on the edge. “Shit. Why the hell is this thing made out to me?”
“Fixing to find out.” He hit the play button on the remote, and after a few seconds of static, Uncle Seth’s face appeared on the screen. I took another swig of beer and swallowed hard.
Uncle Seth was just as I remembered him. His burly frame filled the screen, his dark hair and beard reminding me of a lumberjack. He smiled broadly and adjusted the camera a bit. Then his face wobbled back into view.
My voice was a whisper. “He filmed it right here.” I glanced over my shoulder. The motorcycle poster in the video was hanging behind us.
Papaw’s hand gripped the sofa cushion. “It looks like he made this recently.”
On the screen, Uncle Seth began to speak.
“Hey there, kiddo. If you’re watching this, it means you’re probably somewhere around fifty, have a wife and a couple of kids, maybe even some rusted-out station wagon sitting in your garage. You still have the Triumph, right?”
He scratched his stubbly beard. “Shit. I was never good at any of this stuff but what can I tell you? I had insomnia tonight and saw an infomercial where they talked about how we all need to have a will. Wouldn’t want the government to take my empire would I?”
His smile was goofily huge, and I wondered if maybe he’d had a few that night. “So here I am, recording this for when I’m pushing up daisies. Hope you guys gave me a big send-off.”
He stared at the camera meaningfully. “Not that I plan on going anywhere soon. Lots of life left in this old guy.” He hesitated. “You know something kiddo? You were the son I never had. Heck, you know I had my share of girlfriends, just never found the right one. Besides, can’t disappoint the ladies by taking myself off the market.”
He hesitated and looked down, consulting a wire bound notebook. “Okay. Here we go.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “On this day, the fourteenth of July, 2016, I, Seth Hamilton, being of sound mind, do hereby bequeath all these worldly possessions to my nephew, Justice Hamilton.
“All my surfboards. All my tools.” He glanced around the man cave. “Of which there are a lot. My super sweet, cherry Triumph Bonneville 750.” He winked at the camera. “You already got the 650, and I know you been taking great care of her. Trained you right, didn’t I?”
“Yes you did,” I breathed. My eyes felt gritty, and I wiped at them, then took another gulp of beer. I wanted to reach out and touch the screen, feel my uncle hug me one last time.
“I don’t have a lot to leave. Only a couple things ever meant much to me anyway. The most important of which is The Blue Tide Surf Shop.” He stared at the camera and those green eyes that could always pin me to the spot, glittered. “I know you and I planned on running the shop together someday, but I know a man’s gotta have his own life and you went your own way. Now that you’re older, I’m hoping you’ll give the business the same love I did.” He waved at the camera. “Like I said, ain’t got much to leave. I guess that’s it. It’s been one heck of a wild ride, this life of mine. ‘Course it ain’t over, don’t plan on taking over the shop just yet. See ya!”
The screen filled with static and Papaw and I stared straight ahead like zombies. When I looked at Papaw, his jaw worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He took another bolt of beer.
I looked at my lap. “Holy shit.” I rubbed my hands rapidly on my jeans. “I … I thought Seth and I would work the shop together. That was my plan, it really was.” I stood up and paced the small space. “Every summer I thought I’d come back. Have him show me the ropes.”
I stopped walking and stared at Papaw. How was he getting through the days? “You been taking philosophy classes?”
He shifted his empty beer from hand to hand. “Looks like the shop’s yours.”
I slumped down on the sofa. “Yeah right. What’s left of it. Can you believe it was Lola who gave me the flipping news?” I drained the last of my beer and worked the label with my thumbnail until it was a mess in my lap.
“She comes around the shop and asks about you, you know.”
I let out a huge sigh. “I was a dick the way I left her.” I stared at the ceiling. “Our breakup wasn’t the best. We were just kids though.”
“Kids who were in love.”
I went back to picking at the label of my beer bottle. “Were you in love with grandma?”
He walked over to a carton, rifled through it and pulled something out. “There you are, old friend.” His face crinkled into a smile.
He shuffled back to where I sat and dropped onto the sofa, clutching something tightly. When his hand unfurled, I saw what it held—a black velvet box. His voice choked with emotion. “I remember when I gave this to your grandma. She was the love of my life. She was so happy when she saw it, said it reminded her of the ocean.”
He handed me the box with the ring. I opened it slowly, and there it was—a gold band with a perfect blue opal center, graced by tiny diamonds. His eyes stared into mine. “I want you to have it.”
He gave a shallow sigh. “I want you to know something. When you meet that one person who rocks your world, the one who you can’t stop thinking about, the one who you want to go to sleep with at night and wake up with in the morning, the one special lady who’s not only your lover but your best friend. Maybe even your surfing partner, somebody you go on adventures with.” He pressed the box harder into my hand. “Never let her out of your sight. Because you have no idea what tomorrow might bring.”
I swallowed over a lump the size of a golf ball and nodded. I thought of Lola and how we’d been all those things to each other at one time. I’d been a jerk to her the other day. She’d caught me totally off guard with her assertive manner, not to mention her red-hot curvy body.
I changed the subject. “I talked to Devin about the shop. The bastard’s got a heart of stone.” I scrubbed my face. “What the hell are we going to do?”
“We’ll come up with the money.” He lifted his beer and did a sofa jig. “We could become strippers.”
I spit out my beer in laughter. “Or male escorts.”
Papaw laughed hard. “Yeah right. Who’s gonna want to have sex with a sixty-five-year-old man with a scar on his face?”
The mood in the room lifted, and that’s just what we needed. “Quit acting like you’re old and in the way. Look at you. All the hot single girls used to say you looked like …” I snapped my fingers. “What’s the name of that dude with his face all over the salad dressing bottles?” The memory returned, and I raised my beer. “Paul Newman.”
Papaw was a good-looking man with piercing blue eyes, a face with what the ladies liked to call “good bone structure” and a full head of brown hair. So what if he had a scar on his face from a knife fight when he was a kid? “I always thought that scar made you mysterious.”
“In my dreams.”
I bit down on my bottom lip and took another sip of beer. “We can’t lose the shop.”
“I remember when your uncle spotted this place. He and I drank a couple cool ones and thunk up the name for the shop. He was determined to make the Blue Tide the best damn surf shop in the west.” He smiled wistfully. “You were only a punk kid back then. Only thing you cared about was riding your bike and checking out the surf.”
“I’d give anything to be that kid again.”
“And then he opened with a big old party for the whole town.” He wiped his eyes. “Everybody loved your uncle.” He patted the sofa. “Yep. This place became a local’s hang out. Still is.”
“Hey. Remember the time Uncle Seth put me to work tagging prices on wetsuits?”
Papaw slapped his thigh and hooted laughter. “You put the surfboard prices by accident. Like somebody would really pay seven hundred bucks for a three hundred dollar wetsuit.”
I raised a finger. “Only somebody did pay it.”
“Seth laughed his butt off when he found out your mistake.”
“And he made me go to the dude’s house that night with the refund.” I snorted laughter. “I think I caught the dude in the middle of a make-out session.” What did I know about sex in those days? The guy’s girlfriend had sat on the couch busily straightening her blouse and smoothing her hair. I thought she’d just woken up. It wasn’t till I got home that I wondered why he had red lipstick all over his face.
Papaw pointed a finger at me. “And you stayed up late that night re-tagging everything.”
I brushed my hands together and winked. “I was a model employee.”
“Your uncle loved you, kid.”
I drew in a breath and released it. “We can’t lose the shop.” I thought of Devin’s smirk as he’d unveiled his grand plan for the shop. I turned to my grandfather and grabbed his sleeve frantically. “We have to come up with the money.”
He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “I know, kiddo. We will.” He straightened and gave me a sly grin. “So, pimping out our bods ain’t going to cut it?”
I burst into laughter, and then we grinned at each other.
“We could have a sale at the shop,” I said.
“Yeah, an end of season sale. We’ve got surfboards, accessories, some cool art.” He held up a finger. “Lola sells her suits here and the chicks love them.”
“Suits?”
He patted my leg. “She makes these really cool bathing suits in her spare time. Call and ask her to bring some for the sale.”
“I don’t think Lola likes me anymore.”
“Then I’ll ask her.” He stood up. “Want to blow this popsicle stand? There’s this new place in town I been wanting to check out. And I think you and I need something stronger than this.” He chucked his empty into the trash.
A couple strong ones sounded great. “Lead the way.”
Five
Justice
“The Booty Shop? When did La Fortuna let strip clubs into town?” I stared at the marquis. “Hot, wet and sexy!” it screamed.
“It’s nearly in the next town, okay?”
We’d hoofed it nearly two miles to get here. Good old La Fortuna where everything’s spitting distance. I felt extremely uncomfortable already, and we hadn’t even stepped foot in the place. A strip club with my grandfather? No way. I ducked my head. “Sure we’re not going to run into somebody we know?”
“We might.” Papaw rocked on his heels as his unfocused gaze stared at the poster depicting a voluptuous model on her knees with sexily mussed up hair. She wore a G-string and nothing else.
I bit down on my lip. “I don’t know about this.”
“You’re twenty-five, kid. I think you’ve seen a naked lady before.”
I glanced at my watch. “Are you sure about this?”
He grabbed my arm. “Yes, I’m sure. Quit acting like an old lady.”
I took a deep breath and a tentative step forward. We entered the club, and my eyes took a few minutes to adjust to the dark as we made our way to the bar to the strains of loud disco music.
We sat down, and Papaw slapped his hand on the counter. “Two shots of your best tequila.”
The bartender nodded. “Coming right up, buddy.” He poured us two strong ones, and we slammed them back. When in Rome.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Shit. That stuff burns.”
“Grows hair on your chest.” Papaw signaled for two more.
I put my hand on his arm. “Slow down. You planning on getting us arrested?”
The bartender placed the shots down, and Papaw
sipped his. “Is it a crime to hang out with my favorite grandson and catch a buzz?” Sadness filled his eyes. “Damn. I miss your uncle.”
If Papaw wanted to catch a buzz and watch some hot ass shake their groove things, I suppose I had no choice but to go along. I leaned in and whispered in his ear. “It’s kind of weird being here with you. You sure you’re not going to put me in time out?”
He threw his head back in laughter. “I know you used to steal my Playboy magazines.” He clapped me on the back. “Loosen up, kid. We’re grown men.” He picked up his glass and gestured toward the stage. “Enjoy the show.”
I took a tentative sip. No way was I going to get plastered.
The dim room came into better view. I glanced around at the scantily clad women who were all hot tits and ass, wearing bra tops with so much glitter I thought I’d go blind. One sultry brunette straddled a patron for a lap dance, flipping her long silky hair over her shoulder. She gazed my way and gave a lewd wink. I raised my shot glass in a cautious toast.
The ‘70s music pounded through my chest and my pulse sped up when the next alluring female took the stage.
I’d been in a few strip clubs in my time, but the funny thing about The Booty Shop was that a lot of the strippers were not your typical girls-gone-wild straight out of college. The place seemed to specialize in a mixture of ages and body types. One woman wore a huge afro wig. Another looked to be in her 40s. Anyone who brings home a paycheck’s got my vote. Hats off to ‘em.
The sultry redhead who took the stage could’ve stood to lose a few. Okay, maybe thirty pounds. But damn, she was hot. I always thought a few curves on a woman made her sexier and, judging by the crowd’s reaction, they agreed.
Hot damn. The redheaded beauty was all fire. Her purple sequined top glittered under the lights as the music played a slow, sultry strip tune. Her luscious ass shimmied in the faces of hungry men, and one waved a twenty her way. She smiled a gorgeous red lip-sticked smile and crouched down, her legs spread, her pussy lips straining against the skimpy G-string bottom. My cock sprang to life. Fuck. What the hell was I supposed to do? Here I was with my flipping grandpa.
Riptide of Romance Page 3