Summer Fling

by Vi Keeland, Penelope Ward, LJ Shen, RS Grey, Willow Winters, Sarina Bowen, Helena Hunting

  I shrug into my dry shirt and fasten a single button. I can’t believe how freaking hot it is. It’s like living on the underside of a nut sack in a sauna.

  My flip-flops slap the pavement, sticking a little with each step, as if they’re halfway to melting. I slide into the passenger seat of Nevah’s car and sigh when a blast of cold air hits my sweaty face and chest.

  “Did the guy who sold you his car also sell you that shirt?” Nevah’s eyebrows lift above her sunglasses.

  I run a hand down the patterned fabric. It’s an ocean blue Hawaiian print with penguins surfing waves. It’s meant to go with our Amalie Summer Beach campaign. The bright colors are eye-catching and do well in Instagram photos. “If I say no, are you going to make a comment about ransacking my grandfather’s closet?”

  “I don’t have to anymore since you just did.” She grabs a water bottle from the backseat, unscrews the cap, and drains the entire thing in three long swallows.

  “Wow. You must kick some serious ass at keg stand challenges.”

  “It was probably my favorite subject in college, and consequently the reason I never graduated.” She waves a hand around in the air, as if she’s erasing her words. “Anyway, Lawson, tell me why you’re driving across the country if you’re not on the run?”

  “Uh, well, I had some business in California I had to take care of and I have a couple of stops on the way back home to Long Island, so I figured instead of flying I’d buy a car and bring it back home and fix it up.”

  “Just like that, huh?”

  “Just like that. Although I’m starting to think my plan is flawed.”

  She holds her fingers half an inch apart. “Maybe a little.”

  We make small talk while we wait for the tow truck to show up and I keep trying to figure out why she’s so damn familiar.

  When the tow arrives, I assume she’s going to leave, but instead, she offers to follow the tow truck to the garage.

  “You’ve already gone out of your way to help me, I can just ride in the truck.” I motion to the burly, pot-bellied chain-smoking man currently giving us an excellent view of his ass crack as he secures my beautiful, broken car. Nevah leans over and pops the glove box. She grabs a small baggie, stuffs it into her back pocket, and calls out, “You bring your girl with you, Kenny?”

  “Sure did, Nev,” he shouts back.

  “You mind if I say hi?”

  “Go for it.”

  Nevah struts over to the passenger side of the tow truck, glancing briefly over her shoulder at me, while smirking. She whistles and calls out, “Princess, you keeping Kenny in line?” A giant Bull Mastiff’s head pokes out of the passenger side window, tongue lolling as soon as the dog spots Nevah. She barks once and a long string of drool drips slowly from her jowls to the ground.

  Nevah pulls the baggie from her back pocket, retrieves a treat, and places it carefully on the end of the dog’s nose. Princess waits until she’s given the signal before she flips the treat off her nose and catches it with her giant tongue.

  “I think you’re better off riding with me. Princess isn’t big on sharing her seat.” Nevah gives me a wink.

  I stand awkwardly off to the side while she and Kenny discuss who should take me to the garage. He seems concerned about her welfare. I’m more concerned about Princess taking a bite out of me should I have to ride in Kenny’s truck. Or the possibility that I’m being duped and these two are black market organ thieves and they’re driving me to my demise. I really hope not.

  Six Degrees

  Nevah

  KENNY IS NOT pleased about my surfer friend Lawson riding with me. I assure him I’ll be fine and we’ll be right behind his truck.

  The second I get into the car my phone lights up with a call. It’s definitely been more than ten minutes since I hung up on Cosy.

  “Shit. That’s my sister. She’s probably losing her mind.”

  I answer the call and Cosy’s voice blares through the speaker in the backseat. “Ten fucking minutes, you said, Nevah. Ten minutes! I can see that you’re still in the same damn place! What the hell is going on?”

  “Sorry, the whole helping out someone in need is taking a little longer than I expected.” I disconnect the phone from the speaker so our conversation is no longer public.

  “Wait, hold on. Are you still dealing with that lady and her broken-down car?”

  “Uh, yeah, except that lady is actually a dude.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice is so loud I cringe away from the phone. Based on Lawson’s uncomfortable expression, he also hears her.

  “I am, in fact, not fucking kidding you at all. And he’s harmless. He has a manbun and he’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops. Nothing about him screams serial killer. Isn’t that right?” I give Lawson a pointed look. I cannot figure out what the deal is with this guy. I feel like I’ve seen him before. Maybe because he looks like every single surfer dude ever cast in a movie?

  He shakes his head. “Definitely not a serial killer, unless you count actual edible cereal. I can kill a box of that for breakfast no problem.”

  I roll my eyes. “See, Cosy? He’s perfectly harmless.”

  “Why the hell is he still with you?”

  “Because his car is fucked and I’m taking him to Bear’s garage to see what the deal is. I couldn’t leave him there.” I don’t have much hope for Lawson’s ride. It’s pretty, but I have a feeling it needs some serious love before it’s back on the road.

  “You know some guy named Bear in Utah?” Cosy sounds appalled.

  “Barry Fisher, from high school. Had a full beard by the time he hit junior year. Played football. You remember him?”

  “Oh! Yeah. What’s he doing in Utah?”

  “Running a garage.”

  “Obviously.” I can practically hear her eye roll. “Still, having some random guy you don’t know in your car is grounds for me to freak out. I vote you stay on the phone with me until you reach the garage. Do you even know his name?”

  “It’s Lawson. Even his name sounds harmless.” I wink at my passenger.

  “Do you happen to have a last name to go with the first name?” Cosy asks.

  “My sister would like to know what your last name is.” I hold the phone in his direction.

  He leans closer so he can speak directly into it like a mic. “Whitfield. Lawson Whitfield.”

  “Thanks. Did you catch that?” I ask my sister.

  “Lawson Whitfield?” Cosy is back to high-pitch shrieking.

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Ask him if he has any brothers or sisters.”

  “Do you want to ask him yourself?”

  “Just do it.” Cosy can be bossy and overprotective for a little sister.

  “Lawson, do you have any siblings?”

  “Yeah, two, a sister and a brother.” I bet he regrets buying that car for more reasons than it just breaking down.

  “Ask him if his sister’s name is Amalie.”

  “You mean Sexy Lexy’s wife?” Amalie, otherwise known as Amie, pronounced Ah-me, is married to Griffin’s brother Lexington, aka Lex, or Sexy Lexy as we like to call him. Cosy’s husband is a big dude, but his younger brother looks like some kind of sexy Spartan warrior. All of the Mills brothers are mountains of hot men, actually. Unfortunately, they’re all taken.

  “Just ask him!” Cosy demands.

  “Is your sister’s name Amalie?”

  “Uh, yeah. How would you know that?” His fingers inch along the armrest, as if he’s prepared to do a tuck and roll out of the car.

  “My sister, Cosy, is married to Griffin Mills, Lex’s older brother,” I tell him. “I think that makes your sister and my sister sisters-in-law?” It’s more of a question than an actual statement, because I’m mentally trying to figure out if this is true, and how wild it is that I managed to find him in the middle of a freaking desert.

  Lawson’s eyes flare. “No shit. I thought you looked familiar!”

&nbs
p; “Same. We must’ve been at the same event at some point in the past couple of years.” It explains why it felt like I knew him. It also makes me feel a little better about having some not-so-random hot dude in my car.

  I end the call with my sister, who is no longer worried about me ending up dismembered, since apparently Lawson and I know each other, however indirectly.

  “How crazy is this! I can’t believe our sisters are in-laws.”

  “Me neither, to be honest. I mean, what are the chances?” Lawson rubs his scruffy chin.

  “Slim to freaking none, I would think.”

  We pull into the garage and I’m greeted with enthusiasm and a bone-crushing hug from Bear, who I haven’t seen in more than a year. I introduce him to Lawson, and explain that we actually know each other, which seems to put Kenny at ease. Sort of. He’s still mumbling about the pretty boy and how I love picking up strays. He’s not wrong about Lawson being pretty.

  Bear and Kenny get the car up on one of the lifts and it takes about thirty seconds to come to the conclusion that as nice as the car looks, it’s not drivable. Turns out, I was right about the oil leak and the radiator.

  “So how long before I can get back on the road?” Lawson asks.

  “Probably a few weeks, depending on how long it takes to order in the parts since it’s a classic and all,” Bear says.

  Lawson laces his hands behind his head. “Well, shit. I’m supposed to be in Colorado tomorrow night.”

  I slap the side of his car, realization finally dawning. “Hold on, are you going to Cosy’s party?”

  “The Mills birthday bash thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was my plan until my car broke down.”

  “I’m heading there now, so you might as well ride with me. Road trips are way more fun with a sidekick, anyway.”

  Lawson nods his agreement. “Definitely way more fun.”

  Looks like my trip to Colorado just got a whole lot more interesting.

  Another Detour

  Lawson

  “I CANNOT BELIEVE I blew a tire. What the hell was that random piece of wood doing in the middle of the freaking road?” Nevah throws her hands in the air and kicks the deflated rubber. “I’m gonna have to put the spare on.”

  “Can you drive all the way to Colorado Springs on a spare?” I have no idea, so it’s an honest question.

  “Depends on the car. Most of the time you can go a hundred miles or so on a spare, but we’re a lot farther out than that, and I don’t really want to risk bending the frame on this baby.” She pats her car affectionately. “We’ll get the spare on and see how far we can go before we hit a garage.”

  We’ve made it most of the way through Utah. Over the past several hours, I’ve learned a lot about Nevah.

  As it turns out, we’ve attended more than one social gathering together. In fact, I’m fairly certain I had plans to hit on her while I was drunk, but my sister intervened before I could make a complete ass out of myself.

  Truth be told, I’m not very good at the whole relationship thing. Or talking to women in general. I’m awesome at social media and creating a brand and flirting on line. I’m also adept at picking up women at bars because there isn’t a whole lot of talking involved. It’s not that I don’t want to have conversations with women; it’s more that my job is weird, my family is well known, and I’m slightly socially awkward—see the En Vogue comment for reference.

  I now know that Nevah took public relations, business, and plumbing in college and decided none of them were the right fit. She’s always been fascinated with cars. While other girls were playing with Barbies, she was playing with Barbie’s corvette and spray-painting it black to make it cooler.

  She learned how to jump-start a car when she was sixteen while hanging out with some less than savory characters, one of which happened to be Barry, aka Bear. She’s narrowly escaped a criminal record more than once, and has a long history of dating jerks. She didn’t go into much detail about that, other than to say most of the time she liked their cars better than she liked the guys who were driving them.

  She pops the trunk and I move my suitcase out of the way. One of the dolls rolls out from under my shirt. It’s a brown-haired Amalie doll with a pretty sweet tan, wearing a two-piece halter tank that somewhat matches my current shirt.

  She glances from me to the doll and back again.

  “It’s not what you think,” I blurt, which obviously makes it sound like exactly what she thinks, even though I can’t be sure what exactly that is.

  Grown men who tote around kids’ dolls incite a lot of questions.

  She cocks a brow. “So you don’t have a doll with a bathing suit that matches your shirt in my trunk?”

  “It’s the family business. Amalie dolls. I was in California working with a company that uses all recycled plastics and materials to make dolls and their clothes,” I explain.

  “Amalie dolls? Holy crap! Amalie is your sister. Wow! I’m the slowest person ever. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection.” She picks up the plastic doll and hugs it to her chest. “I wanted one so bad when I was a kid, but my parents said they were too expensive.”

  “You can have that one if you want.” I’m thankful that she knows what the fuck I’m talking about and doesn’t think I’m just some random weirdo with a doll fetish. I mean, I have a little too much fun posing them for photo shoots, but not in a creepy way, just in an if I have to pose dolls for photo shoots as a grown man, I might as well have some fun with it way.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t. I’m way too old to play with dolls.” She continues to hug it and stroke its hair.

  “Are you really, though?” I point to myself. “My job is to literally play with those dolls.” As soon as those words are out of my mouth, I wish I could stuff them back in with a hot fiery poker. Thankfully, she doesn’t mace me and run.

  “Hmm, you make a good point.” She chuckles and sets the doll back in the trunk, carefully, though, and frees the spare tire. I offer to help, but mostly it’s just me handing her things and trying to stay out of the way while she changes the flat.

  The sun is starting to creep toward the horizon, and by the time we make it to the next town, it’s nearing six, and the only garage in town closed an hour ago.

  Nevah drops her head against the rest and blows out a breath. “I don’t think we’re making it to Colorado tonight, Lawson.”

  “You’re probably right, unless you want to resort to hitchhiking.”

  “I’m going to say no thanks to that.” Nevah drums on the steering wheel. “There was a motel about a mile back. Should we see about getting a couple of rooms for the night?”

  “What do you mean there’s only one room left?” Nevah taps her hot pink nails on the pitted counter. There’s a chip in the index one and grease lines her cuticles. For some reason, I find that sexy. Possibly because her ability to change tires saved us from either having to hike the ten miles into town or wait until yet another tow truck came to pick us up.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the sheriff’s daughter is getting married this weekend and all the other rooms are rented out ’cause the whole family is in town. Lots of aunts and uncles.” The teenager, whose nametag reads Lucifer, gives her an apologetic half-smile. “Grand Junction is about thirty miles down the road. They’ll surely have two rooms. They even have a Double Tree there, real nice and swanky. Kinda expensive, though.”

  Nevah raps on the counter a couple more times. “How do you feel about sleeping together?”

  My eyebrows pop and the kid chokes on a sip of his Mountain Dew.

  “I mean in the same room.” She rolls her eyes “Boys. So predictable.”

  “If you’re okay with it, I’m okay with it.” I’m actually more than okay with it, but I’m trying not to come across as douchey, since there’s been a lot of potential for that over the course of this day.

  “We can always hit up a church on Sunday if we’re feeling guilty about it,” Neva
h mutters. “Okay, we’ll take the room.” She digs around in her purse for her wallet, which gives me the opportunity to be faster on the credit card draw.

  The motel is so old and out-of-date that they have to use one of those manual credit card machines. And the cash register looks like it was resurrected from the 1950s. The kid gives us a key on an actual keychain with the phrase He’s always watching stamped on it.

  “There’s a pool in the back and it’s open until ten, and ice machines are closest to rooms twenty-five and one. The vending machines only take quarters, but they’re open all night,” Lucifer says this in monotone, as if it’s something he’s rehearsed and still has trouble remembering.

  “Great, thanks.” Nevah’s tone implies she thinks this is anything but great.

  “Is there anywhere we can grab a bite to eat, or a beer?” I ask before we head to our room. Which we’re sleeping in. Together.

  “Oh, yes!” Lucifer perks right up. “There’s a bar about a five-minute walk down the road called the Pickled Onion and they serve food and beer until midnight. And there’s a 7-Eleven just down the street. The have really great taquitos and they sell beer, too.”

  “Fantastic. You have yourself a great night, Lucifer.”

  “You too. Enjoy your stay!” he calls after us.

  Nevah parks the car in front of room twenty-five and I grab both of our bags from the trunk. It’s the least I can do seeing as she’s saved my ass a lot today.

  She unlocks the door and steps aside to let me in, following on my heels.

  “Wow. I didn’t realize there were this many shades of shit brown.” Nevah drops her purse onto the brown table and surveys what is a very, very brown room.

  “Their commitment to shades of crap is astounding.”

  The carpet is a horrible yellow-brown that reminds me of baby poop, the walls are beige—although it smells like stale cigarettes and a very pungent, floral room spray in here, so there’s a good chance those are nicotine stains. Even the print on the wall, which looks like it might have been cut from a calendar, consists of brown cattails. But the best, or worst part, is the shiny brown comforter with an orange geometric pattern.