by M. C. Cerny
“You’re totally overthinking this. I promise nothing happened.” A hand squeezes my shoulder, injecting warmth into my body. He tries to reassure me, but my guilt and self-recriminations are interrupted by my bladder stirring and I’m saved by the sudden need to distance myself in the bathroom.
“Um, can I get up?” Wincing in pain, I hope we can forget this whole thing happened.
“Just a second.”
“Uh, right now would be good, Roman.” He continues to hold me a minute longer. “Roman?” I’m not sure this man wants to let me go at all.
“I need just one more minute.” When he’s done, he gives me one last tender squeeze. Yeah, and my bladder needs to chill out. I swear he sniffs my hair, which is weird—but a good weird I’m not accustomed to. I have to remind myself I don’t like him right now, despite how nice and interesting last night was and how much we forgot which side of the fence we should be standing on. For the last few weeks, he was on my shit list, barely edging out Lucas. “There, I can let you go now.” I hate how my heart just melted a fraction more toward this man I hardly know—except for verbally sparring with him. Somehow, I think being in a courtroom would be safer than this right now. Hello, courtroom sheriff, please remove the subject…
“What was that about?” I gingerly make my way to a standing position, pushing my bed-crazy hair away from my face and trying to ignore my bladder, which would prefer I start dancing my way into the bathroom, like yesterday.
“I wasn’t sure if I’d get the chance to hold you so peacefully again. We’re kind of combustible, you know.”
I laugh with Roman as he chuckles, and he’s right; we’re polar opposites, even if he’s starting to grow on a little like mold might and not yet as a hot sexy frenemies… I must not be fully awake if I haven’t said anything acerbic toward him yet—either that or my screaming bladder has shut off the bitch in me this morning.
“Well, I suppose we could come to a truce of some sort. Just this once, you know.” I brush my tangled hair back again, and Roman kneels on the bed. True to his word, I notice we’re both still dressed from last night. Yeah, I really need to put the bitch away.
“I’d like that, Abigail Holliday. And as a show of good faith on my part, how about I give you an official tour of Gold Beach?”
Tentatively, I shake the hand he holds out to me nodding in agreement. I expect him to pull me across the bed as a joke, but he doesn’t, and the feel of his hand clutching mine…holy shit, there are no words for the flooding of heat that ravages my body. I know I’m awkwardly staring at him, because a smile edges the corners of his face and I pull my hand back, instantly missing the warmth of his touch.
Roman looks mussed, exactly how I imagined he might after a night of sleeping comfortably—though I hate to admit I even let my brain wander there. His hair is kind of all over the place and his T-shirt looks like it’s painted on over his body. He looks nothing like Lucas, who sees a trainer named Raquel three days a week to ‘maintain’ himself. She orders him to eat weird food and drink these godawful probiotic drinks. Cue my upset stomach all over again.
Roman looks like he’s worked hard to get his body, and I’m taken aback by how much I’d kind of like to peel his shirt off, letting my eyes drop from his penetrating gaze.
“Great. I’ll grab breakfast while you shower, and then I’ll show you the good stuff you’ve been missing around town.”
“But I’ve been here three weeks—what did I miss?” I’m confused, but Roman just smiles big and stands up, towering over me. My stomach does a happy roll, but not before I dance from foot to foot, really needing to pee and hating that my bladder is fucking this up right now.
“It was a gross misuse of vacation time, punishable by having lunch with me. Lucky for you, I’m around to rectify that misdemeanor.” It’s as if all the weeks of discord have dissolved into nothing. Roman pulls me in for another incredible surprise hug, which squishes my bladder. Squeaking in protest, he pushes me toward the bathroom. “Go shower, stinky princess, you’re doing some kind of pee-pee dance. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.” I stand there stupidly because I can’t believe this guy said ‘pee-pee dance’ with a straight face.
“Uh-huh.” Is my only response before he turns me around in the direction of the bathroom, his fingers gripping my hips, burning against my skin and waking up feelings foreign to me. Gently, he swats my ass. Stunned, I touched my butt, rubbing the sting away. Did he just…? My mind is a hot mess of emotions, because, yes, he did.
“Come on, don’t dally. We’ve got a big day ahead of us!” I look over my shoulder, my mouth puckered like a big fish, watching Roman switch the coffee pot on before leaving the cottage. He’s jogging down the sandy path when I realize he’s forgotten his shoes, but he’s already out of earshot distance, sand kicking up from his pounding footsteps.
“I’m totally not stinky, am I?” Whispering to no one, I give myself a sniff under my arms, self-conscious. Shaking off Roman’s comment and not wanting to seem pampered and prissy, I hurry through my shower. Washing my long hair, the suds and bar filth slip through the strands under the hot water. Toweling off as quickly as possible, I throw on a simple white lace tank top and rolled up jean capris with flip-flops.
I ignore checking my phone; being in LA made me so dependent on that immediate connection, and for once, I don’t want to be bothered. I wanted freedom, so I best start behaving like it. I’m not planning to check in with my dad and sister for a few days—they are still royally pissed at me—and I figure anything else can just wait.
As I’m looking in the mirror to apply some lip gloss and minimal mascara, I see my earrings. I don’t want any reminders of back home today, so I slip out the small diamonds and grab a pair of gold hoops my mother gave to me on my twelfth birthday. I fix the hem of my shirt and adjust the shoulder of my tank that’s slipped off slightly, showing my nude-colored bra, as I hear knocking on the cottage door.
“Coming!” I shout, pulling the door open. Roman is there, also freshly showered—wet hair and clean clothes. He smells like the ocean breeze and a heady male scent. My body traitorously reacts right away. Nipples tighten against my cotton bra and I pray I’m wearing one with enough padding you can’t see the evidence of my desire under the gauzy fabric of my lace tank top.
“Best greeting I ever had.” A smiling and cheery Roman walks through the door, his arms carrying a large bag of sweet-smelling pastries—carbs I wouldn’t have normally eaten, but can’t say no to now that they’ve entered my vicinity. Hello, weakness my old friend!
“Oh, my god, are those real frosted doughnuts?” I squeal in absolute delight, grabbing the bag from him and ripping it open, stuffing my face with a doughnut and licking my fingers shamelessly. When I turn back around, Roman is smirking, so I boldly take extra-long licking two fingers separately, mumbling how much I love them. “Mmm, these are so good.”
His eyes widen and I know we’re playing a dangerous game. My mother used to say the boys who picked on you usually liked you best. Well, we downright hated each other at first sight. The air zings, ready to combust.
“I see what tames the beast. Looks like my work here is done.” Before I can lick the rest of the creamy frosting off my thumb, Roman is already grabbing my hand, shoving the digit in his mouth—his hot, wet, man mouth with tongue stroking the length of my poor captured thumb. The pull of his mouth makes me squeeze the muscles between my barely standing legs. It’s a dangerous flirtation. My brain is imagining all kinds of things Roman could do with his tongue, and I’m torn, both glad and remorseful that LA is far behind me right now.
ROMAN
This girl definitely enjoys torture of the slow and deliberately pre-meditated kind. I suggest a day of fun activities to show her around Gold Beach so we can better get to know each other. I’m greedy with her time because I want to figure out why she stirs things up for me deep as an ocean anchor. The confusion of it all makes me want to pull it to the surface and fling it acros
s the wet sand. Something about Abby shifts my usually even keeled self I can’t explain.
I watch her grab the baked goods I got from Bonnie’s shop. Well, correction, that I swiped from Maddie’s kitchen because the drive into town and back would have been too long. Technically, those treats were for the B&B guests, and I figure, since Abby is a guest, I’m justified in a little thievery. Call it room service, if you will, because I wasn’t about to walk up to the house with Abby and have Maddie give me pointed looks. Hence, the reason why I slipped in and out quiet as a church mouse as she bustled around the kitchen cooking for guests staying at the house.
I watch her eat the doughnut with childlike glee, but it’s when she licks the frosting from her fingers that I get all caveman and want to drag her across the cottage to the still messy bed in the other room. It’s fascinating to see her enjoy something with such gluttony, licking her small fingers and closing her eyes partly while moaning in satisfaction. Her tongue slowly slides the creamy vanilla frosting up her finger. I want to be the one satisfying her, not some calorie-laden treat.
When I can’t take anymore, I grab her hand, impulsively sticking her thumb in my mouth and giving it a long, pulling suck between my lips. My teeth graze her thumb gently and her nipples pebble through her thin-as-hell shirt. I draw deeper and stroke my tongue around her thumb, watching her mouth make a small O and her eyes flutter closed.
Let her think about that while I drag her through town sightseeing, letting the rest of the locals know she’s mine inadvertently. I kind of want to tell her to pull a sweater on with her perky tits straining under her shirt. It’s stupid and totally a dickhead caveman move, but after seeing a few of the men at Jake’s bar eyeing her up last night, I’m not in the mood for the slightest bit of competition, even from the mysteriously absent ‘boyfriend.’ If Abby decides she’s not interested, that’s fine, but I don’t need every damn eligible male sniffing around my thawed ice princess. Considering the investment I’ve made, shouldn’t I get the return if there is one?
“Uh, um, I t-think the coffee is ready,” Abby mutters and walks away. Turning around to pour steaming coffee into mugs, she gives me a chance to admire her jean-clad behind. The fit is perfect and the pockets in the back cup her sweetly rounded ass. I’d love to walk down the street with my hand in her back pocket, though if I try that today, she might ninja chop my arm off. That’s okay, there’s always tomorrow.
I give her a minute to compose herself while I eat my own doughnut and look out the window, watching seagulls swoop down into the water and back up again with fish. “It’s beautiful.” She parts the lacy curtains, inviting summer into the kitchen. Sunlight is dancing off the waves and shines through the window, making her blonde hair more gold and her skin creamy.
“Yeah, it really is,” I tell her, but what I really mean is her, not the ocean or the beach or whatever the heck she’s referring too. The sun’s glare stings my eyes, but it’s her beauty that’s captivated me. She’s skittish, and I don’t know if she’s read her phone yet with d-bag Lucas’ message. I’m hoping today will take her mind off things back in LA or help her make up her mind all together. I don’t have any rights here with Abby. I’m crazy if I think I do.
I should have just tossed her over my shoulder on day one and avoided all this angst, but Maddie’s been telling me for years it builds character to have patience.
Fuck character.
Screw Patience.
I want this woman… and maybe another doughnut. I rub my hungry stomach.
“So what’s on our agenda today?” Ducking her eyes downward, Abby shyly sips her coffee, avoiding eye contact with me. Her cheeks have that flushed pink tinge high on her cheekbones. Crossing to her, I stand nearby, but not quite touching her.
“Well… I was thinking we could go fishing on one of… on my boat first and catch something for lunch. Then we can check out the farmer’s market for whatever else we need and grill it up. After lunch, we can walk the beach and see if we find one of those roped glass balls the visitor’s center is always planting on the beach for tourists.”
I’m an idiot, yammering on as I watch her eyes become owlishly big, but I love my hometown. Finally, I have her undivided attention. Smiling and biting her bottom lip, she looks excited about my plan. Most women I know would hate the idea of all day on a fishing boat… Abby surprises me, and I feel relieved.
“Do you think we’ll find one?” Her eyes brighten and I love she’s down for my kind of day. Did she think we’d find one? Lucky for me, Abby doesn’t know I sit on the committee in town in charge of dispensing them. It’s one of my many jack-of-all-trade responsibilities, and I probably know where every damn roped glass ball is along the three-mile stretch of beach we use, and then some.
“I suppose if we’re lucky and diligent.” My wink makes Abby laugh and playfully poke me in my side. “Really?” Teasing her, I grab her hand and pull her close, our bodies flush against each other. She looks up, eyes wide and blinking. The feel of her soft body pressed against mine pushes the button on trouble. Her heart is beating fast and our breathing goes unsteady.
“Yeah, really.” Her voice is barely audible and I let her go to step back, safely clutching her arms over her chest. All this touching is, hopefully, leading somewhere. Pushing her hair back, she looks around for her small purse and the damn phone. “Let’s go, sailor.”
Biting back a smile, I shake my head. The brat doesn’t realize I’m captain of this ship. I like this Abigail Holliday. She is real and sexy, holding nothing back—so unlike the woman I met that first day.
* * * * * * *
It figures that Abby catches a bigger fish than I do. It wouldn’t have been so emasculating if mine weren’t so small I had to throw most of them back. For an LA girl who never even went to summer camp, her fishing skills are excellent. I threaten to throw her in the water for ribbing me, but she assures me she learned to swim at the local Y as a kid. So much for asserting my manliness by saving her ass from drowning.
She asks about my boat and fishing, which surprises me. I’m used to the manicured, whining social-climbers. Those ladies are much easier to bed, but Abby is my fresh air, and for the first time, I feel lighter than ever on this returned to Gold Beach.
Walking past craft stalls and vendors at the market, Abby looks over everything and chats with some of the locals, promising to return and purchase some trinkets. I catch her eyeing up a particularly lovely blue and green sea glass necklace. Small silver nautical charms and pearls adorn it, and the price tag is definitely a tourist trap for the pretty piece. Abby kindly walks away and I nod to Andrea, who is a relative of the mayor, asking her to box it up for me. I’ll pick it up later, not because I think giving it to Abby will make her suddenly fall into my arms, but because I think it’ll be a nice token of our lovely first day together.
Eventually, we get around to picking up some veggies to grill and fresh local fruit for later. She washes and peels everything while I grill our fish on a campfire near the cottage. As we relax on blankets and make small talk about our interests and goals, I learn Abby is a real spit-fire for real winning all her debate matches growing up, but is unsure about her career as a lawyer. She always wanted to be a journalist, but feels pushed into doing what the rest of her family pursued. For the longest time she felt like a glorified secretary at her dad’s law firm struggling to find her place.
She tells me about her mother who died from breast cancer when Abby was only fifteen. Now she’s scared someday it will be her fate too. One would think we’d avoid the heavy conversation, but we share happy stories about our parents as well. We have the common experiencing of losing a parent young, which is kind of hard to avoid discussing.
My own mother died when I was seventeen in a car wreck on Highway 101 just outside of town during a rainstorm. The drunk driver who hit her was never caught. My dad died just last spring from a heart attack while pruning the rose bushes my mother loved so dearly. He loved my mother so much,
his heart gave out after all the years without her. When things get too morose, I stand up and offer Abby my hand to take a walk. I figure if we can find one of the many hidden glass balls on the beach, we will have redeemed our day.
A solid hour later, I’m convinced we are never going to find a fucking glass ball. I’m wondering if all the tourists before us snagged them. We must have trekked a good mile of the beach, combing it and looking around patches of sea grass and dunes only to find nothing. If these damn balls had a GPS tracker on them, I would have cheated forty-five minutes ago as the afternoon sun shone intensely above us.
“Are you sure they planted them on this beach, Roman? I know Maddie said it’s done every year but… maybe all the tourists got them already?” Abby holds my hand as we climb up the dunes. I was certain we’d get one here, on one of the out-of-the-way trails along the beach. I’m frustrated after being this close to Abby all day, wanting to touch her, to be with her. Our conversations are easier, and I like her even more. She distracts me from my other problems both here and back in Seattle—ones I really don’t want to deal with.
“They have to be here, Abby. They do this every year. There are only so many spots a glass ball can hide on the beach.” Agitated, I pace back and forth. I’m wasting time on this when I should be focusing solely on Abby.
“All right, but can we sit for just a minute? All this walking in the sand is wearing me out. It’s not my regular city girl barre class, you know.” Teasing me, Abby walks toward an abandoned boat hull turned upside down on the beach. She sits on top of it, patting a spot next to her for me to join.