Chasing Perfect (Someday#4)

by Melanie Shawn

  “God DAMN it!” she suddenly screams. It’s like this sometimes. She goes from laughing to screaming in one second flat. “Why did your worthless father have to die and leave me here all alone to deal with this shit? He probably realized even when you were babies that you weren’t worth staying alive for and he’d be better off killing himself than have to look at you every day of his miserable life.” She stands up and takes a stumbling step towards me.

  Fear lights me up from inside and I cower before I can help myself. “No, Mama! Don’t hit me, please!”

  That was the wrong thing to do. I can see it in the crazy spark that ignites in her eyes. “Don’t hit you? Don’t hit you? Is that all you care about? Yeah. You don’t care about anyone but yourself, you selfish piece of crap.”

  She starts picking up things from the coffee table and throwing them at me as she yells. Magazines, pieces of mail, the TV guide—all of them fly at my head every four or five words.

  “You…and your piece of shit sister…are the only reasons…I even had that stupid job…in the first place…and now…you’re the reason I lost it.”

  I duck and cover my head with my arms. After a few throws, I don’t feel anything hitting me, but I also don’t hear them hitting the wall behind me. I’m too afraid to look up and see what’s happening.

  I hear the jangling of my mother’s ring of keys, and I’m terrified that she’s going to lob the heavy, sharp object at my head, that it’s going to hit me in my eyes—which could do some real damage, even if I am covering them.

  Instead, though, she angrily storms out and slams the door. She doesn’t explain where she’s going, and I don’t care. I don’t even care if she’s driving drunk. Sometimes I actually want her to die. That’s how mad I am. My own mom. That’s how I know she’s right about me when she calls me a piece of shit.

  I finally look up and see the reason nothing my mom threw at me hit my face. Hunter. He stepped in front of me, facing me, and rounded his shoulders to shield my body with his own. Everything she threw hit him instead of me.

  He protected me.

  “Thanks”—I sniffle, at a loss of how to express my gratitude—“for taking care of me.”

  He puts his arm around my shoulder and pats my back, like it’s no big deal or something.

  “I’ll always take care of you, Sandcastle. Always.”

  My pounding head jerked me back into the present.

  Right. That, right there, was exactly why I needed to keep it platonic with Hunter. He knew too much about me. He’d seen me at my worst. Seen the demons. Even if he thought he had feelings for me, it was only a matter of time before he’d start to see me as nothing more than a product of the trash I’d come from.

  Getting close to people was dangerous. They’d always leave, especially if they saw what I was really like. My dad had done it. He’d committed suicide, the ultimate abandonment. And even Hunter had proved last June that he was capable of it, as well.

  I couldn’t start to trust him again. I couldn’t let him become my everything. Not again.

  Besides, he was an Arcata boy through and through. That wasn’t what I wanted for my life. I didn’t want someone who’d seen me come from trash. I didn’t want to make a life with anyone in the place where I was trash and would always be trash.

  No. I wanted a fresh, shiny, brand-new life for myself—complete with a fresh, shiny, brand-new someone who only saw me as the fresh, shiny, brand-new version of me that existed now, as an adult.

  Hunter was a lot of wonderful things, but “new” was something he could never be.

  “God, I feel like shit,” I said flatly. I didn’t know if I was talking about my hangover, or my memories, or a little of both.

  Hunter, though—as always—knew just the right thing to say.

  “Come on, sunshine. What you need is a little grease in your belly. Some hash browns’ll soak up all that hangover nastiness and give you a brand-new lease on life. Let’s go get breakfast.”

  Chapter 11

  Hunter

  It took Sandy forever to emerge from the bathroom, and when she did, she looked like she was in mourning or something. She was wearing black sandals, black pants, a black T-shirt, and huge, black sunglasses. The only spot of bright color on her entire body, head to toe, was her luminous blonde hair, which she had pulled back into a smooth ponytail.

  She was a muted version of her normal self, but she still took my damn breath away with her beauty and grace.

  That wasn’t going to stop me from giving her shit, though. Obviously.

  I grinned. “You going goth? Maybe it’s just me, but when I think ‘spring break attire,’ my mind doesn’t leap to Beatnik Betty.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of Audrey Hepburn? You know—black cigarette pants? Black silk tee? Understated and classic in its beauty? But, yeah, whatever, Philistine. Goth.” She tried to adopt a haughty air, but the pain she was obviously in was getting in the way.

  “You didn’t mention the gigantic, black sunglasses. Are those also classic in their beauty? Or are they maybe because your head is pounding from the Texas-sized hangover you brought on yourself?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Wait. Is it me, or… No, wait. I definitely remember. Weren’t you the one who, not even an entire day ago, condescendingly assured me that—and I quote—’I am definitely the heartier partier, my friend.’ Because it seems like it was you. Unless my memory is failing me.”

  “Shut up.”

  I shook my head in mock sadness. “How the mighty have fallen.”

  “Shut up.”

  “So, do you plan to be in Sandcrab Mode all day today?”

  “Ask me again after hash browns.”

  “Will do. Speaking of which, I’m pretty sure there’s a diner just two doors down. I’m no doctor, but my diagnosis is that that’s about as far as you can make it.”

  “I’m no doctor either, but I agree.”

  We strolled along the sidewalk in companionable silence. It was heaven. As much as I loved the way Sandy looked, I loved how we were with each other even more. She didn’t let me get away with any shit, and I was the same way with her. We kept each other on our toes. It made my skin tingle, and my blood rush, and my heart pound faster. But it also made me feel incredibly calm, content, and like everything was right with the world. That was Sandy. That was me and Sandy, us, together—damn, I was going to get that back, for good, no matter what I had to do.

  We walked up to the door of the fifties style diner, and I held it open for her. The hostess gave us a bright, cheery, customer-service-hospitality smile.

  “Just the two of y’all this morning?” she asked.

  “Yes, thanks,” I said.

  “Right this way, then.”

  She led us to a booth, and then we slid in. Sandy picked her menu up, and I did the same, although I didn’t know why she’d even bothered. I was starting to suspect that she was only burying her face in the oversized plastic pages to avoid talking to me when the waitress came over.

  “Hi, there. I’m Brenda. I’ll be your server today. Have y’all decided what you’re having?”

  Sandy opened her mouth to answer, but I cut in like a smartass.

  “She’ll have the ham and cheese omelette, hash browns extra crispy, sourdough toast with strawberry jam, coffee with cream and sugar, and an orange juice.”

  For a minute, she looked like she was about to argue, but then she just sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I’ll have,” she grumbled, handing the menu back.

  The waitress looked at me and winked. “And for you, sir?”

  Sandy jumped in, and Brenda swiveled back to her.

  “He’ll have the buttermilk short stack with sausage links and eggs over easy, wheat toast, grapefruit juice, and coffee. No cream and sugar, because apparently, drinking it black makes you a manly man. If he’s feeling particularly celebratory, he’ll have blueberries in his pancakes.”

  Brenda turned back to me, her expr
ession even more amused than before.

  I shrugged. “Throw in the blueberries. I’m feeling particularly celebratory, I guess.”

  Brenda chuckled while she jotted it all down, and as she was leaving, she said, “Now don’t you two kids make a cute couple.”

  Sandy blushed but covered it by saying, “So, what makes it a blueberry kind of day? What’s so special about today?”

  I raised my water glass in a mock toast. “Hunter and Gatherer, back together again. Like it was always meant to be.”

  She didn’t immediately protest or correct me like I’d expected her to do. She just looked thoughtful. I considered that progress.

  When we were halfway through scarfing our meals down, a musical voice right next to our table said, “Honey, I don’t know what that is where you come from, but around here, that’s hangover food. Did y’all have a good time last night?”

  I looked up and saw a stunningly beautiful dark-haired girl standing at the end of our table, an open and friendly smile lighting up her face. I didn’t say anything for a moment. I was too shocked by the fact that a total stranger had just walked up to our table and started a conversation. Damn. Were things really that much friendlier in the South?

  A guy, who looked a lot like the girl, approached the table, smiling sheepishly. He seemed nice enough, but the majority of his attention was focused on Sandy as he spoke.

  “Hey there. Sorry about my sister. She can get a little overeager when she sees somebody she thinks is good people and that she might want to meet. I’m Avery, by the way. And this is my twin, Acacia.”

  “Hey! I’m a twin, too.” Sandy smiled.

  Avery grinned down at her, and I could see that his smile held just as much wattage as his sister’s. Must’ve been genetic. I didn’t like the way he was shining it right on Sandy though.

  “Well, darlin’, I knew there was somethin’ I liked about you. I must’ve just sensed our common bond before we even spoke.”

  Sandy smiled coquettishly, and I knew from long experience that this particular smile was the one that meant she was eating this shit up with a spoon.

  Bastard!

  Okay. Game on.

  I turned to Acacia. “I’m sure there are plenty of things we have in common, too. I know that I’d like to find out. I’m Hunter. This is my friend, Sandy.”

  Acacia’s eyes sparkled even brighter when she heard the word “friend” and I knew that, if I wanted her, I could have her. For all that guys bitch and moan about how mysterious women are, it’s really not that complicated.

  If you get any of the following three signs, then you know that, with a little bit of work, you could get her panties off.

  1. Sparkly eyes

  2. Bubbly giggle

  3. Hand resting on your arm

  If you get all three of those signs at once, then you know that her panties are definitely coming off, and it’s gonna happen before the night is over, and you’re not even gonna have to work all that hard to make it happen.

  Simple.

  Avery looked at Sandy, and I could see on his face that he’d been encouraged by the word “friend” as well.

  Guys are pretty fucking simple, too.

  Acacia said, “Well, you all should come out to the beach by our house tonight. We’re having a bonfire. It’s gonna be a great time.”

  Avery added. “It’s gonna be casual. Just some friends and some beers. Maybe you could get a little hair of the dog.”

  Sandy giggled way more enthusiastically than that joke deserved and placed her hand lightly on Avery’s arm. “That sounds great.”

  I couldn’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but I would’ve bet they were sparkling.

  Not good.

  I faced Acacia, putting on my most charming grin. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  She giggled, her eyes sparkled, and she put her hand on my arm. Trifecta. Hell, yeah. I still had it. My mojo was working just fine.

  “Here, Hunter. Hand me your phone.”

  I took my phone out of my pocket, keyed in my password, and handed it to her. Her fingertips lightly flew across the touchscreen, and in a few seconds, the perky strains of Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe” emanated from her purse.

  “There!” She bubbled. “Now, I have your phone number. I’m going to text you our address. Be there around sundown. You don’t need to bring anything but your cute selves.”

  With that, a wink, and a wave, Acacia and Avery were gone like charming apparitions.

  Chapter 12

  Hunter

  Sandy and I hadn’t talked much since the diner. We’d gone back to the room, changed into our swimsuits, and come out to the beach to lie out in the sun. I’d been trying to figure out if she was being so quiet because she was still hungover or if she was pissed at me.

  I was trying to figure out what she could’ve possibly had her panties in a bunch about, but it was a losing battle. When Sandy wanted to be mysterious and enigmatic about something, there was no breaking her open like an egg. She was more like a tightly closed vault.

  The one and only clue I did get was when my phone chimed with a text message. Once I’d read it, I said, “Oh, okay. Acacia sent the address. We’re all set for tonight.”

  Sandy, without looking up from the paperback open on her lap, said coolly, “Well. Isn’t she just soooo on top of things.”

  It wasn’t a compliment.

  And there it was. She was pissed about me flirting with Acacia. I smiled to myself. Good to know. Girls didn’t get bothered about stuff like that unless they cared, at least a little.

  I could’ve let it go in the interest of keeping the peace, but what the hell. That’s never been the Hunter-and-Gatherer style.

  “Technically, she’s not on top of things yet. But, if she plays her cards right, she will be before the end of the night.” I added a wink for good measure.

  Annoyance flitted across Sandy’s face, although she tried her best to hide it under a façade of cool indifference. “I’m sure she’ll be very happy to hear that. Although I’m pretty sure she already knows.”

  Instead of answering, I started humming the chorus of “Jealous” by Nick Jonas. I knew she would know it. Pop music was her favorite. It was a subject that popped (pun intended) up on numerous occasions. I would call it “popcorn music” and she would retort that pop stood for popular, which it wouldn’t be unless people liked it.

  I hummed the chorus over and over, hitting the melody especially hard on the lines that actually referenced jealousy. I made a point of not looking over at her, even when she gave me the side eye. I could feel her holding herself back, but finally she just couldn’t help herself. She snapped her book shut, crossed her arms in adorable anger.

  “What exactly are you trying to say?”

  I put on an innocent face. “What? Who, me? What are you talking about?”

  “I know what song you’re humming.”

  “Do you? Yeah, that makes sense. I think I remember it being called the song of the summer when it was out. I’m not surprised you’ve heard it.”

  “Are you trying to eff with me? To passive-aggressively say that I’m jealous or something?”

  Well, yes, of course that’s what I was doing. But I couldn’t cop to it. She was too cute when she was all fired up.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just like the song, and I was humming it. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but pop music—or, to use the full name, popular music—is called that because people like it.”

  “I know that. That’s my argument!”

  “Oh, really? Well, yeah. I guess, now that you bring it up, it does sound kind of familiar.”

  She rolled her eyes at me, huffed, and went back to reading her book, but the fact that she stared at one single page for a solid ten minutes without turning it, let me know that I’d gotten to her.

  I made my voice light and teasing. “Planning on turning a page soon, there, Turbo?”

  Her
face was bright with the power of a smile that wouldn’t quit when she looked at me. Great. That meant she had a plan in mind to mess with me right back.

  “Hey, Hunter,” she said sweetly. “I think my shoulders and back are getting burned. Would you mind rubbing some suntan lotion on them?”

  Well, shit. As well as I knew her and how to push her buttons, apparently she knew me just as well, if not better. Because lathering my hands up with lotion and rubbing them all over her soft skin was definitely one of my buttons.

  She held the bottle of lotion out to me with an innocent smile on her face. I took it and squeezed a bit into my palm. I put the bottle down and then rubbed my palms together, releasing the scent of oils and coconut into the air.

  Shit.

  My dick was already straining at my shorts and I hadn’t even touched her yet.

  She swung her slender legs around underneath her and then she stretched out with the grace of a cat as she lay flat on her belly. I could’ve sworn she was sticking her rounded, firm little bubble butt up in the air on purpose to rile me up, but I couldn’t be sure. After all, it was pretty damn spectacular even with no intervention from her whatsoever.

  Once my hands were completely lathered, I started to rub them on her back. God, her skin was as smooth as silk. My hands moved over her muscles as if I’d massaged her a hundred times and knew every secret her body had to tell. I let my fingers slide down her sides to her belly, and my thumbs made small, rhythmic circles on her lower back.

  Her breathing became shallower under my fingers. Jesus, knowing that I was having just as much of an effect on her as she was having on me was intoxicating.

  I slid my hands slowly up her warm, soft back. When I reached her bikini top, rather than lifting my hands to move past it, I slipped them underneath and continued to rub her back in slow circles. With each pass, I pushed my fingers just a little lower on the sides until I was brushing the edges of her breasts.

  Everything about the way her body was responding told me that she loved what I was doing to her. The way her skin was heating up under my hands, the way her muscles twitched as my fingers slipped over them, and the way that her breathing was now coming so shallowly and rapidly that it was really more like panting than anything else. All of it.