by Cecy Robson
Right about where I’m standing has become our unofficial drop off / pick-up point. It’s where I say hello, and usually wave goodbye―followed by an inappropriate comment on my part of course.
As I continue to watch him, I decide he probably intended to make a quick escape. He easily could have, knowing my duties would keep me from chasing after him. Instead he waits with his hands on those baby-makin’ hips of his as if wrestling with what to say.
This time I don’t move. I’m not playing games, not really. I’m mostly just being my goofy self. But if we’re going to be friends, real ones I mean, I can’t always be the one running after him. So I wait, certain he won’t walk back to me.
But then he does.
His steps are slow and purposeful, halting about an arm’s length in front of me. When he says nothing, and I know our time is quickly running out, I decide that maybe I’m the one who needs to speak.
“What did you mean by what you said?” I ask him.
He works his jaw, appearing just a little shy as those baby blues fix on my face. “I just figured at least a few guys have tried to get with you.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But you’re assuming I said yes,” I tell him. “At least a few times, by the sounds of it.” It’s what I say, but this time, I’m the one who’s suddenly shy.
“I’m not judging you if you did.”
His thick brows draw in tight. To anyone passing by, he may appear angry. But I catch the trickles of concern in his tone. He thinks he may have insulted me.
“You could have said no,” he adds. “And you probably did for a long time. But pretty girls like you don’t usually stay virgins for long.”
My lips part and I feel myself straighten. “You think I’m pretty?”
His eyes widen as if he can’t believe what he just said―or what I just said―or something.
“Trin!”
His stare locks on mine.
“Trin!”
I stand there waiting.
“Trin!”
And still he says nothing.
“Trinity!”
I whip my head around. “What?”
Sean stops short. I didn’t mean to yell. But every girl needs a moment with a cute guy. Can’t he see I’m having mine?
“Found the surfboard we use for rescues,” he says.
I throw my hands out. “That’s awesome―” I realize I’m still yelling and try to calm. “Sorry. That’s good. Good. Uh. Thank . . . you.”
He nods, backing away with his hands out. “PMS. I get it. I’ll try to find you some chocolate.”
I turn my head to say something―anything―to Callahan. But he’s gone, long gone. With a sigh, I watch his brawny form disappear down the beach.
Chapter Six
Callahan
Jed wasn’t messing when he said the start of the season would kick in come June. Bobbie Lee, the owner, hired three cocktail waitresses and another two bartenders to mix in the outside bar. The combined forces should have been enough, but they weren’t. Not with the tourists coming in droves, and the die-hard regulars who never miss a Friday night.
I fill a tray with shots of rum and hand the waitress a bucket of ice stuffed with Coronas. Cindy, Sally―something like that―gives me a wink and a not-so subtle thrust from her chest.
“Thanks, Callahan,” she says, adding yet another wink in case I missed the first.
I ignore her and keep pouring, working fast. The only good thing about the crowd is that my shift is flying. I’m beat, and beat up. Haven’t slept much this week despite all my grueling work-outs and my even longer runs.
A familiar laugh catches my attention out on the deck. Trinity. Of course she’s laughing. That woman probably hasn’t known a bad day in her life by the sounds of it. She glances up and catches my stare. Her smile vanishes when she sees me and she looks away, back to those friends she always skips in with.
I can’t really blame her considering I’d spent the entire week ditching her. Instead of running at seven like I had been, I run at five (I’m up anyway) or wait till sundown on nights I don’t work. I say it’s because I don’t want or need the company she offers. I tell myself she annoys me. And I do my best to convince myself that being alone is the right thing for a man like me. Don’t need friends. Lost too many as is.
It’s what I tell myself constantly. But after last night, I know it’s all bullshit.
Magenta Grove Beach Resort officially closes at seven. What I mean by “officially” is that the lifeguards are no longer on duty and it’s a swim at your own risk deal. I thought I was safe waiting for that moon to rise. But when I reached her post, she was there. My eyes cut to where she and a couple of lifeguards were piling out of that small shack they use as an office.
Near as I could figure, they were finishing up a meeting. Her laughter trailed as I neared so I knew she saw me. This time she didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. Didn’t have anything to say. In a way, I expected her to say or do something. What I didn’t expect was that look of hurt I caught as I passed by.
Shit. That hurt barreled over me like a rolling tree.
I told her she was pretty. And I meant it. She damn well is. What I didn’t mean was for it to come out of my mouth. Same way I didn’t mean for that laugh to escape. Lord, I can’t remember the last time I laughed. Or smiled. Except with Trinity.
I shake my head. What the hell’s wrong with you, soldier?
I fill another tray. Margarita on the rocks here, a shot of Jaeger there, and more Budweiser bottles than that skinny waitress seems capable of carrying. She hefts it onto her shoulder, barely spilling a drop and heads over to the table filled with frat boys who can’t seem to shut the fuck up.
Jed keeps his eyes on them and our new waitress, knowing they’re probably seconds from starting shit. But while I know I should watch them too, my attention returns to Trinity.
I wasn’t sure what she expected to achieve running alongside me. For being a big ballbuster, it’s clear she’s plenty smart. And it doesn’t take a smart woman to figure out I want to be left alone. But she wouldn’t leave me until I made her.
The thought pisses me off. I had no right dumping her like she was nothing. As annoying as I find her, she’s not a bad person.
I fill another pitcher, pour more shots, trying to keep my head on work where it belongs. I don’t want to feel anything. Maybe that’s why Trinity pisses me off more than she should, around her I feel . . . everything. The way she―aw, hell―I don’t know. There’s just something about her . . .
A redhead slinks into the barstool in front of me and waves a few bills. I glance up, so she knows I see her. “What’ll it be?” I ask.
She grins and leans forward so her rack presses against the bar and elevates it slightly. “Three blow jobs.” Her eyes travel downward and she laughs. “Or whatcha think, maybe four, cowboy?”
I make three shots, take the bills, and then walk to the opposite register when she and her friends make a show of swallowing them down. The frat boys holler, of course, egging them on. I roll my eyes only to find Trinity standing right in front of me with two empty pitchers clutched in her hands.
She offers me a weak smile. “Hey,” she says.
I nod, but that’s all I offer. She’s not drunk or rude, not like some of the assholes that have stumbled in tonight. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be any friendlier. For all I think it was a dick move to ignore her like I did, what’s done is done, and I shouldn’t encourage her.
“What are you having?” I ask.
She blinks back at me, like she wants to talk and not just order. But then she swallows hard, speaking quietly. “Just Bud, please.”
I reach for the pitchers and move down the bar to the taps. One of the frat boys, the biggest in the group, abandons the redhead when someone else catches his eye. He stalks forward like he’s hot shit. My grip on the handles tightens as I watch him plop down next to Trinity.
“Dude. You’re spilling your beer,” a guy in a
bright yellow shirt points out.
I switch the pitchers, keeping my eyes trained on Trinity. Frat Boy leans on the bar, making a show of checking her out. I half expect Trinity to talk to him. Hell, she talks to everyone. ‘Cept even though he seems to be talking to her, she keeps her attention ahead.
He asks her something. Whatever it is has her shaking her head, either in disbelief or rejection. He leans closer, pressing his mouth close to her ear.
Trinity whips around, smacking him across the face as she wrenches away from him, her bright eyes firing with anger. I can’t be sure if his mouth actually made contact with her, or if he said something that offended her. At this point, I don’t really care. I’m already to them, set to pummel the shit out of this asshole no matter what he did to her.
I slam the one pitcher I’d managed to fill directly in front of him. He’s so close to her, Trinity had to slip off the stool just to put some space between them.
“The hell?” Frat Boy yells when the beer sloshes and soaks his shirt.
I don’t ask what his problem is. I don’t tell him he’s had enough. What I do is lean forward and shove my face in his. “Get the fuck away from her.”
I’m vaguely aware of the advancing crowd. Frat Boy’s friends are edging forward, and so are Trinity’s.
“Break his jaw, Clayton,” one of the other frat boys yells.
“Shutup, asshole,” Trinity’s friend fires back.
Yelling and taunts ensue. Every local there has had enough of these pricks. I don’t pay them no mind. Every speck of me is focused on Clayton, or whatever the hell his name is. He’s big. Probably plays ball. And based on that shit eatin’ grin cutting a line into his face, he probably thinks he can take me.
Problem is, he’s messing with the wrong soldier.
“It’s okay, Callahan,” Trinity insists, her hand gripping my arm.
“No, it’s not,” I rumble.
“Trin!”
Trinity’s friend, the blonde, tries to haul her back. Good, get her out of the way. It’s just me and him now. But here the crowd is too dense and this guy plays for keeps, he drags Trinity back before her friend gets her too far and squeezes her ass, all the while looking at me.
I barely catch the punch Trinity nails him with because I’m already flying over the bar and grabbing him by the throat, hauling him away from her. With a turn of my hips, I slam him to the floor.
Something hard cracks against the base of my skull. I shake off the pain and nail the frat boy who hit me with the beer bottle across the jaw. It’s then all hell breaks loose. Everyone’s fighting, and I mean everyone.
Fists are flying as me and Clayton go blow for blow. I’m punching him with all my weight, steering him toward the front doors.
The crowd moves with me, beating the piss out of those limp dicks. I keep swinging, keep connecting, and forcing Clayton outside and into the lot. My last punch connects with his head; he stumbles back and lands on his ass beside a sedan.
I turn around, knowing he’s not getting up, and scan the lot for Trinity. Her blonde friend is being hauled off the redhead who was hitting on me by another lifeguard. The lifeguard’s lip is split, and his shirt’s ripped, but he’s laughing his ass off as he pulls Trin’s friend against him.
“Calm down, tiger,” he tells her.
Mr. Perrington―the old man who takes his little blue pill with a shot of Captain Morgan―is waving his cane at another frat boy. I’m guessing the frat boy’s not intimidated by crazy Grandpa, but the lifeguards flanking the old timer are a different story.
I push my way around them, wondering where the hell Trin is and what trouble she’s gotten herself into. I start yelling for her, but her name gets stuck in my throat when I see―oh, hell no―her anchored to some guy’s back, her little fist punching him for all she’s worth. I barrel toward her, ducking out of the way of another flinging fist.
This guy gunning for me is so wasted, he can barely keep his feet. I snatch him by the collar and fling him onto the beach. He rolls onto his stomach, lifting his sand-covered face, his eyes widening when he sees me stalking forward. I don’t think I take more than four steps before he takes off. But I don’t care about him.
As quick as I can, I’m back to Trin, ripping her off the guy who’s seconds from throwing her off and hurting her. She fights me, not realizing I’m the one who has her. She’s wriggling so badly, I barely manage to kick the guy across the knees when he lunges at us.
He crashes to the ground. But like his friends, he’s had enough. He stumbles to his feet and backs away. Slowly at first, and then faster when he sees a few more locals closing in.
By this point, Trin is spitting mad, screaming and flinging her limbs like the lunatic she is. Me, I’m laughing. Hard. So hard, I can’t catch enough air to tell her it’s me. Apparently, she doesn’t find this situation funny, nor does she like to be laughed at. She lifts her elbow and pegs me hard in the gut.
I fall back onto the sand-pebbled lot, taking her with me. She pushes off my chest with her hands, her face red and furious until she realizes I’m the one lying under her.
“Callahan?” she asks.
“Fuck,” I respond.
She scrambles to her feet and offers me a hand. Cute. But I’ll be damned if I let this little thing haul me off my ass. I rise slowly, broken pieces of shell falling off my back as I stand.
I fix my scowl on her as the crowd thins. “What in the hell were you thinking taking on a man twice your size―shit, taking on any man at all?”
Everyone seems to be rushing to the edge of the lot that hugs the main road. But Trin and me only have eyes for each other―well, y’all know what I mean.
She frowns. “He was going to hurt you.”
“What?”
She hooks a thumb behind her. “He picked up one of those outside stools and was going to hit you with it. I had to save you.”
“You had to save me,” I repeat slowly.
She rams her fists on her hips and juts out her chin, all insulted-like. “Well, yeah. You’re welcome by the way.”
I don’t remind her that I was the one saving her ass. Or that I had to do it twice. I don’t even point out that she nailed me in the solar plexus as a reward. Instead, I let her have her moment.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
She grins. The gleam in that smile and in those eyes taking her from pretty, straight into beautiful . . . even though I don’t want it to. Damn, with all that dark hair, her toned body, and spray of freckles set in all the right places along her sweet face, why the hell is she wasting her time on me? This girl must be beating men off with a club.
In a way, I can’t blame that frat boy for seeking her company. He was an asshole, and for sure out of his league. But as a man, even one as fucked up as me, I can see why he’d want her.
Even while I think these thoughts, and even though it pisses me off that I do, I maintain my scowl. But there she is, grinning up at me like we’re having a friendly conversation. She steps forward and before I know it she’s stroking my beard again.
“You’re welcome, Batman.”
I close my eyes and choke back a swear. Now here’s a woman who knows how to ruin a moment.
Chapter Seven
Trinity
I don’t work the next day following the brawl. It’s good in way because I get to sleep in. But it’s bad because I’m not on the beach waiting to see if Callahan will magically show up as I’m prepping for watch. Either way, I don’t sleep in as much as I probably need to, my mind busy wondering where we stand.
Will he show up looking to talk to me? Or at the very least run when he used to so I can join him? I don’t want him avoiding me like he’s been doing, but I won’t pound on his front door either. My stalker tendencies do have their limits, after all.
I rise and stretch, giving up on sleep. After a few failed attempts at a yoga work out, I turn on the TV and flip through the channels.
My phone buzzes just when I find a cla
ssic Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode on TV―Oh! And it’s that creepy one where everyone loses their voice, too.
I pick up the phone as I settle back into bed only to jerk up when I read Becca’s text.
Call me. Call me NOW.
She picks up on the first ring. “What happened?” I ask her. “Is someone hurt?”
“Nope,” she answers.
“Becks! What’s wrong?”
She clears her throat like people do when they have something important to say. “Guess who ran by when we were setting up?”
“Who?” I ask, rushing to the edge of my bed.
“Hawkeye!”
“Who?”
“Hawkeye!” She pauses. “Isn’t that what you call him?”
Poor girl never could keep her superheroes straight. But I’m too busy grinning to correct her. “Callahan ran by during set up?”
“Girl, not only did he run by, but he looked over by your chair, the office, and toward the parking lot.”
“That doesn’t mean anything, does it?”
In all actuality, I know it does, seeing how Callahan keeps his focus ahead so he doesn’t have to engage anyone. But I need Becca to confirm my suspicions—tell me I’m not crazy—or imagining things—insist that there is hope—and convince me Callahan can’t live without me. It’s what best friends do, after all.
“Of course it does! Trin, he was looking for you. He never looked your way all those times you joined him on his run. At least not around us.” She makes a funny noise so I know she’s moving something. “Did he say anything to you after the fight broke up?”
“Only that he had to help clean up.”
“And nothing happened?” she asks. “Nothing?”
I flop back down on the bed. “You know if it did I’d be telling everyone who’d listen.”
“True―Hold on. Sean, could you take this for me . . . Thanks, hon. Trin? You still there?”
“I am.”