Frayed

by Kim Karr

  Great news. Hey, I’m going to have to cancel tonight. Something came up at work.

  Her response is immediate.

  Okay. Hope everything is all right. Call me later.

  I shove my phone in my pocket, grab my shit, and head back to my office. Once I’m there I drop it all on my desk and pace to the window. Plan B headquarters is located in the Jamboree Business Center in Irvine, a quick hop on the freeway from Laguna. It’s also a fast drive to LA.

  I can see the calm Pacific framed in the distance through my large window and long to be out there, but I have work to do. I think about all I have to accomplish before the announcement of my takeovers is made public. Surfer’s End’s migration to this building is finally happening this week, and I am so fucking happy—the transition has been a nightmare. Their offices will occupy the floor below me, whereas Sound Music occupies the one above. Both publications should be ready to upload their online issues early next week. And I just need to hire a few more people and we will be hitting the modern world of technology with a boom.

  In order to concentrate on work, I have to avert my eyes from the California view. Just as I head toward my phone to text her again, there’s a knock at my door.

  “Come in,” I call.

  The door opens and Kale stands there. “Just checking on you. I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

  As soon as I sit down my speakerphone buzzes. I raise a finger and answer it. “Yeah, Beck?”

  “I need to go over this budget with you. Is now okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “On my way.”

  I glance back over to Kale. “I’m not pissed, man. I think you might be onto something. I may have become her ‘girlfriend’ as hard as that is for me to say.”

  “What do you say to grabbing a beer tonight?”

  “Yeah, sure, why not?”

  Before I can finish asking where, Beck is standing behind him.

  Kale turns. “Hey, how’s it going today?”

  “Better than yesterday,” Beck responds.

  Kale grins. “Always good. Catch you both later. I’ll stop by before I leave.”

  “You’re not going out tonight, are you?” Beck asks me.

  My eyes cut to his. “I can go out for a beer on a Friday night. I’m not an alcoholic.”

  “Ben, why would you do that now? What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Is it that girl you’re into? The one you like?”

  “I never said I like her. I’m not fifteen.”

  “You don’t have to say you like someone for it to be apparent that you’re interested.”

  “You know what, Beck, no offense, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He raises his hands. “Look, man, not trying to get in your business. I’m just looking out for you.”

  Sighing, I slouch over, resting my forearms on my thighs. “Yeah, I know. I appreciate it. How about you show me what you’ve got?”

  He hands me a stack of papers—Beck’s budget seems doable. “Looks great, man,” I say after a quick perusal.

  He nods. “I’ll leave them with you. I’m heading out for the day.”

  “Thanks. And see ya.”

  I swivel in my chair and decide to look over the Sound Music budget Aerie gave me yesterday. Time flies as I spend the rest of the day analyzing it.

  There’s a light tap on my door before it opens.

  “Ready to go grab that beer, mate?” Kale asks.

  I glance at the clock on my desk. “Fuck, it’s already seven?”

  “Yeah, it is. What, did the day get away from you?”

  “It did. I think I’m going to pass tonight. I want to finish this budget shit up and be done with it.”

  “No worries. Take care and call if you change your mind.”

  “Thanks, man. I will.” But I know I won’t. Beck is right. I don’t need to fall back into that scene again.

  • • •

  It’s not quite six a.m. and I’m feeling restless, staring out in the darkness of my room. I pull out my journal to record my thoughts, but I can’t get them down because I don’t know what they are. I’ve never been at a loss for words before—but today I am. After an hour or so I toss my journal aside and decide to go on a run.

  By the time I hit the main road, the sun has already risen. I slow down and make my way through town and to the corner coffee shop. Grabbing a paper and a cup of coffee, I sit outside under one of the umbrella tables and catch up on the news. Once I’ve scoured the paper I decide to people-watch. I haven’t done that in a long time. Time slips away from me and when I glance at my phone it’s almost eleven.

  Tossing my shit in the trash, I take the beach path home. When I pass the little run-down surf shack, I decide to stop in. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but what Noel has done with the inside is fucking amazing. Blondie’s, the shop that used to belong to my dad, always feels like home away from home to me. My father named his business after his pet name for my mother, but back then it was no small operation. I don’t remember coming here before Noel bought it, but I know my father not only sold boards of every size and design, but also owned a fleet of boats that he chartered, along with any and every apparatus made for the sea. Sadly, it was his thirst to try out everything and anything new under the sun that killed him. My sister and I had recently discovered that his death resulted from taking a new sailboat out alone—the police reports said his death was due to a piece of malfunctioning equipment that hanged him by the ropes. My mother never told us what happened to him.

  My sister thinks it was because she didn’t want us to picture him that way; I’m not so sure. She also never told us she had been awarded ten million dollars as a wrongful death settlement. Again, I don’t think it’s for the reason my sister believes. I shake my dark thoughts away. Inheriting that money hasn’t changed me at all, but it has given me direction. It’s given me the ability to do something I never would have been able to do without it—start my own business.

  Taking one step at a time, I glance around the outside of the shack. It looks the same as always—wind chimes everywhere, peeling green paint, a weathered roof that needs replacing, a ramp that has long since collapsed. I walk in and as usual my head circles the perimeter. Surfboards line the arched ceiling, covering every inch of it.

  “Just a fucking brilliant way to expand the merchandise,” I say to Noel. I say it every time I walk in because I’m so impressed.

  He beams from behind the counter. “Hey, Benny boy. What brings you by?”

  Noel’s an out-of-shape, middle-aged man who at one time was the undisputed ASP World Champion. My dad was also a member of the Association of Surfing Professionals and that’s how they met. Noel bought the shop from my dad’s business partner a few years after my dad died, and he’s run it ever since.

  “Just out for a run and passing by.”

  “Sure you’re not checking on your board?”

  “Ha, you caught me,” I joke. “I’ve got a car now, so I won’t have to leave her here much longer. I just have to have a rack put on.”

  “She’s not bothering me. At least I know you’ll be stopping by once in a while with her here.”

  “Noel, come on, man. I stop by as much as I can.”

  “I haven’t seen you in three weeks.” He scrubs his beard. “Something tells me you’re chasing tail.”

  I shake my head. “I never chase anything but a wave. You know that.”

  He looks at me with sincerity in his eyes. “Sometimes you have to chase what you really want because everything in life worth having won’t fall into your lap.”

  “You’re awful philosophical for this early in the day.”

  “I always think clearer before five.” He laughs.

  The ding of the door alerts us to a customer.

  “Hey, I gotta run but I’ll be by soon.”

  He moves forward to hug me. “It was good to see you, Benny.”

  I hug
him back. “You too, Noel. Tell Faith hello for me.”

  He nods. “Will do. She’ll be sorry she missed you.”

  His attention is diverted to the dude checking out the boards overhead and I slip out, deciding to take it easy and walk the rest of the way home rather than run. My phone vibrates and I stop, pulling it from my sock. In my rush this morning to escape the silence, I left the house with no earphones and no armband. It’s a message from S’belle. I have to squint to read it since I forgot my sunglasses as well.

  Is everything okay?

  Three little words and my heart falls in my chest. Am I wrong about the sexual pull I thought we both recognized? Am I just her friend and along for a ride going nowhere? I drop in the sand and scroll through our messages over the last few weeks. I stop on one from when I asked her to go to the Hollywood Forever Cemetery Screening with me. She had said yes. She always says yes. She was a little startled at the thought at first, but once I assured her it would be a blast, her anxiety eased. I told her I’d pick her up and as I read her response now, I can’t help laughing.

  I’m more than capable of driving in the dark and I didn’t invite you over to get me anyway.

  That night I met her in the front of the cemetery. She was late and I paced the sidewalk. When she finally arrived, she seemed exasperated.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, scrutinizing her demeanor.

  She frowned. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Tate needed to review next month’s wedding schedule and had a bit of a meltdown over everything still left to do.”

  “Wyatt is an asshole.”

  She stared at me with something in her eyes I couldn’t quite figure out. “He can be.”

  “You should quit,” I grunted.

  She ignored me, but she always does when I tell her what she already knows. The guy is a dick—there are no two ways about it.

  “A picnic?” she asked, changing the subject with her green eyes alight.

  I had a bag of sandwiches and two slices of pie from Four & Twenty Blackbirds in one hand and a blanket in the other. Her brow quirked as she assessed my wares, and her mood went from dark to jubilant just like that.

  “Yeah, I can put a pretty cool party together too.”

  “I bet you can,” she said, grabbing the blanket, and I sensed a hint of another meaning in her response.

  “Just call me Martha fucking Stewart,” I snorted.

  We both burst out laughing.

  “C’mon. I want to get a good spot.”

  S’belle followed me past the line of people that wrapped around the block and into the iconic cemetery. Thank fuck I had bought tickets online. I’d never been there but always wanted to go and didn’t want to miss my opportunity in case of a sellout. I glanced around and gave a low whistle. “Cool place.”

  She clutched the blanket and moved closer to me. The air seemed filled with intrigue. The cemetery shared a wall with Paramount Studios. Music was being played by a DJ and a projector from somewhere in the distance cast music videos upon it. We passed the tombs of Hollywood legends Peter Lorre, Victor Fleming, and Norma Talmadge as S’belle stared in awe.

  “Want to go in?” I asked, leaning down and whispering in her ear.

  Her eyes closed and I knew she was trying to compose herself. “Nope.”

  I grinned at her. “Nope? Not sure, why not, or maybe later?” I said, bumping her shoulder.

  “Nope,” she said again. “Too creepy for me.” And I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh.

  “Don’t laugh,” she huffed.

  I placed my hand on her back. “I’m not. I think it’s cute. You know I’ll keep you safe.”

  She picked up the pace. “Where do you want to sit?”

  “That way,” I said, pointing to the sign with an arrow that read FAIRBANKS LAWN.

  “Didn’t Douglas Fairbanks play Zorro?”

  I flung her a look, amazed she knew that. “Yeah, he did and Robin Hood too. Have you seen them?”

  “Both versions.”

  “Ah . . . we both loved marked men.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t see, what was playing tonight?”

  “Dial M for Murder.” I smirked.

  “Alfred Hitchcock?” Her eyes glittered.

  “That’s why I picked it.”

  She tipped her head up toward the stars. “Beautiful night.”

  “It is,” I agreed, and stopped at the perfect location. It wasn’t in the middle of the thousands of people already sitting in rows, but rather it was off to the side with the cemetery just behind us. Setting my bag down, I laid out the blanket so we could both sit.

  We ate and watched the movie. She moved close to me when she was scared and I tried hard to keep my hands off her. Just before the final credits rolled, I stretched my arms over my head and brought one down behind her back. It was a classic guy move, one I had never attempted on a girl before. I practically rolled my eyes at my own ridiculousness, but she didn’t say anything, so I left it there.

  She turned toward me. “Ben . . . ,” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” Her face was so close to my lips and I couldn’t resist lowering them slightly and brushing my mouth over hers. Heat filled the air between us, but I hesitated a little too long about deepening the kiss. I didn’t want to make a move until I was sure she wanted me to.

  “It’s over,” she said, jumping to her feet. She stood there visibly trembling.

  I stayed where I was, motionless, as lust flooded me and I cursed myself for hesitating.

  A gust of wind blows sand in my face and I snap out of it. What the fuck am I doing ignoring her? I know she feels what I feel. I said I’d give her time. I can do that. I continue scrolling through more of the old text messages between us, and stop on another one from her.

  Do you think we’ll be climbing a lot of stairs at Hearst Castle?

  I had typed back a question mark.

  She responded with what I’ve labeled a Bellism.

  Heels look better with the outfit I’m wearing, but I’m not sure they’re all right for climbing stairs.

  I answered with the following.

  I don’t think you have to worry about stairs. It’s not a tower. Wear your heels and if I have to, I’ll fucking carry you.

  I didn’t carry her, but I did stare at her ass as we climbed the stairs of the castle. I scroll down and stop on the one that reads:

  What should I wear to the rock climbing gym?

  I have to laugh out loud. I had responded:

  Surprise me.

  And she did. She showed up in jeans and high heels claiming she thought she’d just take her shoes off. We bought her a pair of appropriate shoes in the lobby. After I tortured myself not only ogling her ass but also pushing it upward for an hour, I had to stop. The blood kept rushing to my cock and I was so uncomfortable after a while there was no way I could climb. I called it a night early.

  I spend another five minutes going through messages just like those and think about the places we’ve gone and the connection we’ve shared. I feel the grin building on my lips with each passing one. And I know what to do. I dial her number.

  “Hello,” she answers on the first ring.

  “Hey, how are you?”

  “Good. How are you?”

  I look out over the ocean. “Better now that I hear your voice.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. Just had a lot of shit going on.”

  “I missed talking to you.”

  Now I wish I could pull her through the phone. “What are you doing right now?”

  “Nothing. I just got home from helping Tate set up for a wedding.”

  “What, the prick can’t lift the silverware himself?”

  She giggles. “No, just some coordination issues that needed to be worked out.”

  I bite back what I want to say about her boss. “I’m coming to get you. I have something I want to show you.”

  She starts to argue.

  “I’ll pick you up at
five. I don’t want to hear another word about it. I’m not taking no for an answer this time.”

  “Okay.”

  I’m surprised she gives in that easy. “See you in a bit, Red.”

  “Bye, Ben,” she says, and her tone is quiet. I can picture her face, all innocent and beautiful, and my stomach does that thumping that I can’t figure out. I don’t know what it is about her that affects me so much.

  I take off for home, shower, get dressed, and make a stop along the way before heading to her place. As soon as my hand reaches out to lift the bar to the gate, I spot her. She’s sitting at one of the tables and quickly hangs up her phone. She’s wearing jeans, a tight sweater with a scarf wrapped around her neck, and high-heel boots.

  “What are you doing down here alone, beautiful?” I ask as I open the gate.

  “I’m waiting for you.” Her green eyes gleam and her mouth lifts up into a smile that I can’t resist returning.

  But she seems a little shaken.

  “Everything okay?”

  She nods. “Of course.” But she’s not in the least bit convincing.

  I move closer, close enough to smell her lemony scent, even though normally I keep a small distance between us. But I have this overwhelming need to feel her warmth, so I hug her—nothing sexual, just a friendly hello. She’s receptive to it and hugs me back. I disengage from her quickly. I don’t want to trigger her alarm. The one where she backs away when she thinks I’m too close.

  I stare into her mesmerizing eyes. “Have you ever seen the view from Carl’s Curve at night?”

  “Up on Mulholland Drive?”

  “That’s the place.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  I extend my hand. “Well, come on. We should be able to make it before sunset.”