15 Shades Of Pink

by Scott, Lisa

  She tucked her hands into the pockets of white shorts, which showed off nicely toned legs. “I just happened to be walking by.” Her voice was higher than he expected for someone in her mid-twenties. It was sweet and sexy all at once.

  “But you could’ve kept walking.”

  She shrugged. Her pink halter-top skimmed her belly button, a cute little innie. The woman was growing more attractive by the moment. He couldn’t even imagine what kind of loser he looked like, splayed out in the sand.

  He’d like to stand up and thank her properly, offer his hand. But he was hung over, winded, and sore. “What’s your name?”

  “Molly Andrews.”

  “I’m Michael Sullivan.”

  One shoulder lifted. “I know.”

  The whispers started, confirming the news. More people crowded around them, holding up cameras and mobile phones. He couldn’t imagine how the tabloids would play this one out. Washed up actor washes up at beach?

  The lifeguard placed two fingers over his wrist. “Pulse rate is a little high, but you seem to be fine. Do you want to be transported to the hospital to be checked out?”

  “No. God, no. Just give me a moment to get my bearings.” This was worse than the time he woke up in the fountain outside that hotel—with a bra, but no woman.

  “Let’s give him some space, people,” the lifeguard shouted.

  The crowd backed up and some people scurried off, having already gawked and taken their pictures. Or maybe to run and get their friends.

  “I’m going back to my house.” He stood up and tottered, and for the first time ever, felt embarrassed by his behavior. He’d never needed rescuing before.

  Molly jumped up and steadied him by the arm. “Let me walk you back.”

  He was going to protest but the truth was, he needed her help. A woozy feeling swept over him as he stood under the hot sun. “Thanks.”

  A few people followed, still taking photos, but as they got closer to the houses lining the hill overlooking the beach, the stragglers fell back.

  Molly’s arm was wrapped around his waist as they moved slowly along the sand and up the path through the sand dunes. “Which one is yours?”

  “It’s not mine. I’m renting. It’s the white one over there.” He pointed to the enormous white beach house with a hot tub and in-ground pool nestled beside a patio overlooking the beach. If he’d been able to rein in his foreign-car obsession back when the money was rolling in, maybe he’d have his own beach house.

  No such luck.

  The dizziness was subsiding, but he let her walk him to the back door, because he liked the feel of her small hands on him. Nymph was a word that came to mind when he looked at her. With big eyes, a tiny nose, and ears that stuck out ever so slightly, she looked perpetually surprised. And he certainly didn’t mind the way her pale blond hair hung past her waist, skimming her slim hips.

  They stood outside his back door and he thought about asking her in for a drink. He was surprised she hadn’t pushed her way in already. Most women would’ve. He looked at her. She was studying her shoes. Damn, maybe she was thinking he was an ass. She’d be right about that—today, anyway.

  No, you’ve been an ass for a while now.

  But truthfully, he didn’t want her to come in. He just wanted to take a nap. He’d been out late the night before, partying, and that certainly contributed to the whole damn thing. He’d have to stop that one of these days.

  “Listen,” he said, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  She shook her head. “No need to. You probably would’ve spit up the water anyway. I’m just glad you didn’t do it while you were kissing me.” One corner of her mouth turned up.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would help him forget the whole thing. “Right. We were lucky on that one. But you went out of a way to help a stranger.”

  She kicked a pebble on the flagstone patio. “If I’d known it was you, I probably would have frozen.” She looked up at him with those lapis eyes again. “Luckily, you had a big piece of kelp over your face.”

  He grimaced. “This just gets better and better.”

  She tipped up on her toes and reached behind his ear. “More seaweed.” She pulled something slimy and green off his head and tossed it on the ground.

  He rubbed the back of his head. “Don’t think I’ll be swimming in the ocean anytime soon.”

  “I think you should take a long shower. Who knows what’s crawling around in your hair?” She scrunched up her nose.

  He made a face and nodded. “And after that, I’d really like to take you out to dinner to thank you.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “Please? I’ll feel guilty if I don’t do something to show my appreciation. You wouldn’t want to leave me with a case of bad karma, would you?” As if he didn’t have one already.

  She hugged her arms around herself. “Okay. I’m staying with my grandmother at her place down the road. 127 Beachside Drive.”

  “I’ll pick you up at six.”

  After a quick shower he fell into bed, wishing this had all been a bad dream. Until he dreamt of her and her long hair, circling round him like a rolling ocean wave.

  ***

  She spent the walk back to her grandmother’s place trying to convince herself that the whole crazy thing really just happened. She’d just saved Michael Sullivan’s life—and he was taking her out to dinner. She’d had approximately five thousand daydreams starring Michael Sullivan, but none of them had played out exactly like this one. She’d saved him from an oncoming bus before in her daydreams, and a fire. But a near drowning? That was nice, too. However, in real life, he hadn’t quite lived up to his leading-man role. Hung over and feeling her up while she tried to save him? She grimaced, remembering the scene.

  She kicked off her flip-flops outside the back door and dipped her feet in the big bucket next to the stairs, rinsing off sand and seaweed. Grandma was in the kitchen making lunch.

  “How was your walk?” Grandma asked. “Find any interesting treasures?”

  Interesting was one word for her day. “Not really.” She glanced out the back window to be sure no one had followed her home. They’d attracted half the beach. Frowning, Molly hurried into the kitchen. “Sit down and let me get that.”

  Grandma shooed her from the counter. “I’m eighty-two, but I’m not six feet under. Not today, anyway. I can handle soup and sandwiches. Besides, lunch is ready.” She carried a platter out onto the back deck, and Molly followed, the screen door slamming behind her with a whine and a thump. Just one more thing that needs replacing around here, Molly thought.

  Molly didn’t like seeing Grandma do so much. She’d been sidelined with pneumonia for two months over the winter. That’d scared the hell out of Molly, and was the reason she decided not to teach summer school. She wanted to spend the time with Grandma. Plus her house needed some work, so Molly had a long list of projects to keep her busy. Besides, the Cape was her favorite place to be in the summer—you just never knew what was going to happen, as she’d learned earlier.

  “Did you do any painting today?” Molly asked, tearing her grilled cheese in half.

  “Not yet. I’ve got a few snapshots of sunsets I’d like to try. Maybe later.” Grandma wasn’t a prize-winning artist, but she enjoyed the hobby, although her arthritis made it difficult to hold the brush for very long. Molly would love to turn her screened-in porch into an art studio for her, but that wasn’t happening. Not this trip, anyway.

  “Don’t worry about me for dinner,” Molly said. “I’m going out with a friend.” Which was probably why she was tearing her sandwich to bits instead of eating it. Her stomach was tied in knots worthy of the best sailor out in the bay. A few hours alone with Michael Sullivan? Would she send him running off into the ocean, too?

  “Oh? A friend?” Grandma’s eyes twinkled.

  “No. Not like that.”

  She frowned. “I’m not getting any younger. I’d love to see you mar
ried before…” She let the word hang there, but they both knew what she meant.

  “Well, it won’t be with this guy, that’s for sure.”

  “You never know. Grandpa asked me out seven times before I said yes. Stranger things have happened.”

  Not much stranger than this, Molly thought.

  Grandma dipped her spoon in the soup, raising it to her mouth with a shaky hand. “I think I’ll take a rest after lunch.”

  Remembering childhood summers spent on the Cape with her grandma was bittersweet. She’d had so many good times here. But now, there were no more races down to the water. No more long walks along the beach, or late night campfires. Remembering how vibrant Grandma used to be hit Molly in the gut. That feeling certainly tamed the butterflies that had been whirling about.

  Once Grandma settled in her room and Molly cleaned up, she drew the curtains in the living room and flicked on the TV. Feeling entirely foolish, she opened the closet where Grandma kept games and movies and pulled out the DVD of Heartbreak Beach. Michael’s movie; the one she could probably recite by heart. The one she had to watch right now.

  The movie opened with Michael’s character, Jack Tyler, throwing a football on the beach. His friend misses it because he’s watching a cute girl walk by—Mandy. She picks it up and tosses it to Jack. “I think you lost something,” she says, all flirty, flashing her big smile and those pouty lips.

  But Jack ignores the football, letting it sail past him, and walks up to her instead.

  “You missed,” she says, twirling the ties on her bikini bottom.

  Molly snuggled into the corner of the couch as the movie played and sighed. It was the most romantic movie of her youth. Jack Tyler ruined guys for a generation of teenaged girls. He was a totally unattainable ideal. There wasn’t a girl alive who saw Heartbreak Beach and didn’t totally crush on Jack Tyler. No boy in her high school even came close to the same appeal.

  But finding a hung-over Michael Sullivan on the beach earlier that day had poked a few holes in her fantasy man. He was still handsome and muscular like Jack Tyler had been, but there was something missing from his eyes. The taste of stale beer and saltwater on his lips hadn’t helped the cause.

  Still, she sighed when Jack Tyler scooped up Mandy. Hugging the throw pillow, she recited his next line, “I only missed it because there was something I wanted more.” Then Jack runs off into the ocean with her, while Mandy giggles and kicks her feet in protest.

  Molly cried like she always did when the audience learns Mandy has less than six months to live, but doesn’t tell Jack, not wanting to ruin their summer romance.

  Grandma wandered out from her room as the movie ended. She sat down just in time to watch Jack leave the state championship football game when he finds out his summer love, Mandy, is on her deathbed.

  “You missed your game?” Mandy asks, barely able to get out the words.

  He kisses her head, while the heart monitor beeps behind him. “I only missed it because there was something I wanted more.”

  Molly wiped a tear from her cheek.

  Grandma chuckled. “You still watching this movie? I swear you saw that fifty times the summer you turned sixteen.”

  Grandma wasn’t exaggerating. Molly blushed. “Every sixteen-year-old girl watched it at least fifty times. It was required viewing.” She clicked off the TV. “Mind if I do a load of laundry?”

  Grandma patted her hand. “Go ahead, dear.”

  Back to her real, unromantic world, she thought, loading her dirty shirts and shorts into the washer. Her last boyfriend had been a far cry from Jack Tyler. He’d been dating his dog’s veterinarian on the sly. And here she thought the poor pooch was dying with the number of times he was at the vet. She hadn’t dated anyone in six months—a thoroughly depressing statistic for a twenty-five year old woman.

  After hanging the wash on the line outside, she took a long bath and tried not to panic about her date in an hour.

  With Jack-Freaking-Tyler. She sank under the bubbles and screamed.

  ***

  In all her imaginary dates with Jack Tyler, she’d never really focused on what she’d been wearing—just what he looked like, changing the destination of their date to mix things up, but always ending things with a kiss and sometimes more. Standing in front of her closet, she decided nothing seemed good enough. She finally settled on a short black sundress, and jazzed it up with a freshwater pearl necklace.

  With ten minutes to spare before he was scheduled to show up, she started pacing the room, wondering if he’d come, what they’d talk about, and if she could resist squealing in front of him. She hadn’t dared call her friend, Colleen. No doubt, she would’ve made the trip down from Attleboro just to see him. She’d probably never forgive Molly for holding out on this.

  She heard a knock at the front door three minutes before six. Taking one last look in the mirror, she sucked in her breath and grabbed a pale pink wrap before dashing to get the door.

  But Grandma beat her to it. “Molly, your friend is here!” She stood by the door, clutching her hands in front of her, pleased as could be.

  Molly beamed at him, so happy this whole thing wasn’t another daydream. “Michael, I’d like you to meet my grandmother, Mary.”

  He shook her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Mary.”

  Molly hoped to scoot out before Grandma could rattle off a list of embarrassing questions, but no such luck.

  “Say, he looks just like the fellow in that beach movie you were just watching, only older.” Grandma squinted at him while Molly struggled to breathe.

  “He does, doesn’t he? Well, I’m sure I’ll be back early. But don’t wait up.”

  “Have fun, kids.”

  The smirk Michael was trying to hide tumbled out into a laugh as he walked her to his car. “So, you went home and watched Heartbreak Beach?”

  She tipped up her chin. “Only to see if there were any swimming scenes in it. I couldn’t remember you actually diving under the water in that movie. That would explain a lot.” Now her mouth twitched into a smile.

  “Fair enough.” He opened his car door for her, a convertible mustang. “You like seafood?” he asked.

  “Yes. But maybe we should stick to land animals tonight.”

  “You’re not going to let me live this down?”

  “Sometimes you’ve got to laugh at yourself. I do it all the time.” She gripped her purse on her lap. Despite her exploding heart, she was somehow exuding calm.

  He hopped in the driver’s seat, laughing, and pulled away. Molly swore two cars followed them, but she stopped staring in the side-mirror and focused on the guy next to her. “I’ve found some interesting things on the beach before, but finding you beats even the crab with three claws.” She tapped her finger on her thigh. “And the seagull with a broken wing. I brought it home, but it died. Good thing I didn’t drag you to Grandma’s. You feeling better, I hope?”

  He smirked and nodded. “The shower and the nap helped. But I don’t think my ego will ever recover.”

  “Perhaps I should have left you there, then.”

  He looked over at her. “I’m glad you didn’t. If anything, it was nice to meet you.” He shook his head, laughing. “Sorry again about trying to kiss you. I didn’t realize where I was. I thought…”

  “Did you think I was your girlfriend?” She faked a laugh.

  “I don’t have a girlfriend. I just figured I was home after a night out.”

  “Gotcha.” She wondered how often he brought women home. Probably more often than Chinese takeout. Who’d say no to him? Well, she would. Her daydreams had all been happily-ever-afters, not meaningless one-night hookups.

  When they got to the restaurant, he hopped out to open her door and that’s when she realized they had been followed. The two cars pulled in behind them, screeching to a stop, blowing up dust in the gravel parking lot. A photographer jumped out of each car, and started snapping pictures.

  “Michael is this the woman who s
aved your life?”

  “Michael, are you dating your heroine?”

  Michael forced a smile. “Just taking her out to show my thanks.” He put his hand on her lower back and escorted her into the restaurant.

  Any amount of calm she had collected abruptly disappeared.

  ***

  Dinner would have been nice if fans hadn’t interrupted every five minutes, telling Michael how much they loved his movie, asking about his plans for the rest of the trip, and generally ignoring the fact he was sitting there with her. She crossed her arms and looked out the window at the surf rolling in at high tide.

  And he did nothing to discourage it, posing for pictures, signing autographs, accepting several free drinks sent to the table. Although, he’d scored a point or two for refusing to autograph one woman’s butt cheek. She’d smoothed her miniskirt back down, frowning, when he’d turned her down.

  Molly barely tasted her Snapper, wondering how her once-in-a-lifetime date had turned out so horribly. Any expectation for a dream-worthy goodnight kiss had disappeared.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, when the last fan wandered away. “I haven’t even had a chance to talk to you. It’s usually not this bad. But the news is out.” He shrugged.

  “How much longer are you staying on the Cape?”

  “I’m scheduled to spend the whole month here. Maybe I’ll have to change my plans. And you?”

  “Same here, a month. I’m not sure my Grandma will be able to make it down next year.” She swirled the wine in her glass, but didn’t take a sip.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. My grandparents died when I was young. My parents had me when they were in their forties, so their folks were old. I wish I’d known my grandparents better. You’re lucky.”

  She nodded. “I’m trying to help her catch up on some repairs. I’ll be painting the living room tomorrow, so don’t go and get caught in the riptide. I won’t be there to save your butt.” She grinned over her wineglass.