by Kylie Scott
That would be so great.
“How are things really going with your mom?” he asked.
“Good. But, you know, she and I are always good.” I shrugged. “She has her life and I have mine. Mostly, she just wants to hang out in her studio or go on the painting trips, hold her classes. That’s her whole world.”
“Thought you might have followed her into art for a while there.”
“Me?” I laughed. “No. I can sketch okay, but nothing like what she does. I always preferred books to paintbrushes.”
“What about writing? You always kept a diary.”
“Yeah, it’s full of salacious details about you.”
“Great,” he said drily. “But you did see the journalism through?”
“I did a couple of classes and honestly . . .” I shook my head. “They were scarily hardcore and competitive. That’s when I realized, if I wasn’t willing to share that cutthroat attitude, then I didn’t want it badly enough.”
“Hm.”
“It just wasn’t for me.”
He took a sip of scotch. “What about all of the traveling you talked about doing?”
“Funny thing about flitting all over the globe,” I said. “It costs serious money. Plus, my current workplace isn’t keen on us taking all our leave at one time. Makes it difficult to plan a decent trip. But I’ll get there.”
He nodded, just watching me.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Leona, huh?”
“We already covered that ground. Tell me about your friends.”
“No, it’s my turn,” I said, downing some of the gin and tonic. Ah, the essence of life. “What about your father? Did he ever get over you not working behind a desk?”
His laughter was short and somewhat pained. “I really did used to talk to you about all sorts of shit, didn’t I? He’s pretty much written me off as a lost cause. My sister keeps him happy. She has two small kids and runs the branch of a bank. She’s basically Superwoman.”
“Wow. Good for her.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Meanwhile, as far as he’s concerned, I still just bang shit with hammers. Makes for interesting dinner conversation at Christmas.”
“If only you’d followed in your father’s footsteps and gone into finance too . . .”
“Exactly.”
I snorted. “Not that you wouldn’t look pretty in a suit, but it’s absolute bullshit. You build homes for people. You help create these amazing art-like buildings all over the coast. If he can’t see that, forget him.”
He smiled. “Thanks.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Maybe I should take you as my date next Christmas, let you defend poor little old me,” he joked.
“I’m interested.”
“I’ll keep you in mind.” He laughed. “You got lots of friends down south?”
“I’ve got my roommates, Hazel and her girlfriend, Maddie. They’re good people.”
“Good.”
“Honestly though, it’s hard to find kindred spirits you can really let loose with,” I said. “I don’t know if you ever noticed, but my sense of humor can be a little strange. Some of the things I come out with . . . people don’t always get me. So not really a whole bunch of people, just a couple of close friends.”
He nodded.
“People you can be yourself with are rare.”
“You’re right, they are.” His gaze turned serious.
“What’s that look?”
“Not to interrupt our just being,” he started, “but I am still sort of curious about a few things . . .”
“Such as?” I asked.
He groaned, shoving back his hair. “I almost don’t want to ask, but I’ve got to know. What did you honestly see happening in your eighteen-year-old mind that night?”
I winced. “Really?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
Maybe I could just drown myself. That might work.
“I just, I can’t square it in my head. Did I make you think there was something more?”
“Shit. Okay.” I downed a goodly amount of the drink because emergency. “It wasn’t care of anything you did outside of breathing, and I don’t know . . . science says you can’t exactly stop that and stay alive. So not your fault.”
“Alright.”
I grimaced. “I suppose I thought that if I could declare my desire and undying affection for you in such a grand manner then you would be hit by the stunning realization of my flourishing womanhood.”
“That was the baring-your-breasts part?”
“Right,” I said. “But you can’t forget the words, Pete. There were words. I practiced that speech a lot, you know. Though I then forgot most of it due to internal panic and alcohol. But they were weighty poetic words that were supposed to sway you as to both the determination and righteousness of my cause.”
“The righteousness of your cause?” His brows rose and he too, drank. “Jesus. So what was I meant to be doing during all of this?”
“I don’t know. Swoon?”
“No, come on. How did you honestly think I would react?”
“How did I think you would react?” I sighed. “Upon reflection, the smart money was probably on you telling me to stop being an idiot and put my clothes back on.”
He snorted. “Sounds about right.”
“But there was of course a small, timid flame of hope burning inside my chest that you’d be shocked and stunned into admitting that you felt exactly the same way,” I said. “Next would have come the passionate kissing and deflowering segment of the evening.”
“I was supposed to take your virginity in the hallway of your dad’s house?” he asked, expression somewhat appalled. “You must think I have balls of steel.”
I laughed. “The fantasy went more toward us moving things over to your place. Or maybe your truck. Less chance of getting busted.”
“Right. And you thought your dad’s reaction to all of this would be what?”
“Hey now.” I held up a hand. “I was finally, at long last, eighteen. His opinion didn’t really much matter to me. But I guess ideally we would have gone to him hand-in-hand the next morning and told him of our love and how we were destined to be together. Possible engagement ring involved. I don’t know . . . details were sketchy by that part.”
“Fuck,” he said, shaking his head.
“You already said that.”
“It bears repeating.” He swiped the water off his face. “Knew I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Yeah, but you did. Too late to go back now. I was young, dumb, and in love,” I explained. “Reality, consequences, things like that didn’t particularly factor into it. Add a few drinks, and that was that.”
He mumbled something under his breath.
“What?”
“You weren’t in love with me. You just thought you were.”
And yeah, no. “Pete, there’s a lot about what happened back then that I’ll readily admit was ill-judged, outright wrong, and even possibly plain stupid. But don’t tell me how I felt. I know how I felt.”
“You do, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Yes. Just because I was a teenager doesn’t negate it.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Oh come on,” I said. “Look at the facts. Plenty of people meet their significant others when they’re young.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But let’s look at your feelings in a larger context.”
“Alright.”
He stopped to taste the scotch, obviously thinking it all over. “So, am I to understand that in none of the years since then have you met someone and been with them in a more . . . what shall we say, a more intimate, real, and involved way than our platonic friendship, and realized that you felt more for them than you ever did for me?”
“No,” I said simply.
“No?”
“No.”
His forehead creased, then h
e shook his head. “Maybe you just haven’t fallen for anyone yet.”
“I fell. It hurt like hell. Eventually, I picked myself up and moved on.”
A grunt.
“I’d also like to point out that sex doesn’t necessarily equal true intimacy. It’s physically baring, that’s true,” I said. “But sharing your innermost thoughts, your heart and soul, being who you really are with someone—that’s a whole other level.”
“You were a teenager. You didn’t even know who you were yet.” He sighed. “And apparently you didn’t know a thing about sex, either.”
“Don’t be so condescending. I was getting there.”
Another adamant shake of the head.
“Hey, you asked. I’m sorry you don’t like the answer I gave you, but it’s the truth. By all means, however, continue to believe what you like.” I shrugged, taking a sip of my drink. “You’ve been in love, right?”
“Once or twice.”
“And at what age did you first fall in love?”
He exhaled, dunking his head under the water and coming back up before answering. Keeping the single malt out of the water, of course. “I don’t know. About your age. A few years younger, maybe.”
“Who was she?”
“A girl I worked with. She was one of the salespeople at a building supplies place.” He smiled. “Bought a shitload of stuff I didn’t need just to get to see her each day. Nearly left me broke.”
I laughed.
“We lived together for a year or so.” The smile faded from his face. “But she was ready for marriage and kids. I wasn’t.”
“Think you’ll ever want that?”
“Don’t know.” His gaze narrowed on me. “What about you? You want the whole marriage and kids, kid?”
I smiled. “Cute. Honestly, I don’t know either. No one I’ve dated has made me think we might be headed anywhere near that direction.”
“You’ve got plenty of time.”
“It’s such a huge commitment, being with someone day in and day out.” I waved my hand across the surface of the water, watching the ripples. “You agree to spend the rest of your life with them, but there’s lots of things that could go wrong. I don’t want to choose the wrong person and wind up divorced like my parents.”
“Hm.”
“They wound up hating each other. It wasn’t pretty,” I said. “I mean, they’re fine now, not that they really have anything to do with each other.”
“I get what you’re saying. It’s a risk.”
“Yes, it is.” I moaned. “God, this is getting maudlin.”
He finished off his scotch. “I’d better be off to bed. Not all of us are on vacation, sleeping in till all hours.”
“Please,” I said, likewise finishing off my drink and setting the glass on the side of the pool. “You’d be up with the sun anyway. You’re just one of those unnatural morning-people weirdos.”
He smiled.
I held out my arms.
Brow furrowed, the man stopped and looked at me.
“You can’t have it both ways, Pete,” I said. “Either in your platonic eyes I’m still basically a kid, in which case we do hugs. Or I’m this tempting thing, in which case you’re absolutely entitled to keep your distance.”
His gaze narrowed, then he swallowed. “A hug would be fine, I guess.”
I stepped into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and resting my head on his shoulder. Fuck, he felt good. His warm skin and hard body pressed against mine. Though, yes, I was doing the bulk, if not all, of the pressing. Most of it gratuitous. Meanwhile, his big hands kind of patted my back a couple of times uncertainly. But he didn’t move away. Beneath the salt of his skin, the scent of him, of his cologne, was only just detectable. The man made my mouth water. I didn’t even really feel bad about putting him in this position.
“See, isn’t this nice?” I asked.
He took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
I sighed happily.
“Okay, we’re done.” Strong hands gripped my hips, setting me back from him. His smile had returned to being of the strained variety. “Time to get to bed. I ah, yeah . . .”
“Good talk.” I headed for the steps. “Can I carry some of the bar gear up?”
“No. You just go on ahead,” he said. “I’ve got it. ’Night.”
Chapter Six
Eight Years Ago . . .
“What about him?”
“Hmm. No.” I took a sip of my iced coffee, scanning the passersby. “She’s pretty.”
Eyes hidden behind his shades, Pete sat slumped back in the café chair, totally at his ease. “Think you might like girls?”
I thought I might like him. Actually, I knew I did. But I might as well wish for the moon for all the good it would do me. “I figure it comes down to the person, not what’s in their pants, you know?”
“Sounds a bit more mature than I can manage.” He shrugged, then nodded. “But sure.”
It was Boxing Day. We’d decided to avoid the crowded shopping malls and equally crowded beaches by finding a nice, relaxing café. Due to his shit family situation and no current serious girlfriend, I’d convinced Dad yesterday to invite Pete to go to lunch with us at the Palmwoods Tavern. Pete claimed he could cook, but Dad sure as hell couldn’t. Also, he’d been too busy to get groceries. We’d been living on takeout for a week or more. Eating out was the way to go.
Fine with me.
“Did you call your sister for Christmas?” I asked. “Christina, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” A shadow passed across his face. “She’s a few years younger than me. We got on okay, but we’re not really close. She’s on the other side of the country, for one thing. Probably to avoid having to spend too much time with Dad.”
“You said she had kids?”
He shrugged. “Primary-school age. They’re pretty cute. She puts pictures up on Facebook.”
I nodded.
“Honestly, I talk more to you than I do her. Maybe I should just adopt you as my little sister? Put pictures of you up on Facebook.” He smiled. “What do you think?”
“I am not your little sister.”
Pete took off his sunglasses, a heavy scowl suddenly in place. But not directed at me.
“What?”
“That idiot checking you out over there,” he said. “Yeah, I see you. Put your eyes back in your head, asshole.”
Sure enough, a surfer dude stood at the counter, waiting on his coffee. Cute smile. Hot body. Not as hot as Pete’s, but we couldn’t all be walking perfection.
“Aren’t we sitting here checking people out?” I asked.
He ignored me, ranting on . . . “Put on a fucking shirt, why don’t you? You’re not on the beach now. Dickhead.” Obviously, we were not worrying about language. Pete followed the guy’s progress out of the café, his mouth a thin, unamused line, body on high alert. “To answer your question, he’s got to be at least in his twenties. Way too old for you; you’re just a kid.”
I frowned. “I won’t always be.”
“But you are for now.”
Friday . . . Now
My head was a little sore the next morning, care of the gin and tonics. I put the bikini back on along with some shorts and a T-shirt, took some painkillers, then got moving. Caloundra, a beach town, was only about a fifteen-to-twenty-minute drive. Took me a little while to find a parking spot at Kings Beach, then into the ocean pool I went. The surf looked a bit rough and I wasn’t sure my body was up to dealing with actual waves.
I kept my sunglasses on, rather than lose my retinas to the sun. There were lots of happy families and children screaming in delight. Coffee and eggs Benedict further helped revive me. I managed to find a café by the beach where I could sit pondering the pandanus palms, white sand, and crystal-blue water stretching out to the horizon. Beautiful.
As far as I knew, the only thing scheduled for today was the barbeque tonight with Shanti’s family. Happily, this gave me hours to pull myself together. Between
the long-haul drive up here and the frequent boozing, I was feeling a little delicate. This relaxation time was necessary.
With the car windows down and fresh air blowing in my face during the drive home, I almost felt human upon my return. Surprisingly, it was the middle of the day and Pete’s vehicle sat in the driveway.
The man himself stood on the front steps, hands on hips. Cargo pants and a polo shirt with the company logo on it seriously shouldn’t look so good. But, of course, on him they did. “Where the hell have you been?”
My brows jumped. “The beach. Why?”
“You couldn’t let anyone know where you were going or answer your phone maybe?”
Huh. “I forgot to check it.”
“You forgot to check it?”
“Yes,” I said. “What dire emergency has occurred to warrant this response, pray tell?”
He cocked his head and looked at me, jaw working back and forth. Lots of frowning, but his gaze actually seemed a little torn. Then he turned and stomped into the house.
Wow. Okay.
I smacked the remaining sand off my Birkenstocks and gathered up my damp towel and stuff, taking my time. Because no sane person would rush to follow a cranky-ass bear into its den. I did have some small amount of survival instincts. They just didn’t tend to kick in. But honestly, what the ever-loving fuck? I PMS’d with fewer mood swings than this man.
“Thought you didn’t want to get your hair wet,” he said accusingly as I stepped inside. He sat slumped on one of the dining chairs, palm bouncing off the long wooden table.
“I changed my mind.”
A grunt.
“Seriously, what is your problem?” I asked, more than a little upset myself.
Despite the outdoor shower at the beach, my long hair was loaded down with salt and tangled to shit. I wound it up, getting it off my sweaty neck. The day was already promising to be sweltering. “You always recommended hitting the beach to cure a hangover. Thought I’d give it a try.”