Take Me To The Beach

by K. L. Grayson, Karina Halle, A. L. Jackson, Marni Mann, Monica Murphy, Devney Perry, Kristen Proby, Rachel Van Dyken

  “Mmmm,” Zane groaned. “Oh there, right there.”

  “Zane! Stop it! People are staring!”

  “You can’t see!” He laughed and then let out another loud moan as he slammed his hands onto the table. “Right. There.”

  The louder he got, the more I slumped into my chair, at one point, just giving up and covering my head with my napkin while he basically took advantage of the table and chair.

  “So. Close.” From underneath my napkin, I noticed his hands grip the table and give it a little shake before he fell back against his chair and let out a “Shit… that was good.”

  A few seconds went by.

  And then Zane was pulling my napkin off and shoving my glasses back onto my face, wearing a Cheshire Cat style grin and looking way too pleased with himself. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Probably.”

  “People are still staring.”

  “Yup.”

  “I don’t like staring people.”

  “Well…” He crouched down in front of me. “They’re probably trying to figure out how you got me to orgasm with a napkin covering your head.” His lips curved up into a delicious smile. “Magic? Or are you just that good in bed?”

  I straightened, ignoring my heated face. “Maybe I’m just that good in bed, ever thought of that?”

  He sobered, his perfect smile temporarily breaking before he recovered and shrugged. “Now I will.”

  “Great,” I grumbled. “Just what I need.”

  “Hey…” He returned to his seat and started snapping the crab legs, tossing meat onto my plate every few minutes—and refusing to let me grab the mallet, pushing it farther out of my reach until I’d have to actually walk around the table to grab it. “What’s so bad about our newfound friendship?”

  “You orgasm with all your friends?” What were these words? The brave ones coming from my mouth? Maybe it was him, I couldn’t help but be confident because as a whole he was completely ridiculous, too confident, too arrogant for his own good. And the whole situation was something that didn’t happen to real people, so my responses always felt like, I don’t know, like I was in a dream, or drunk. Ugh.

  “Only the ones I like.” he said with a simple shrug, that dangerous smile locking onto me again and refusing to let go. “Besides, I figure we’re good for each other.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, clearly your life is boring without me. You’re in desperate need of a makeover before you head off to school — that is, if you ever want to attract attention of the male variety…”

  I gasped.

  “Don’t even get me started on your glasses.”

  I stood, ready to leave.

  “Sit.”

  I didn’t want to.

  But his eyes were pleading, like a puppy, I’d always wanted a pet growing up, but my dad quite literally shot them all, even my pet bunny.

  He served it for dinner.

  I wondered if it was a bad time to tell Zane I was a vegetarian, only eating seafood out of necessity.

  “What’s your point? Are you going to take me out on a pity date? Get some good publicity? What’s your angle? What do you get out of our friendship?”

  “Okay.” Zane broke eye contact, not something he did often. “You want the truth?”

  “Please.” I braced myself for impact.

  “I’m lonely.”

  I burst out laughing.

  He didn’t.

  My eyes narrowed. Could he be telling the truth? “You live with friends.”

  “You know what?” He stood, his frown deepening. “You’re completely right. This is a bad idea. Being friends never works. We come from different worlds. I’m hot you’re… cute as hell when you aren’t wearing grandma glasses and tugging at your clothes like they itch.”

  Suddenly more self-conscious, I tugged at my t-shirt and glared.

  As usual, he ignored me. “But it can’t end well. Right? So best to just let this be the first and last date, end on a handshake, and go our separate ways.” He held out his hand.

  I stared at it.

  Even his hands were pretty.

  Well, that was unfair.

  I took it in mine and squeezed. “Are you using reverse psychology?”

  “Two years,” Zane whispered. “I graduated summa cum laude. Psych major with a minor in family therapy.”

  “But—”

  “Is it working?” His smile was back.

  “So, you really just want a friend?”

  “I want a local friend. I want a friend who can take me to all the places that inspire her in Seaside. I need to finish this album, but I can’t…” He licked his lips. “I can’t do it alone, get it? And I have zero creativity at the house.”

  “What do you mean you can’t do it alone?”

  “I’m afraid of the dark.”

  “So go during the day.”

  “Four eyes…” he groaned. “I wish I could do it alone, but I can’t do it alone, literally can’t do it alone.” His hand was still in mine, it started to shake again as his eyes darted to all the people around us, the people watching us, his grip tightened as he moved closer to us.

  He looked terrified.

  Which is why the next word out of my mouth was. “Okay.”

  Zane

  The morning light pierced through the curtains, dancing along my fingertips, its warmth reminding me that it was a new day, and I’d made a really shitty life choice by inviting someone to share it with me.

  What the hell had I been thinking?

  I knew it was a bad idea the minute the offer left my lips. She was too perceptive by half — most of the people I knew, didn’t give a rat’s ass that I didn’t like crowds. They assumed it was a complete privacy thing.

  But that was the really unfortunate part about studying your own brain and human behavior — you realize that sometimes there is literally no explanation for why you go into fight or flight, or why for some reason, I can handle crowds if I’m distracted or with a friend, but have trouble going to the grocery store by myself.

  One meltdown.

  I’d had one meltdown at a concert last year.

  The record label wasn’t pleased.

  It wasn’t my fault everyone assumed it was drugs, the perfect storm of overheating, being dehydrated, and having a full-blown panic attack while the stage broke beneath my boots sending me careening into the crowd.

  The real sucky thing about being an artist? I take inspiration from the very thing that terrifies me — people.

  So, how the hell could I write good songs when I’m not around them?

  I couldn’t.

  I’d tried.

  For two months.

  And had about fifty renditions of Old Mc Donald, before I started trying to go for walks on the beach, all it took was one bad experience with a dog owner and a kite, and I was back in the house shaking.

  I stared up at the ceiling.

  Damn but the fan seemed to be staring right back, each time it whipped around and tossed air in my general direction I felt its words.

  Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

  Miserable.

  Miserable.

  Miserable.

  I’d been up for hours.

  Ready to start my day.

  Ready to write some music — because my fingers itched for it, my hands trembled with the need to deal with my anxiety, but I was blocked, blocked by the white ceiling and white walls, blocked by the inability to think outside the white suffocating box I was in.

  And unable to think past the fact that I was completely using a nice girl in order to further my career — something I’d never thought I would be guilty of. She was fun to hang out with, but not my type, not at all. She was too innocent, and although I wasn’t the sexual deviant she thought me, I wasn’t a saint either.

  Far freaking from it.

  She was this breath of fresh air.

  I was the darkness
sucking it in. At least that was what it felt like.

  But, that was where my exercises came in. Just because it felt like the end of the world, didn’t mean the world was actually ending.

  I hopped out of bed and glanced out the window. The sun was just rising, and all looked right on the beach.

  See? World wasn’t ending.

  I snatched a few marshmallows from my nightstand and swallowed them nearly whole, my body finally relaxing enough for me to think clearly and stop assuming the worst about what type of day I was going to have.

  “Everything is fine,” I said out loud. “It’s going to be a good day. You’re going to get a shit ton accomplished.” I closed my eyes and did a few jumps in place then started walking out of my room.

  Naked.

  By now, the guys were just used to it and the girls well, they just assumed I liked people staring at me — which was so wrong it was almost laughable.

  I could do without the stares.

  But I was comfortable without clothes the same way people found comfort in wearing sweats.

  I just refused to explain why, God save me. I could just hear the girl’s sighs if I told them the real reason behind most of my behavior. There would be tears, pity sighs, and lots of hugging.

  It would be horrible.

  Like an actual nightmare coming to life.

  I wasn’t the type of guy who wanted a hug and a good cry — I would much rather have a dude punch me in the face and tell me to stop being a pussy.

  “Yo!” I wandered into the kitchen just in time for Jay to toss a newspaper.

  “Cover your nuts,” he said calmly, “and I’ll allow you a cup of coffee.”

  “Oh, you’ll allow me?”

  He didn’t look, just poured a cup of coffee and held it out to me. “Are they covered?”

  “Yup.” I placed the newspaper over my dick with one hand. “Now hand it over.”

  “Have you thought about it?”

  “I know you’re a morning person, but I need more coffee, less words, it’s six a.m., Jay.”

  “And if I know you, which I’d like to think I do since I’ve known you for around five years now, you’ve been up since three-thirty staring at your ceiling followed by that little voodoo self-talk thing you do as you look out the window, telling yourself, ‘hey I’m going to go try to walk out in public today.’ And if my hearing is accurate, which I think it is, you jumped three times in the air, clapped, and walked out here. So don’t bullshit me about how it’s early.”

  “Hell, sometimes I hate you.” I rolled my eyes. “And there’s a difference between being awake and awake.”

  “You literally just said the same word twice,” Jay pointed out in a condescending tone. “I have to be on set in five minutes. You should stop by.”

  “So you can convince me to act?”

  “Yes.” Jay ran a hand through his long brown hair, shoving it to the side before grabbing his Ray Bans. “Look, you need a distraction, I’m a shit friend if I let you just sit in here with the curtains pulled.”

  “I’m not.”

  “The hell you’re not!” he yelled. “You won’t even go to the beach by yourself anymore!”

  It was getting worse. Did he think I was stupid? Of course, I saw all the signs, felt them, they choked me every freaking day. I didn’t need a reminder. Especially not from him.

  “I met someone.”

  “Oh hell, I don’t have time for this.” Jay shoved his sunglasses onto his face and dumped his remaining coffee into the sink, bracing his hands against the granite, his muscles tense.

  “We made a trade. I’m going to help her, she’s going to help me. I told her I couldn’t write my album alone, and she’s agreed to be like… a tour guide.”

  “A bloody tour guide?” Jay roared slamming his hands against the counter. “You need a therapist! Not a tour guide!”

  “Go to hell!” I roared. “What are you, my dad?”

  “No.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I’m not your dad, but if I was, I’d tell you to get your head out of your ass and get some help. I know you know it’s getting worse, you need to talk to someone, someone who knows how to help.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Are you taking your meds?”

  I flipped him off and shoved past him.

  “Zane.”

  “Yes.” I grit my teeth. “But clearly, they aren’t helping if I can’t go for a run on the beach by myself.”

  “This girl…” Jay sighed. “Are you going to tell her?”

  “What’s there to tell?” I challenged, crossing my arms. “I told her I can’t do it alone, and she offered to help. I get Cinderella to the ball, and she makes it so I can finish my album on time. Everyone wins.”

  “Does she, though?” Jay just had to ask. “Some local girl with stars in her eyes?”

  “Trust me,” I grumbled. “There’s zero interest on both ends. She’s cute, but not my type, and I get the distinct impression that if it was between a science nerd and me, she’d do him in a heartbeat all the while wondering if I even know how to spell.”

  “You have a master’s degree in—”

  I burst out laughing. “What? Should I flash my degrees?”

  “You worked hard for them.” Jay shrugged. “Not everyone can do school full time and tour.”

  “Yeah well, I’m also a marshmallow-addicted hermit.”

  “There is that,” Jay agreed with a flick of his hand.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Hey, you said it, not me. I was just thinking it, only in more crass terms, lots more swearing.”

  “You done?”

  “Ten minutes a day.” Jay pointed his finger at me. “Even dogs get walks.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Did you just compare me to a bitch?”

  He grinned. “Don’t forget… you’re welcome on set anytime.”

  When hell freezes over. “I know.”

  Jay started to talk away and then paused before grabbing his keys and turning back around. “This girl, she isn’t like…” He did a weird thing with his hands in the air and then coughed. “The one?”

  “Whoa!” I matched his awkward hand motions. “There will be none of that.”

  “Because you’re afraid of girls?”

  “I threw many a rocks in my day.”

  “Hah.” Jay nodded. “Fine, fine, just, remember, she’s a mere mortal, you can’t run around naked pelting her with marshmallows and writing her love notes with a circle yes or no life decision, alright?”

  “Like I would ever confess my love in a note. I’m more of a sing-my-feelings sort of guy.”

  “I know this. So does the rest of America. Just tread carefully… sometimes the ones we think are the strongest are the most frail.” He eyed me up and down. “Case in point.”

  “Message received.”

  “Good talk.”

  “Yup.”

  “Don’t give away your V card to a girl who won’t appreciate it, man.”

  “Dude.” I shook my head. “Too far. Go to work already so you can come home and make sweet love to Mom.”

  “Gross.”

  “Hey, you’re the one treating me like I’m your child.”

  “Bastard.” He chuckled as the door slammed behind him.

  I snatched my coffee off the bar and made my way back into the bedroom, my eyes locking in on my guitar and the stupid clothes I knew would have to accompany it if I didn’t want to get arrested while hanging out with Fallon.

  With resignation, I marched over to the clothes and pulled them on. It felt like my life, the way I put on clothes.

  I wanted to be secure.

  Naked.

  Myself.

  I put on clothes because my true self wasn’t accepted… not really. Because even though people screamed “Saint”—what they really wanted was a sinner.

  Sometimes I hated my life.

  Fallon

  You know how doctors always sa
y never to do an internet search of your symptoms? I believed them. I refused to Google anything.

  I’d always been cautious to a fault.

  Half nerd, half goody two-shoes.

  More focused on my grades than my hair or the fact that girls around me were wearing heels while I was still sporting chucks and vintage band T-shirts.

  So, the morning after seeing Zane, after agreeing to his asinine plan and walking home in a complete daze.

  I did the unthinkable.

  I typed in his name.

  Zane Andrews.

  My first mistake was assuming that it would be all about his music and his time in Seaside.

  Instead, there were so many pictures of the guy shirtless that I almost dropped my phone in my bowl of oatmeal, and about died on the spot when my dad snatched my phone instead of his off the table.

  And being an idiot, mine wasn’t password protected.

  So he got a huge eyeful of chest.

  And nearly collided with a wall in an attempt to get away from the kitchen and his daughter’s dirty pictures.

  “What’s the plan for today?” Mom plopped down next to me and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Work and then home?”

  I squirmed in my seat.

  “Stop that,” she said without looking up from her own phone. “You always fidget when you’re nervous. Now, no lying.”

  Groaning, I pushed around a few raisins in my bowl. “I’m working the morning shift and then… hanging out with Zane.”

  My mom didn’t say anything. I chanced a look at her out of the corner of my eye.

  Her smile was frozen on her face. “Honey…” She set down her phone and touched my hand. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  I pushed my black glasses, the ones that had been fixed the day before, up my nose and sighed. “Mom, it’s not like that.”

  “He’s a guy, a famous guy, and you’re just…” She tilted her head as if she couldn’t come up with one single word in the English vocabulary that would describe the enigma that was her daughter. “You.”

  “Is this where you actually do the opposite of parents worldwide and tell me not to act like myself?”

  “You don’t stutter around him.”

  “I don’t stutter around you guys either.”