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

  I pressed my hands to my lips and sighed.

  Zane winked. “Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss.”

  I scowled, removing my hands. “And sometimes it’s exactly what it looks like. A guy crawling into a girl’s window in hopes for a midnight booty call.”

  Shock registered on his face before a smile curved the corners of his beautiful mouth. “I think you’d be shocked to find out just how many of those I’ve had.”

  “Trying to keep it in the double digits, huh?” I fired back just as he climbed down and waved goodbye.

  Frustrated, I slammed my window shut and locked it, then stomped over to my bed and hugged a pillow.

  It didn’t matter what he said.

  Because I’d only known him a couple of weeks.

  And he was asking me to trust him, not the hundreds and thousands of media sites that painted him as this horrified virgin deflowering villain.

  How many girls I wondered, had fallen under the spell of his kiss, the way he made them feel like it was the first time for him too — how many?

  I didn’t want to be number thirty-seven or eighty-seven in a long list of women who were seduced by his insane amount of charm.

  I sent one last text to him.

  Fallon: What time tomorrow?

  Zane: For sex?

  Fallon: Very funny. What time for inspiration?

  Zane: Are you asking about sex again?

  I let out a little growl and typed furiously on my phone.

  Fallon: Do you need me or not? Because I have things to do.

  He waited a few minutes then texted back.

  Zane: I like doing things.

  I rolled my eyes and glared up at the ceiling. Great, now I had to make up a thing I needed to do.

  Fallon: Shopping for… clothes.

  Zane: I love shopping.

  Had to admit, he was persistent in every area of his life.

  With a sigh, I typed back.

  Fallon: Fine, but no kissing, no touching, no seducing, none of the above. We go as friends or co-workers or something.

  Zane: Did you really just co-worker me?

  I smirked down at my phone.

  Zane: Four eyes, we cleaned bathrooms together, I HELPED YOU DISPOSE OF A CONDOM, is this all our relationship means to you? Co-workers?

  I giggled and turned off my light as the phone buzzed again.

  Zane: You may as well call me your “acquaintance” when making introductions, even though I’ve tasted you — numerous times.

  Fallon: Stop!

  Zane: At least three times now? Right? Or is it two? By the way, did you know that you taste amazing? I may write a song about it, strawberries and cotton candy, damn, I could go for those right now. You may even be better than marshmallows.

  Fallon: BLASPHEMY!

  Zane: Don’t yell, they’ll hear you.

  I tucked my phone under my pillow only to hear it buzz again.

  Zane: Let me take you shopping.

  Fallon: Are you pulling a Pretty Woman on me, Mr. Gere?

  Zane: Well, I am rich.

  Fallon: Should I be charging more?????

  Zane: Hilarious. I’ll pick you up in the morning, bring snacks, this could take a while. I’ve been in your closet.

  Rejection washed over me. See! I knew it! He was kissing me because I was convenient! Not because he found me even the least bit attractive.

  Zane: Though my vote will always be no clothes, you have killer legs, you know that right? BTW I wouldn’t say no to a few scantily clad pictures — just to get me through the night.

  I Googled a picture of a marshmallow and edited it to put a bikini top on it then sent it.

  Zane: I think I just orgasmed.

  Fallon: There’s more where that came from.

  Zane: Talk dirty to me — wait let me get comfortable — shirt’s off, I’m ready, hit me with it.

  I grabbed a few more pictures of s’mores and sent them over.

  Zane: Oh baby… That’s the spot. I think — I’m — going to—

  His text ended.

  Two minutes went by.

  Fallon: Did you die?

  Zane: No, I got hungry then felt awkward eating food porn, so I stole Jay’s Lucky Charms. Hey, since we’re sending dirty texts I think we should have phone sex, you know, to make it not weird that you were just sending me pictures of marshmallows. What are you wearing again?

  Fallon: Nice try.

  I yawned and smiled down at my phone. AH! Why did he have to be so funny?

  Zane: I’m naked.

  My breath hitched, and my mind shot to the visual of him dropping the blanket. Bad Fallon. Bad Fallon.

  With trembling fingers, I typed out.

  Fallon: Naked in bed with marshmallows? I may be jealous.

  Zane: I did offer to share…

  Fallon: I’m pretty sure our ideas of sharing are different.

  Zane: Doubtful. After all, you did kiss me back. Damn it, just think of all those places my tongue didn’t get to explore! Cruel woman.

  Fallon: I can’t believe you just said that!

  Zane: I HAD PLANS!

  Fallon: I’m sure you did.

  Zane: I guess the marshmallows will have to hold me over until then.

  Fallon: Then?

  Zane: When you let me keep you in my arms for longer than a few minutes — when I’m yours to keep right back.

  The conversation had shifted.

  And I didn’t know what to do.

  My heart was trying in vain to pump out of my chest while my fingers hovered over the phone. What was I supposed to say back?

  Finally, I managed to get a text out.

  Fallon: One day you’ll find the marshmallow for you ;)

  Zane: What if I already did?

  Abort! I needed to stop talking to him.

  Zane: I’m making you uncomfortable. You don’t know me. I get it. But give it time, pretty soon you’ll have everything about me memorized, maybe by then your judgment won’t be clouded by what you see on the internet and you’ll see me, just me.

  Fallon: And who is Zane Andrews?

  He didn’t reply back right away.

  Zane: Sometimes, I think, he’s still the scared little boy who was abandoned by his sisters and dropped off in foster care when the love of his life died.

  I gasped.

  Fallon: I had no idea. I’m so sorry.

  Zane: Everyone’s sorry. It doesn’t change the fact that it happened.

  Fallon: I know.

  Zane: Tomorrow. Don’t forget. And if you don’t bring marshmallows, I’m eating you. Your choice.

  Zane

  I slept like shit most of the night, tossing and turning as nightmares haunted me as if I was experiencing them all over again.

  * * *

  “Come on, Zane.” She giggled. “What’s the big deal? Touch me.”

  “I’m busy.” I yawned and snagged my AP Psych book in an attempt to put some distance between me and Cassie, just another girl in a blur of girls whose only goal in life was to get me to jump between her thighs.

  But I didn’t have time for that life.

  I ran the entire way to the house I’d been living in for the past three months. Rejection heated my face as I ducked and tried to run up the stairs.

  “Zane!” Mrs. Angel shouted my name with glee. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Great.

  When wasn’t she waiting for me?

  “Come have a snack!”

  “I ate.”

  Silence and then. “I provide a roof over your head, the least you can do is try my chocolate chip cookies. I made them just for you.”

  Yeah, I bet she did.

  I avoided eye contact as I hurriedly jogged into the kitchen and tried to swipe a cookie off the plate only to have my foster mom, the seventh I’d had in the past ten years, place her hand on mine and giggle. “There, there, isn’t that better?”

  She was high again.

  I slumped my shoulders a
nd begrudgingly sat on the chair, irritated that I was going to have to stay up until she passed out and make sure the rest of the kids got their homework done.

  It was a vicious cycle.

  She tried to touch me.

  I avoided her like the plague.

  Until I agreed to go to her bedroom with her, only to tuck her into bed and leave.

  Bile rose up in my throat as her fingertips danced up my forearm. “You’re growing up so much.”

  “Almost eighteen.” I muttered snatching my arm away. “You should make these cookies for my birthday.” I took another huge bite. “They’re good!”

  “I have lots of good to offer.” Her eyes darkened just as the screen door slammed.

  “Zane!” Phillip lunged for my lap then with a huge jump landed in my arms and swiped my cookie, it was in his mouth before I could even utter a hello. “I missed you.”

  Mrs. Angel, as she had us call her, reared back and pretended to be arranging the cookies on the plate, but we both knew what she had been doing, again, since the first day of my arrival.

  She, like every other female in my life, wanted something from me. Something of the sexual nature.

  Sometimes I wondered if it was my fault.

  Was I too nice?

  Too polite?

  Grandma had taught me to be all of those things.

  “Phillip.” Mrs. Angel clapped her hands. “Why don’t you wash your hands while Zane helps me upstairs really quick. I’m tired.”

  Phillip jumped off my lap and made a beeline for the bathroom while Mrs. Angel narrowed her gaze on me.

  Sighing, I grabbed her outstretched hand and walked her up the creaky stairs and into her dark bedroom.

  The blinds were drawn.

  It smelled like cigarette smoke and sweat.

  I stuffed one hand in my pocket, grasping the marshmallow I’d stuffed in there after lunchtime. It was the one thing that Mrs. Angel did right. She bought marshmallows, but sometimes I had to save them for days, making them hard, impossible to eat, but at least I could grasp it, know that as long as I had the marshmallows, Grandma was there with me.

  “Tuck me in, Zane?” Mrs. Angel winked, pulling her ratty blonde hair back into a ponytail. On the outside, she was the perfect foster parent. A nurse by day and a fantastic mother to six foster boys at night, her husband was a cop.

  They were perfect.

  The perfect family.

  In an old ranch house in Texas.

  The agency called us the lucky ones.

  And maybe, the other boys were, we had acres and acres of land to roam on, but I wasn’t lucky.

  I had never been lucky.

  Because she was a bored housewife with a job that left her too much access to pills.

  And her husband had been cheating on her for ten years.

  Which left me.

  The eye candy.

  Her ticket to pleasure.

  Or so she thought.

  “Zane,” She pouted, her red lips pressed together in a smirk. “I won’t bite.”

  I quickly pushed her toward the bed and very crassly shoved her in then pulled covers over her.

  “Stay.” She grabbed my hand.

  “No.” I jerked back.

  “You need an older woman…”

  “No.” I licked my lips. “I need a mom.”

  Her face paled.

  “So if you can’t at least be that to me, then we have nothing more to say.”

  “Don’t be a little bitch.” She scowled. “It’s just sex.”

  “Then why are you so upset about it?” I said as gently as possible. “If it was just sex, you should laugh it off, move on. Don’t use me to make you feel better.”

  With a furious yell, she reached up and slammed her hand against my face. “You piece of shit! How DARE you talk to me that way!”

  I stumbled back, just as the door slammed downstairs.

  “Tawny?” Bill was home, her husband, my foster dad. “Tawny you okay?”

  Her eyes narrowed in on me, and then with venom in her expression she tore at her own shirt revealing cleavage and pulled down her bra then burst into tears.

  Dumbstruck I stayed on the ground.

  It happened in slow motion.

  Bill walking in the room.

  Seeing the state of his sobbing wife.

  Me on the floor, looking guilty as hell.

  Luck shifted.

  Lucky to be alive after such a beating.

  Lucky my face didn’t break in half.

  Lucky.

  Lucky.

  Lucky.

  Lucky to spend the last three months of my seventeen years, at an orphanage.

  Lucky.

  That on my eighteenth birthday.

  I no longer belonged to the state.

  Lucky.

  That I spent the very first night of my freedom, sleeping under a bridge with the rats.

  Lucky.

  I was so damn lucky.

  * * *

  I kicked the wall with my shoe and fumbled for more marshmallows, cursing my entire existence as my hands shook, fingers trembling as memories continued to replay over and over in my head.

  I had no idea what brought them on.

  Just that I hated them. I hated me. I didn’t find out until two years later, at one of my first concerts — Phillip had grown into a good-looking fifteen-year-old.

  And she’d hurt him too.

  Only this time, justice was served.

  Because Phillip turned her in.

  Stomach recoiling, I ran into the bathroom and puked up marshmallow like I was hung over, then wiped my mouth.

  My phone buzzed.

  My agent’s number flashed across the screen.

  I hit ignore.

  He called two more times before finally texting. Persistent.

  Brees: Where are the songs? You’ve sent me two. We need twelve more for a full album. Call me.

  With a sigh, I texted back.

  Saint: I’m doing some mind cleansing today and will get the next four songs to you by tonight, I’ll stop at the studio.

  Brees: Look, I’m not trying to be an asshole, but you need to get your shit together. I’ve given you time. The record company has given you time. The whole damn world has given you time. Now get it done.

  Saint: Heard you loud and clear.

  Brees: Good.

  I was tempted to throw my phone against the wall. Instead, I quickly put on clothes and grabbed a bag of marshmallows before running out the door.

  There was only one thing that would make me feel even marginally better about my shit night.

  And unfortunately, she thought I was a complete player, a man whore of the first order, president of the slut club.

  Great, just great. I avoided needy women all my life only to find one who doesn’t need me — hell, if anything I needed her more.

  I needed something.

  I couldn’t blame my foster mom for wanting love.

  I was jaded enough to get it — for just one split second, it was tempting, and then I felt the marshmallow in my pocket, it had been hard from being stuffed there all day.

  Grandma would be horrified.

  I would be horrified.

  It wasn’t worth it.

  My love was worth more than that, I had more to give than that — I had everything.

  The only problem?

  I’d never found anyone, who really wanted it, scars, past and all.

  Fallon

  “So, Canon Beach hmm?” Mom’s eyes penetrated through to my guilty little soul. Because for the past few days, I’d convinced both parents that Zane’s visits meant nothing.

  Right. Dinner with my parents five nights in a row.

  Nothing.

  Coffee with my mom because he just happened to be hanging out in the neighborhood and noticed she was out of creamer?

  Nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  “Yup.” I blew out an exasperated breath. She was stil
l staring at me, her eyes boring into my body like she was trying to create little holes through my skin. Finally, I turned around. “Just say it.”

  “What?” She couldn’t lie to save her life.

  “Whatever it is you have to say.” I checked my phone. “He’s picking me up in five minutes.”

  “He’s been over a lot.” Her casual tone wasn’t fooling me, not one bit. “Are you sure this is still a friendship?”

  “Of course.” I rolled my eyes. “Mom, he’s a rockstar.”

  “That rockstar offered to go hunting with your dad.”

  “He was cornered!” I threw my hands into the air. “It was either hunt or be hunted!”

  Mom burst out laughing. “Oh honey, your father’s not that good of a shot, just tell Zane to zigzag.”

  “Good talk mom.” I tried walking past her, but she reached out and gently grabbed my hand. I paused.

  “Just be careful,” she whispered. “I like him. So does your dad, it’s just… we don’t want to see you hurt when he leaves.”

  And there it was.

  The reminder.

  That my “friend” would leave me.

  Honestly, I should be thankful that he was going before I was too attached, but all I could do was stare at the stupid spot he’d sat at our dinner table the night before and wonder what it would feel like when it was empty for longer than twenty-four hours.

  When he forgot me.

  When he returned to his fabulous life.

  I shivered at the thought just as a horn honked outside. “Bye, mom.” I kissed her on the cheek and went out to meet my friend.

  Just a friend.

  A really hot one.

  Sexy.

  Oh, who am I kidding.

  Zane waved and then flashed me a grin.

  Friend my ass.

  * * *

  * * *

  Something was wrong.

  He was fidgety, his smiles forced.

  And when I started talking about his music, he completely shut down, his face a mask of indifference, like he didn’t care about anything, not even the fact that I was complimenting him on the lyrics to his newest love song.