Summer Girl (Summer Girl #1)

by S. Love

  The glint in Falcon’s eyes dies with his smirk. “What, because we don’t have the same bank balance we could never happen?” He makes a scoffing sound. “That’s bullshit. Money’s money. Fooling around’s fooling around. No one’s getting married. You were with G, and he walks around with dollar signs in his eyes.”

  “He dumped me,” I reiterate.

  “Back to my case in point.”

  I sigh. I can feel a headache coming on. “I don’t know,” I say, my voice tinged with skepticism.

  Falcon rises to his feet, taking my gaze with him. He’s over six feet of lean, solid muscle, and I’d appreciate a few minutes just to stare at him.

  “How old are you, Lyla?”

  “Sixteen,” I say, “But I’m turning seventeen at the end of July. How old are you?”

  “Nineteen.” He smooths his hand over his jaw, reading me with his eyes. “Think about what I asked you and let me know.” He offers me his hand, the one with the black Rolex, and I take it, unfolding my legs to stand up. He tugs me closer, a whisper of night air dividing our bodies, his so much bigger and wider than mine. So much more commanding and domineering, I consider taking a leap and bridging the gap that’s left me chilled just to find out whether he feels as incredible as he looks. But I feel too small under his shadow, and more than a little intimidated.

  Maybe Falcon picks up on this. His hand circles my wrist, thumb sweeping gently over my sensitive flesh, awakening my pulse so that it thrums. I look up. Past his strong jaw and full mouth, his straight roman nose, into his shaded brown eyes. The boy’s all man, and I’m not sure I’d be able to keep up with him. Convince anyone we’re a match when I can’t even convince myself.

  Could I be his equal?

  Did I want to try?

  He slides his fingers through my hair, drawing it back from my face, and he’s leaning over me like he’s about to kiss me. “Just think about it,” he says.

  Chapter 6

  Monday, my first official day of work, Cindy means business when she supplies me with two uniforms. Mint green dresses with short white aprons that tie around my waist. I’m kinda relieved I don’t have to choose my own outfit each day, otherwise I’d run out of clothes—fast.

  I’ve had the whole night and, I’m not going to lie, most of the morning, to stress over what Falcon’s asked me to do. Released from my hypnotic state, I’m not as on board as I thought I would be. I’m far from over Garrett, but a show of lies to win him back is beyond wrong. And I’m a terrible liar. I’m not even sure I could pull it off without looking like a fraud, and Garrett deserves more than that. I’m not denying he’s treated me pretty badly in the past, but if we were to start fresh, it should be with honesty. From my end as well as his. If he can’t trust me, there’s no way I can trust him. That’s just how it works.

  Ready for the day ahead in my uniform and a new pair of white tennis shoes, I slide bobby pins into my hair, securing my high ponytail.

  Cindy’s out for the morning at her spinning class, and there’s a peacefulness over the house, the waves lapping the shore a calming white noise trickling in from outside.

  As I work my way around the house, it becomes clear I’m the only one home. Without the distractions of anyone getting in my way, I’ve cleaned all three bathrooms and the master bathroom before eleven a.m. I strip the bed sheets and covers and load up the double washing machine in the utility room that’s joined onto the kitchen. I’m putting clean white sheets on Ozzie’s king-size bed when he strolls through the open door.

  I shake the down-filled duvet, so the corners match up with the bedspread, pretending like Ozzie isn’t here and he isn’t dying to fire off a smart-mouthed comment.

  He walks behind me and opens one of the drawers in his dresser. From the corner of my eye, I see him drop his board shorts. I fist the duvet tighter, moving to the side of the bed that puts my back to Ozzie’s naked body. I tuck in the edges and fluff the pillows, picking up the laundry basket when I’m done.

  I don’t give Ozzie an ounce of my attention, even if he is now fully dressed in a T-shirt and loose jeans.

  “Hold up,” he says. I’ve got one foot in the hallway.

  “Yes?” I don’t look behind me, just shift my head to the side so he knows I don’t particularly care for whatever he’s got to say.

  “Don’t ever clean or touch another thing in my room again.”

  “Cindy pays me to clean—”

  “I said fucking keep out. Clean the rest of this shithole, but don’t ever come back in here.”

  My knuckles blanch around the basket that I’m no longer holding but choking. Ozzie shoulders past me, knocking me out of his way before I can let him know what I think of his petty demands. He thunders down the staircase, barefoot, and I carry on with my work, eliminating any opportunity to stress over what just happened.

  “He doesn’t matter,” I say to myself as I wash the floors.

  I take out the trash. “I hate him.”

  “Fucking asshole,” I mutter, the loud hum from the vacuum swallowing my rant.

  When it’s time to unload the laundry machine and transfer the sheets to the dryer, I’m too worn out from cleaning to go on allowing my anger from my run in with Ozzie to control me.

  The Osbornes’ part-time personal chef, Mikel, is preparing dinner in the kitchen, and I set the table, the spicy, earthy aroma of Cajun shrimp so mouthwateringly good my stomach rumbles. Mikel and I don’t speak to each other, and I hustle out of his way and go to my room before anyone else comes home.

  I’ve completed everything on Cindy’s list for today and I crash on my bed, face-first, unconcerned with the possibility of suffocation from my pillow. I don’t know how long I’m lying there, on the brink of dozing off, when a soft tapping at my door slams the breaks on sleep. Two gentle knocks followed by a pause. Honestly, there isn’t a person in the house I’m in the mood to see or talk to, and I let whoever’s there knock twice more, harder this time, before I drag myself off the bed and open the door.

  Falcon’s standing on the other side, hands shoved into his jean’s pockets.

  “The answer’s no,” I say, pushing the door closed.

  One booted foot shooting out between the frame and the door stops me from closing it all the way. With one hand, he forces the door back open, taking me with it like our combined weight totals zero.

  He walks calmly into my room, turning the lock on the door and making me his prisoner.

  “A bunch of us are surfing later. Come with me.”

  I keep things short. “No.”

  His eyebrow arches, his lips quirking as though amused by my answer. “Jardine will be there.”

  “I’m still not coming.”

  “You need more time to think about this, and more reason to say yes. Come with me and I’ll give you a reason. G doesn’t mind seeing us together? Fine, you win, and I’ll find some other girl. She won’t be my first choice…” Falcon takes a step closer, forcing me to take a step back. This close to my bed isn’t where I want to be. “How’s that sound?”

  My gaze rakes from the shirt stretched over Falcon’s chest all the way up to his chocolate brown eyes. Brown eyes that simmer like they hold the power to see through me. Strip me bare and convince me without relying on the influence of words.

  I sigh, glancing away. “I’ll come,” I say. “When?”

  “Meet me out back at nine and we’ll walk to the pier together.”

  I nod. I’m not entirely happy or sure that going anywhere with him is in my best interests. All I’m sure of is needing to get Falcon out of my room. None of this is right, but all I can think about is Garrett. Seeing him tonight. Getting him to notice me. Maybe even regret breaking up with me. He never gave me a valid reason for cutting me loose, he just did it. Called me and told me we were done. “It isn’t the right time for me” he’d said. And unlike the many times before, that time he’d meant it. I’d heard it in his voice, the finality that twists up my gut even today. />
  I shake my head and the memory. It’s another early start tomorrow, and if I’m staying out late tonight, I’m catching up on an hour’s sleep now, while I’ve got time to myself.

  Out on the deck, Falcon’s sitting on the end of a sun lounger, his surfboard across his knees as he vigorously rubs a bar of wax over it. The shortboard’s a psychedelic swirl of purple, blue, and aqua, the design painted with a fine and talented hand. He glances over his shoulder when he hears my flip-flops slapping the deck floor, his eyes leveled on mine before he blinks, mumbles a quick, “Hey,” and returns his attention to waxing his board.

  “Hey.” I stroll over to him, and he puts the bar of wax on the floor and stands up, tucking his board under his arm.

  “What’s in the bag?” he asks, frowning at my backpack that’s strapped to two shoulders.

  “A towel. My phone. A book.”

  One of Falcon’s eyebrows lifts. “A book?”

  “Yeah… Pages, ink. Words…”

  “I don’t know what kind of boring shit you got up to when you were with G, but you won’t need that. Not when you’re with me.”

  And I damn well shiver. Goose bumps rippling from the base of my spine all the way to my wrists, my fingertips tingling.

  I bite back a smile. “We’ll see.”

  Falcon’s chest moves with silent laughter, his eyes warming with his slow smile. We don’t say much as we walk along the beach, the sun a smoldering inferno along the imaginary edge of the ocean, tropical flames receding with every minute that eclipses the purple-tinted sky.

  When we reach the pier, I make a point of not identifying which body is Garrett’s.

  A blazing fire of driftwood sparks life to the dense shadows clinging to the sea-eroded wooden posts. Empty beer bottles and cans litter the sand, and music plays from somewhere. Fish boards, longboards, shortboards, hybrids; nearly every type of surfboard is standing up against a post or lying in the sand. The crowd building under and around the pier is a divide of serious surfers here for the night waves, the other half with plans of getting wasted.

  If Garrett’s here, he’s here for the waves as well as the beer. I used to love watching him surf. And I loved him even more when he would let me use his board, showing me which waves and wedge barrels would be just right for me.

  He was just right for you.

  I balk as cool skin skims my palm, fingers slotting between mine, and my hand’s swallowed up in Falcon’s.

  I glance up at him, but he’s looking ahead, this unexpected handholding—without my permission—no kind of concern to him. His strides are long and measured, and I take double just to keep pace with him. He’s barefoot, bare-chested, and enormous.

  We’ve got everyone’s attention as we walk around the crackling bonfire and under the pier, the temperature dropping by degrees. All eyes are on our approach, heads turning and hands covering mouths as whispers are passed back and forth.

  “I feel really uncomfortable,” I say, loud enough for Falcon and no one else to hear me. I keep any expression from my face as I glance around me, open to judgement from every angle and shrouded corner.

  “Get used to it,” is Falcon’s unhelpful response. “I’m about to make you even more uncomfortable.”

  My heart’s beating too fast, and Falcon’s smirking face only makes my pulse race quicker. We walk farther away from the delicious heat of the fire, and Falcon’s dragging me along behind him, as if sensing the urgency in me to take flight.

  “What’s up, Con,” people call out. Falcon merely dips his chin in acknowledgement, and I notice no one’s greeting me. The only reactions I’m attracting are odd looks, narrowed eyes, and confused frowns. I’m like an oddity. I preferred it when I went unnoticed.

  Falcon digs the tail end of his board into the sand and swipes two beers from a nearby cooler. He sits in the sand, tugging me down with him.

  I fall into his lap and scowl at him, shuffling off his thighs and onto the sand. I’m sure he wanted me on top of him, but there’s no way in hell I’m giving him that much of me this soon. He’s lucky I let the hand incident slide.

  He twists the cap off one of the beers, grinning as he hands me the bottle.

  “Thanks,” I say, my tone streaked with petulance. He opens his own, and I go rigid when his arm drapes over my shoulders, his forearm dangling heavily over my left breast.

  “Cool it,” I whisper-hiss, using my beer to cover my mouth and my annoyance. “If this is going to be believable, we can’t make it look like we happened overnight.”

  “So, you’re in?” Falcon’s skepticism carries in his voice, showing in the lines around his eyes. He tips his head back to look at me, but I’ve found something better in the distance.

  Garrett’s wading through the water, the tide up to his trim waist. He drags a hand through his soaking wet hair, and my stomach rolls watching him. His skin glistens with pearly drops of water, the moon casting a silver shadow over his hard, flat stomach. A stomach I’m no longer free to touch but feels like belongs to me regardless.

  “I’m in,” I say to Falcon, my eyes on Garrett walking over the sand. I’m not done with Garrett, and I’m not wasting any more energy pretending I want to be. I want him back, and I’ll do just about anything to get him.

  Chapter 7

  Garrett strolls past the bonfire, orange flames flickering and stretching a distortion of shadows across his long, lithe body. He glimpses me sitting with Falcon more than once, each strained glance he throws me yanking at another thread of excitement, chasing jittery anticipation.

  Until he walks right up to a girl with blonde curly hair and she giggles—giggles—when he shakes his head of floppy hair, water droplets spraying her bikini-covered chest. Black triangles of elasticated scrap. I’ve heard of side-boob, but this girl’s mastered a healthy amount of under-boob. She’s got so many curves she’s struggling to keep them all contained. Apart from the curly hair, there aren’t any physical similarities between us.

  I finish my beer, giving myself something to do other than stare at my ex-boyfriend and his Barbie doll playmate.

  With an internal sigh, I mentally take back the Barbie doll insult, because Barbie’s beautiful, and this girl hasn’t done anything wrong.

  Chilly air slithers from my shoulder down to my bathing suit. Falcon’s arm’s no longer around me. He’s standing up, pulling his board from the sand. He gives me a look. Long, heavy-lidded, and he manages to draw it out so that no one else on this beach exists beyond me. It’s just us, and I question his abilities. How he’s able to capture me like that, so easily and without my consent.

  He’s not the one you want.

  I push up onto my feet, dusting the powdery sand from the backs of my thighs and denim cutoffs.

  “You surf?” Falcon asks.

  I eye the board under his arm. “A little. I’m no Kelly Slater.”

  A slight jerk of his head toward the shore and I’m following him to the tideline, the breeze from the ocean rippling through my long hair. I kick off my flip-flops and unbutton my cutoffs, sliding them down my legs and then folding them up to leave on the sand.

  My white bathing suit’s nothing special; a DKNY hand-me-down from Talia. Too nice for the trash but no longer making the cut for her closet. But Falcon’s eyeballing me like I’m the special food item in an all-you-can-eat contest.

  There’s nowhere to hide out here under the moonlight. Standing on the edge of miles and miles of frothing ocean. I can’t cover my body from Falcon’s eyes. Mask how my pulse has shot up, or my blood pounding through my veins. Falcon’s a lot for any person, but for me he’s too much.

  He tears his gaze away from me, swallows, and then walks into the water with his board. When we’re both wading waist-deep, he tells me to get on the board, and I paddle out with Falcon swimming beside me. When I’ve paddled deep enough into the ocean, I sit up on the board, my legs plunging into water that’s nowhere near as warm as the weather, and Falcon hoists himself onto the boar
d behind me, his chest pressed to my back. I stick to his wet skin, the salty water tricking over his flat abs acting as an adhesive that binds us together. His thighs cradle my legs as we bob over the small swells.

  “This isn’t surfing,” I say. My voice comes out tiny. Shaking with indecisiveness as the breath leaves my lungs. There’s no one out here but us, insignificant specs on the outskirts of an abyss. There are a few boards closer to the shore, but Falcon and I are beyond the point of breaking waves. The ocean’s calmer this far out, and we barely touch the slow build of the bigger swells, just enough to make the board drift lazily.

  The side of Falcon’s hand skims above my knee. “No, but I bet Garrett’s wondering what the fuck’s going on.”

  I listen to the waves, the tranquility of silence and lapping water. The serene lullaby of nature’s greatest beast. “If he can even see us.”

  “He can see us,” Falcon says. “Trust me.”

  I say nothing and no, I don’t trust him.

  “If G dropped you on your ass so many times, why are you offering him to go there again?”

  “I’m not telling you why. And I’m still not sure how far I want to take this with you.”

  For a while, the only sound comes from the waves crashing onto the beach behind us. The faraway melody from the music playing.

  “What’s your story, anyway?”

  “My story?” Falcon echoes.

  “Yeah. This favor goes both ways, remember? Who is she?”

  Falcon pulls in air, then releases a drawn-out breath. “Someone I made a big mistake with.”

  “So, she’s an ex?”

  “I don’t know that you could call her that, but she was someone.”

  “What do you want out of this?” I ask. “There’s a chance all we’re going to do is scare the people we want away. Pretending to be into each other could seriously blow up in our faces. Have you thought about that?”

  “I’ve thought about a lot of things. How do you know I want her back and I don’t just want her to suffer?”