Summer Girl (Summer Girl #1)

by S. Love

  I turn my head enough to capture part of Falcon’s broad shoulder and stomach, his black Hurley board shorts. He’s too tall to see his face without looking up, and I’m not trying to sprain myself. “You want her to suffer?”

  “You tell me nothing, you get the nothing back. Anyway, it’s better this way. We don’t know too much and don’t ask too many questions, the less likely anyone gets hurt. If we believe we’re in this for the right reasons, so will everyone else.”

  Knowing Falcon’s reasons hold a more sinister edge than my own desires interferes with the direction of my moral compass. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  A short pause. “I never said we were hurting anyone.”

  “You never said we weren’t.”

  “Semantics.” A twisted smile corrupts Falcon’s voice. “No questions, no lies. All you need to know is we want something and I’m making sure we get it. Can you handle that, Lyla?”

  My name shouldn’t sound so good coming from a person’s mouth. Then I remember what it sounds like coming from Garrett’s mouth and I set my roaming mind back on track.

  One of Falcon’s hands heats my thigh, his thumb teasing the skin at the edge of my bathing suit. He’s so close to that spot between my open legs, and something in my lower abdomen tightens. A rebellious part of me daring him to slide his palm an inch to the right, spread his fingers just a little bit lower. Curl around my skin a fraction tighter. Grab me instead of softly handling me.

  “I want to go back to the pier,” I say, putting a damper on my wild hormones. “Being with you like this isn’t for our benefit. Sitting out here’s pointless.”

  Falcon lifts his hand from my skin, and it’s as though it’s done out of spite and not to give me my space back. “Whatever you want.”

  I carry my shorts and flip-flops instead of wearing them. Denim on wet skin is a chafing nightmare, and my towel’s under the pier in my backpack where I left it.

  I’m not thrilled or surprised to see Ozzie standing by the fire, laughing with Topher and another guy whose name I don’t know but I’ve seen around the area plenty of times.

  Walking to pick up my backpack with Falcon not far behind me, I accidently catch Ozzie’s eye. He lets it show on his face he isn’t happy to see me with his brother, and I childishly consider it another perk that makes this charade worthwhile.

  In fact, I like the off-guard, sullen look creeping over Ozzie’s face so much, I disengage my better instincts, drop my backpack and spin around, catching an unsuspecting Falcon by the waistband of his shorts. Pulling him flush against me, I reach up onto my toes as his head dips, our lips joining in a kiss I’d intended to be closed-mouthed. I should have known Falcon would take liberties, his lips parting and his tongue diving into my mouth. His free arm cradles my waist, and he holds me with the same possessiveness he does his surfboard, like I’m one of his belongings. He’s owning me as much as he is this kiss. For a chaotic, spiraling second, I get lost in his lips, his heat, forgetting what I’m doing, who I’m doing it with and why. All I can feel, think, and smell is Falcon, and I grip his waistband tighter, flexing my fingers into the fabric to keep them away from his taut stomach.

  The pressure on my back strengthens, and I bring my hand up and tug at Falcons dark, wet hair, yanking a fistful of strands in what looks to everyone else like a gesture of uncontrollable lust. Really, I’m hurting him, but it’s the only way to separate his lips from mine.

  “Fuck,” he groans into my mouth, the shadow of a sinful smile shading his eyes. I’m not smiling, and since I started the show of affection, I can’t push him away, either.

  “Too much,” I warn, tugging on his shorts so he has no choice but to step sideways, in front of me. He moves like my own personal infatuated puppet, and I have to admit to myself, I kind of love it. “Don’t ever do that again.” I win the battle over a disobedient smile.

  “You kissed me,” he says in amusement, eyes pinned on me in a friendly warning he’s ready to go again. The muscles in his arm grow taut around my lower back, and he’s guiding me farther under the pier, my smaller frame no match for his huge one. My damp skin attaches to his damp skin and we’re practically one person, my back pressed up to a weathered post and my front pressed against Falcon. “Kiss me again. Before I kiss you.” His voice is raw gravel.

  “You wouldn’t.” I’m lacking the conviction to make Falcon take notice.

  “Yeah? You sure about that?” One corner of his mouth tips up, and his hooded gaze drops to my lips as he licks his own. He knows what he’s doing. He’s messing with my head and succeeding.

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to play with your food before you eat it?” an outside voice interrupts. There’s no need for a visual to know who the voice belongs to, and the warmth from my blood drains, turning this night uncomfortably chilly.

  Falcon lets me go, unblocking my view to dig his surfboard into the sand.

  Ozzie slips a hip flask from the waistband of his basketball shorts, unscrews the lid and takes a deep pull.

  “That’s mine, dickwad.” Falcon snatches the flask out of Ozzie’s hand and pours whatever’s in there down his neck. He wipes his mouth and offers me the silver flask.

  One small sip and I hand it back to Falcon, struggling to swallow what tastes like whiskey. Really, really, old whiskey. Old enough to rip a layer from my esophagus.

  Despite my insides igniting, I wrap my arms around my middle when a strong breeze tears its way across the beach. I watch as a curling wave crashes onto land, something so uncontrollably dangerous about the black water.

  Ozzie reaches over his shoulder and tugs his maroon hoodie over his back. “Put this on.”

  “No thanks,” I say icily. I’d rather freeze and spend the rest of my life as an ice cube. Extreme, but you get my point.

  His chest expands on a loud sigh. “Just fucking put it on. You’re freezing. You think it’s wise to call in sick for your second day at work?”

  My teeth clamp together.

  “Right. You can’t take a joke. My bad, I forgot.” Ozzie throws the hoodie at me, and I grab it before it drops to the sand.

  “Are you trying to piss G off?” Ozzie’s looking at Falcon, and my gaze seeks out Garrett. I don’t see him, but I’m guessing he’s nearby. I hope he’s nearby, otherwise all this is for nothing.

  I wriggle into the hoodie, the residual heat from Ozzie hugging my upper body as the thick, soft material settles around my thighs. I pull my hair loose from the collar and let it pool in the hood.

  “Why would I want to piss G off?” Falcon asks, no trace in his voice of any wrongdoing.

  “Because you’re all over his belongings right in front of his face. You don’t expect me to believe what you two are doing is anything else, do you? Mom just hired this chick last week.”

  And if I thought I couldn’t dislike Ozzie anymore…

  Falcon’s smirking gaze remains steady on Ozzie. “I don’t expect you to believe anything. I couldn’t care less if you still believe in the Tooth Fairy. Wind your neck in, little brother.”

  Ozzie’s laughter sets me on edge. There’s nothing humorous about it. “Hey.” He holds up his hands. “I know when to keep my mouth shut. Have fun, whatever you’re doing. And, ah, you might want to lay it on thick because G’s just grown eyes in the back of his head. Nice job you two.” Ozzie gives us a condescending thumbs-up, and I’m overcome with the urge to snap them both off.

  “He’s the runt of the litter. Don’t listen to him.”

  Falcon’s words do nothing to soothe me.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “Where he’s concerned, I’m deaf.”

  “He’s right, though.” Falcon’s gaze sails right over my head. “G’s definitely looking this way. You wanna go over there?”

  “You normally talk to him?” I don’t want to do anything out of the norm and come across too obvious. Garrett’s many things, but I never found out if stupid was one of them.

  “Nah. Not if I ca
n help it. But I speak to Toph.” Falcon grabs my hand, getting too used to doing that, and takes me with him as he weaves through the beach bums lying and sitting dotted around the sand.

  Topher narrows one eye when Falcon claims a free space close to the fire, out from under the cloaked gloominess of the pier. The sky’s clear overhead with a full, creamy moon hanging as the center piece above the ocean.

  The same girl from Saturday night clings to Topher as he lies on his side, her front pressed to his back, her index finger carving tender trails over the skin on his wrist that holds the neck of his beer bottle. I start to seriously consider that his days on earth might be limited, and that’s why this girl’s always hanging onto him. I picture Topher spontaneously combusting into a cloud of dust, and I accidently snort out loud.

  I feel eyes pierce every side of me, and I cover my mouth, muttering, “I sneezed.”

  The conversations around the fire delve heavily into surfing and the various contests coming up and who’s entering. I zone out from most of it, and I blame that on Garrett. He’s constantly looking over here, and I’m itching to put a stop to the games and just go over there and talk to him. The blonde’s with him, though, and I still haven’t found out what they are to each other. I’ve never seen them kiss, but that doesn’t mean anything. Garrett let months go by before he kissed me, choosing instead to like me from afar and keep his feelings to himself.

  “Stop it.” Falcon’s lips warm the shell of my ear. I push my hair over my shoulder to relieve the sensitized shiver and create a semi-wall between us. My neck and ears are my weak spots. “If you want people to believe this is real, don’t stare at other guys. Never mind it’ll fucking kill my reputation.”

  I look sideways at Falcon, my hand on my hair. “What reputation? I’d never heard of you. Just saying.”

  His playfulness ebbs, and shadows draw like a shutter over his brown eyes. “I know what people say about me. They think I’m the king of dicking around. I’m not.”

  “Whatever you say. I’m hardly an ideal candidate to pass judgement. You already know I come with my own issues.”

  There’s a dramatic change in Falcon’s body language, and any earlier heat between us has well and truly fizzled. “Aren’t you up early tomorrow? You should probably head back.”

  What the hell? Am I being dismissed? This family has a terrible habit of doing that to me.

  I stare at Falcon, confused for a minute, then he makes a circle with the tip of his thumb and his index finger and jams them between his lips, under his tongue, and a sharp whistle pierces the air. “Oz,” he shouts. “C’mere.”

  Ozzie’s standing below the boardwalk, half concealed under the pier. His head edges to one side, and I make out the trace of a scowl hardening his features. He finishes his confab with two guys who have a real shifty air about them, and they reluctantly walk away, heading in the other direction.

  “That was important.” Ozzie hovers over me to rag on his brother. Not that Falcon looks bothered.

  “Well, they’ve gone now, so that frees you up to walk Lyla home.”

  Ozzie’s entire face repulses at the idea of going anywhere with me. “You walk her home. You brought her here. Seriously, Con? You dragged me over for this?”

  “I can walk myself home. Jesus, talk about me like I’m not here why don’t you.” I stand up, leave the good-byes for another time, and carry my flip-flops. It’s easier to wade through the sinking sand barefoot.

  I don’t hear the footsteps behind me until they hit the deck at the back of the house, and I spin around, my flip-flops flying out in front of me, infiltrating the least threatening weapon ever invented. My backpack comes loose and slips down my shoulders, getting caught at my elbows.

  “Whoa.” Ozzie steps onto his back foot, a derisive smile spreading like wildfire across his face. “Don’t hurt me.” He lowers his raised hands. “Put the foam shoes down.”

  “They’re leather, dumbass.” On a whim, I drop my backpack and take off his hoodie, pulling it from my shoulders and hurling it at him in the weakest retaliation I could’ve thought of.

  I attempt to pull the handles down on the French doors, but they’re locked, and Cindy hasn’t given me a key yet.

  Ozzie takes over, producing a silver key from God knows where and letting me inside.

  “After you.” He smiles at me in a way that isn’t friendly in the least. “You could thank me for walking you home,” he says when we’re in the kitchen. All the lights are out.

  “Thanks.” I walk away. I really do have to start my day early, and the sooner I’m in bed, the less I’ll hate myself come morning.

  “You’re making a mistake with Con.”

  Ozzie stands in the foyer as I walk up the stairs, and if I wasn’t so tired, I might’ve turned around to ask why he would say that. Even denying whatever Ozzie’s thinking would be giving him too much ammunition, and also exactly what he wants: to believe that he’s getting to me. For some reason, he doesn’t like me being in this house. And that’s just too damn bad, because I really need the money and I’m not going anywhere.

  “When he crushes you, don’t say I didn’t try and warn you.”

  I pause on the stairs, my inner need to know more inevitably winning over. “What makes you think he’ll crush me? How do you know we don’t just like to makeout?”

  That sounds so dumb I almost shake my own head at myself.

  Ozzie’s the one who shakes his head, but more out of feeling sorry for me. “You’ve got no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” He turns away first, and even though my opinion of him hasn’t changed, self-preservation means I can’t ignore his warning.

  Chapter 8

  My phone vibrates inside my apron while I’m rinsing off the breakfast dishes ready to go into the dishwasher. Another three hours go by before I take a fifteen-minute break and sit down at the dining table with a glass of water.

  I open the message app on my phone, freezing with the glass at my mouth when I see Garrett’s name as the sender.

  Is there a good time I can call you?

  I re-read the message, then set my phone down on the table. After repeating the process twice more, my brain working to string together a single, lucid thought, I eventually pull up the keypad on my screen. My thumbs hover over the letters as I run through a response in my mind.

  The hairs on the back of my neck spring up, like I’m being watched.

  Shifting my head to the side, Falcon’s tan shoulder’s right there as he leans over me. He’s reading the message from Garrett, his jaw inches above my head.

  “Don’t reply to that,” his husky voice rumbles.

  “Why?” I say to my cell phone screen, tilting the glass so it captures Falcon’s reflection. There’s no adequate way to explain the feeling of him being so near. I literally can’t move without his skin touching mine, and he’s in no hurry to reintroduce space.

  “And make it that easy for him?” I feel it the instant Falcon lets go of my chair. He walks to the sink wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants and white socks and runs the faucet, pouring himself a glass of water.

  I press the lock button and drop my phone into my apron pocket. “What’s wrong with making it easy?”

  “Nothing and no one’s as sweet as when you’ve worked your ass off to get it or them. Being handed something? Nah, too simple. When you earn your reward, you hold on to it for as long as you can. When it’s just given to you it doesn’t mean as much. You don’t look after it or care about it the way it deserves you to.”

  I look Falcon in the eyes as he leans against the sink and drains his glass in three mouthfuls. “Who is it you’re doing this for?”

  He turns and puts the glass in the sink, distracting me with the lean muscles in his back. “Never mind that. What are you going to tell lover boy?”

  When Falcon looks at me, it’s with a mixture of expectance, judgement, and a tangible whiff of condescension.

  I go against what I really wan
t to do and say, “Nothing. This time.” But in my head, the weight of what Garrett wants, or whether it’s important, only grows heavier.

  Falcon’s expression remains carved in doubt, eyes narrowing slightly as one corner of his mouth traces the pattern of a diminutive smile. Then, not so subtly, he shakes his head and saunters from the kitchen, the stench of arrogance leaving with him.

  I stand from my seat at the table, tuck the chair back into place and mumble, “Whatever,” telling myself I don’t care what Falcon thinks about me. He’s not for real, he’s just a game. His opinions don’t mean anything. But even so, there’s no denying the small thrill I feel as I continue my day with the power of knowing Garrett’s somewhere waiting for my reply.

  Is my lack of response bothering him? Has he even noticed?

  The answers to my unasked questions come as I’m changing my tennis shoes for ballet flats, my phone lighting up on my bed in front of me.

  His name flashes onto the screen as I reach for my cell, and my belly flips with anticipation. Garrett’s calling me this time, and the urge to answer him is overpowering. I throw the phone down, screen-side on the comforter, and step away like it might explode.

  Leaving the phone in the safety of my room, where it can’t hurt me, I close my bedroom door and run into Mrs. Osborne in the foyer.

  She’s in a rush, hooking a fuchsia purse over her forearm that’s too big for one person’s everyday items, and she barely spares me a glance. She lowers black Gucci shades over her eyes and calls out from the doorway, “I’ll be at my book club.”

  And then she’s gone, the heavy glass door slamming back onto its hinges with an echoing thwack.

  I stand in the residual silence, the satiny drone of a car engine perforating the solitude and pulling me out of the lull. Once again, the house feels devoid of life. Cindy doesn’t need a full-time cleaner, there’s never anyone around to clean up after.

  Sighing, I make my way through the house, to the utility room just off from the kitchen, where the pool’s cleaning net is stored. I clean the pool twice a day: once in the morning and again in the evening. This is the last of my jobs, and then I’m off for the evening.