Summer Girl (Summer Girl #1)

by S. Love

  The money’s still sitting on the table even after Ray’s gone. I watch it like it could sprout a tail any second and spring to life, darting out to strike me with its venomous tip.

  Giving into greedy curiosity, I pick up the stack in one hand and count out the bills. When I’m done, aware I’m looking at a thousand dollars’ worth of my silence, I feel dirty just holding it. But the price of Ray’s marriage might just have more value to him than I gave him credit. The hopeless romantic in me would like to believe he took Tina home and then he did the same. Cared for the shockingly young mother of his child like any decent father would do.

  Only problem is, I’m not that hopeless.

  The regal doorbell repeats throughout the house. For now, I pocket the money in my apron and go and answer the door.

  A girl stands on the porch, a piece of her straight black hair trapped between two fingers at her bare shoulder. The breezy look on her sunny face vanishes at the sight of me, and she says coldly, “Topher home?”

  I open the door wider. It’s my pleasure for Topher to deal with her rude ass, and I don’t waste more of my time asking if he wants her here, just tell her where his room is and to go up.

  She gives me a jeering look, an unflattering sound sputtering from her mouth. “I know where his room is.”

  She barges past me like there isn’t space for her to go around, and I close the door. I need to get ready for later, and even though this hefty chunk of money would benefit my wardrobe greatly, I’m not keeping it. I’ll buy myself something to wear out of my saved paychecks. I’ve got about two hours before Main Street starts closing its doors for the evening, and I book it upstairs to change out of my uniform.

  “Open this damn door.” It’s the girl from downstairs. She’s pounding on Topher’s closed bedroom door with the bottom of her fist. “I know you’re in there!”

  I frown at the top of the stairs, carrying on to the opposite wing. Topher’s problem, not mine.

  It only takes me a few minutes to change into leggings and a matching tank top, and I pull on a cap, gathering my hair through the hole at the back. I’ll shower and wash my hair after I’ve been shopping. No point in dirtying myself up this early. Making Garrett’s jaw drop is priority number one. If I make it brisk, it’ll take me around fifteen or twenty minutes to walk into town, and tonight, every precious minute counts. I’m not wasting a single second.

  Topher’s bedroom door’s yanked inwards as I’m leaving mine, and I pause in the mist of my own bafflement when Ozzie walks out, a two second delay for Topher.

  Ozzie doesn’t acknowledge the steaming-mad, raven-haired beauty holding down Fort Stubborn in the hallway, his gaze roaming to track me. His stare sharpens around the edges, but we haven’t spoken all day. Hell, I hadn’t even realized he’d come back to the house.

  Slinging an arm around the girl’s shoulders I now recognize from the early days, head one of the two-headed beast that was her and Topher, Topher proceeds to lead her down the curving staircase.

  I take my sweet time behind them, but Topher’s opening the front door and reeling off some pathetic excuse—and is that my damn name I hear out of his lying mouth?—about why Head One can’t stay.

  “Yeah, so…” Topher looks over his shoulder, throwing me the stupidest, most obvious wide eyes. “You ready to go?”

  My hand tightens around the rolled-up wad of mixed bills. “Sure,” I say, faking a contrived smile.

  The girl shakes her head and flounces off, storming down the driveway, hips sashaying in her short, latex skirt. Topher admires her perky behind from the doorway. “Dayumn!” He sounds in pain.

  “Why’d you let her go if you like what you see so much?” I shake my head, deciding I’ve got no interest in his answer. “Never mind. I don’t care.” I push past him and Ozzie, and for what’s definitely one too many times, Ozzie grabs my elbow, practically dragging me back across the marble floor like I’m his to toss around. A dusty, broken old thing that isn’t worth taking care of.

  “You going somewhere?” He asks the question like he’s daring me to leave.

  “Clearly.” I yank my arm from his wandering, over-breaching hand. The stale whiff of recycled money reminds me I’m still in possession of the thousand dollars from Ray. “Here.” I press my unearned loot into the palm of Ozzie’s hand, forcing the thick roll to stay down while he frowns at the unscripted transaction.

  “Ray paid me for not ratting him out, but he can keep his money.”

  Blowing in like a hyperactive hurricane, Topher snatches the roll from Ozzie’s hand. “Nah. I’ll keep the money.”

  “Great,” I say. “Good-bye.”

  I make it all the way to the wrought iron gates before Ozzie’s got me collared. “Your ugly fucking boyfriend’s broadcasting to any fucker with ears what he plans on doing with you tonight. I’m pretty sure you won’t listen but blow him off.”

  “Need a ride?” Topher interrupts. “I’m hanging with you this afternoon.”

  It takes me a moment to absorb I’m the one he’s talking to.

  “I’m used goods,” I say to Ozzie, the bored tone in my voice unauthentic. “You said so yourself.” I take two gradual steps backward and fall in line with Topher, his wide grin and cocked eyebrow targeted at his sullen brother.

  “Haven’t seen you with Con in a while.” Topher says when we’re in his Mercedes with the windows down and his playlist turned-up, on our way into town. “Hope it wasn’t something I did.”

  I roll my eyes at his Cheshire cat grin. He won’t ever let me live that night down.

  “I haven’t seen Con at all. Not since Saturday.” When I thought we were okay, but obviously I thought wrong. I probably shouldn’t have left the beach with Garrett, but I can’t not do anything for myself, always waiting for Falcon to give me the go-ahead.

  Topher shoots me a skeptical look, a crooked smile on his lips. “You mean you haven’t heard him stomping around the fucking house?”

  “I’ll talk to him,” I say. “As soon as he stops avoiding me like a child.”

  Topher hums in way of answer. Once we’ve parked in a metered spot along Main Street, he asks, “So you’re meeting Jardine tonight? Can’t see how that’s gonna help Con to stop avoiding you. You two are confusing as fuck.”

  “Con and I were never serious beyond…” I leave it there. I’ve presented the worst version of myself with this family. I’m not about to admit I was using Falcon to draw the attention of someone else. Topher’s still his brother, and I still care about what Falcon thinks of me, even if my own opinion of myself is lower than the ground I’m standing on.

  And like he can hear us talking about him, my phone lights up with a text message from the man himself.

  Con: I’ve been a dick these past couple days

  My mouth tips up halfway in a sympathetic and ridiculously hopeless smile. I text back: you’re off the hook

  I don’t like how I feel now. Con and I don’t exist beyond our daily free-for-all show, but it’s like I’m betraying him. Going behind his back to sneak around with another guy. Which is absurd because Falcon isn’t mine and I’m not his. We can see and go out with whoever we like.

  Despite my pity party, and Topher unable to go five seconds without picking out the smallest, most inappropriate item of clothing his pervy hands fall upon, I leave the last boutique we go into with a white lace bodysuit that is both classy, sexy, and very naked. Something that I’m not usually brave enough to wear, which makes it even more perfect. Tonight, I’m stepping out of all my comfort zones.

  We walk past Victoria’s Secret, and Topher clamps a hand on each of my shoulders, redirecting me under the striped canopy and through the glass doors.

  “I don’t have Victoria’s Secret money,” I confide in him, although I’m sure the news isn’t surprising, since two hours ago I was in my work skivvies polishing his mansion.

  “I do, though. And technically, it’s your money.”

  “I said I didn’t
want it.” My eyes skim the bargain bins at the front of the store, and I pluck out a pink satin thong, dangling it from my finger. I frown at Topher, dropping the underwear on top of the pile. “Doesn’t it bother you that he’s hurting your mom? He paid me, Topher. To keep quiet and not ruin his wife more than he already has.”

  “I don’t get involved,” Topher says with a nonchalant shrug. “What they do to each other doesn’t affect me.”

  “She was looking after his daughter. And he was…” Yeah, I’m not saying that. Topher gets the drift without the need for a bullet point presentation.

  “She does it, too.” He holds up a pale pink teddy from off the rack. “What about this one?”

  I give it the onceover. “It has no crotch.”

  “Perfect, right?” He flashes me a filthy grin. “If Jardine doesn’t like it, you can wear it for work.”

  “I don’t have time to be in here,” I say, turning my back on Topher and walking to the exit. “The underwear I have is fine, and you seriously need to stop making what happens between me and Garret any of your business.”

  “Just don’t wear those ugly fucking granny panties.”

  “Granny panties?” I turn and question. The sun hits right in the eyes from low in the sky, a blinding spear bursting between the storefronts across the sidewalk.

  Topher gives me a droll look, taking his car key from his pocket. “I’ve seen the lines through your uniform. Not flattering.”

  The underwiring in the lace bodysuit pushes my breasts into a shapely cleavage. The strategically sewn lace covers my nipples, but I’ll still need to be careful. No sudden movement or hard laughing. The skin-tight leggings I’m wearing are faux leather. An impulse buy I picked up at the last second, spotting them in the window on sale. It was a store for teeny boppers, but they fit me perfectly, and I’m satisfied with where my fifty bucks has gotten me.

  I mousse my hair, time officially running out for anything more extravagant than a shampoo, condition, and blast with the hairdryer using the diffuser attachment. My natural curls are my arch nemesis, but tonight they’ll have to do. My make up’s on point, and so is my gradual summer tan. Garrett’s seen me at my worst, and it’s never put him off before. Early in the morning and late at night. When I was couchbound with the flu and seeing double, and he brought me McDonalds that I couldn’t even look at, never mind try and eat. My mom had to send him away that day, I was so sick. Now I wish I could have those days back.

  I fasten my feet into a pair of black strappy heels I picked up last time I went home and grab my overnight bag off the bed. The sports duffel doesn’t go with my outfit, but it’s practical. Has everything in there I’ll need.

  I hope Garrett’s smart enough to bring condoms, because I didn’t have the balls to ask Topher to wait for me while I headed into the pharmacy and bought a pack. I wouldn’t have known where the heck to start, and it would only get back to his brothers. They’re crowding my space as it is. They don’t need any extra encouragement.

  On the driveway, Ozzie’s perched on the hood of his Jeep, one foot on the black fender and one on the ground. His and Topher’s attention is focused on the cell phone Ozzie’s holding, and I duck my head, pretending I don’t hear the suspect sounds and feminine moans from whatever X-rated video they’re watching.

  “Ey, Lyla!” Ozzie shouts. I ignore him and carry on walking. “C’mere, you’ll like this.”

  “Highly unlikely if you’re watching it,” I shout back.

  I’ve made thirty seconds of progress on the sidewalk when my phone pings from inside my bag. I pull back the zipper on the pocket as I walk and take out my phone. It’s an unsaved number, and instinct warns me not to hit PLAY on the video clip that’s been sent in the message.

  My thumb hovers over the sideways triangle before I tap it, watching the still, blurry image focus and come to life.

  I stop walking, heart jackhammering as I recognize Masie, blonde hair a tangled, curly mess around her flushed face. She’s lying on a bed and her lime green tank top is tugged down her chest, her round, bare breasts spilling out. There’s laughter and voices, more than one. More than two. Fingers roam her breasts, pinching and flicking her nipples, and Masie looks doped up on bliss, wriggling on the mattress, mewling with her eyes half closed. Hands grab her shins, and her legs are pushed upward, almost to her chest, spread open. Even though she has on underwear, discomfort from seeing her like this, vulnerable, and possibly not aware she’s being filmed, crawls up my spine and infects my stomach, making me sick.

  “On your hands and knees,” someone says from out of frame.

  I know that voice. I’ve heard that voice.

  The infection spreads, and I damn near puke when a clear shot of Garrett in profile approaches Masie. He slaps her on the ass, a heart-stinging clap as his palm connects with her skin, and then he tears her panties to the side.

  Garrett’s only wearing shorts, the muscles emphasized in his toned arms as he handles Masie like she’s a ragdoll, sucking two fingers into his mouth before shoving them between her thighs, her surprised cry prompting him to slap her ass cheek a second time. His callous smile drives me to hit the pause button and come up for air.

  The house, Garrett’s shorts, even the way his dark hair lies on his head. This video is from the night he took me to the lifeguard tower. The night he said he’d ended things with Masie and wanted more from me. I don’t even recognize the person in this video. Masie barely looked conscious, and Garrett like he had no fucks to give other than the one involving her.

  I feel so fucking stupid. Alone on the sidewalk in my new, sexy bodysuit that I could hardly afford, my bag stuffed with my prettiest, overnight belongings. On my way to give my virginity to someone who couldn’t give a single shit about me. He never did. I’m delusional, always have been when it comes to Garrett. Wanting what I can’t have, fiending for his empty promises and attention that I gobble up for sustenance that never seems to satisfy. He’s like a warm, juicy Big Mac. Stacked deliciousness you can’t wait to sink your teeth into, but when the last bite’s gone, even though it tasted good, you’re hungry again an hour later.

  Why him? What the hell am I holding onto here?

  I grip my phone, the cold edges pressing painfully into my fingers as I turn around and walk back to the house, storming past Ozzie and Topher, no recognition as I blank out smug grins and snide snickering, the skinny heels on my sandals clicking against the flagstone in my thunderous hike.

  I can’t get indoors quick enough, and I throw my bag down in my room, pacing the carpeted floor as I breathe through my rage, its intensity nearly blinding me. The anger builds and swells, and I focus on that, so the tears don’t come, because I won’t cry for him. Not one tear. I pace and pace, then balancing one foot, I unfasten my shoe, throwing it across the room and then undoing the other one. I peel off my leggings in a blind rage, and I’m standing in just my bodysuit when my bedroom door swings open and Falcon walks in.

  His gaze freezes on me, eyes lowering over my practically naked body in a thorough, invasive feast. A darkness settles behind the look he’s giving me, and then he closes the door, eyes never leaving me for even a second.

  My breathing quietens, balancing out as Falcon stalks toward me, taking his time, a feral wildness about him that steels my spine and forces me to stay put. Not shrink away from him and what he’s come here for. The predatory way he stalks me and the sinister glint in his swampy eyes leaves little room for doubt, though, and then I’m in his arms as he sweeps me up and carries me to the bed. Sits down with me facing him on his lap, my legs spread open against his crotch.

  My stubborn gaze is level with his as he teases and tests my flaky boundaries, fingering the lace across my small bust. Heat pools at my core when he tugs the lace cup down, freeing my breast. My nipples harden to pebbles, sensitive to the air around them. I’m so annoyed, I’m turned on, and I know if Falcon were to slip his fingers beneath the tiny scrap of lace between my legs, I’d be emba
rrassingly wet.

  He holds my breast in his hand, framing the underside, and his thumb swipes over my nipple, a resulting shiver washing over me in a tidal wave of sensation. I’m feeling everything. Pissed off. Aroused. Exposed. Wanted. Hungry. I need more. Crave for something I don’t really understand. All I’m sure of is that I have to have it. To fill an emptiness that coming here opened up.

  Falcon’s hands cage me in at the ribs, and he leans into me, my back arching as he holds me up, his hot, wet mouth closing over my nipple, sucking and licking my flesh, the pleasure shooting straight to my sex. Anything I’ve ever done with Garrett was kindergarten compared to what Falcon puts my body through, what he makes me feel. This is something else, something primal and raw. Need and desire. Greed and selfishness. Hate and passion. Garrett drove me to this, but my body’s decided there’s no turning back.

  With his mouth ravishing my nipple, Falcon pulls down the other side of my bodysuit, palming my breast while he tongues the other, gentle bites that zaps a tingle of ecstasy low in my belly, and my thighs clench Falcon’s waist. I drive my fingers into his hair, and my heart races as he feasts on me like I’m the last meal he’ll ever devour.

  Abruptly, he pushes his hand into the front of his sweats and takes out his impressive erection. My eyes flare in shock and a tiny grain of fear at how heavy and veiny it looks, his hand wrapped around the thick shaft as the purple tip glistens with moisture. He starts pumping himself, his mouth latched onto my breast. I clench so tight I think I’m going to explode just from watching him touch himself.

  “Fuck, Lyla,” he hisses, grabbing the hair that hangs down my back and tangling it possessively in his fist. “You’re fucking killing me.” His breathing’s as rushed as the long, hard jerks on his cock, and I’m fascinated by how it swells and grows. How rough and out of control he is.