Summer Girl (Summer Girl #1)

by S. Love

  Even footsteps carry him to the bed. He stretches out on his side on top of the covers behind me.

  Rather than kick him out and into his own room, I lay my head on my pillow and let him sleep.

  I wake up sweating, a heavy arm that isn’t mine slung over my hip, a hand deep under my nightshirt, bunching it up around my waist. As I slip further out of unconsciousness, I realize it’s Ozzie, recalling him coming into my room earlier.

  Apart from where his hands are, nothing’s changed about how we fell asleep. The heat radiating from his skin smothers my back, and I’m pretty sure that’s what’s woken me up.

  As though he feels me stirring, Ozzie’s hand on my lower belly moves downward, the lazy, unintentional movement while he sleeps freezing me in place, breath and all.

  I listen for the interference in the rhythmic pattern of his breathing, any indication to tell me he’s waking up. His breathing’s steady, he’s still sleeping. My neck and arm are both stiff from lying on the same side for too long, and I twist from underneath Ozzie’s arm, turning around and facing him in the dark.

  Lifting my eyes from his bare chest to his face, his eyes are open. I make a small noise from shock, my eyes stretching their sockets as I stare back at him. His irises are as black as his soul, and fragments of moonlight bathe the right side of his stomach up to his shoulder.

  I recover quickly, lowering my voice to little more than a whisper to ask, “How’s Cindy doing?”

  Ozzie searches my face. His chest rises evenly with his breathing, and my palms tingle to feel his skin beneath them. The night bends and closes in, oxygen thinning. Am I the only one who feels this? Is it even real?

  “Who the fuck knows?” Ozzie breaks his dangerous spell. “I carried her to bed, if that’s what you’re really asking. I didn’t leave her by herself.”

  I almost smile. Maybe I’m acting this crazy because I’ve just woken up. “That’s good.” The chaise lounge is nice to look at, but it’s not fit for spending the night on. “Why did she take Mariah to her mom’s? Did your dad know?”

  “She doesn’t want her here, and why would she? That’s not her kid.” Sleep roughens his voice, the gritty tone vibrating through me. “It was a fucking stupid move, though. Dad to the Rescue went and got her, don’t think Cindy brought her home.” He lets a long pause follow. “You went out with Con.” It’s too bland to sound like an accusation, but that’s what it is. I’ve been expecting it, especially after talking with Falcon about Ozzie’s motives.

  “He took me for a hot dog.” I put my hands together and slide them under my head. “Then he went somewhere after. I don’t know where, but there may have been another girl he was going to see.”

  “There’s no other girl,” Ozzie says point-blank, so sure of himself. “You are the other girl.” His eyebrows steeple, his gaze severe as he looks at me like he wants to figure me out but can’t. “When are you gonna see that?”

  “Me and Falcon are just friends now. Ask him yourself.”

  “I don’t need to ask him. And I’m not here to talk about that.” In a dismissive move, Ozzie rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. Like I’m the one putting him out when this is my room. My bed.

  Bending one arm, he puts his hand behind his head on the pillow. With his other arm, the one next to me, he shovels his hand underneath me, bringing me closer.

  Stilted at first, I gradually relax my body, lying my head on his chest. Running his fingers over my arm, from my elbow, I shiver from the soft touches. There’s plenty I want to say and understand, but I drape my arm across his stomach and let the negative thoughts drift away. Fighting Ozzie’s easy, admitting I don’t completely hate him is something I’m just not ready to do.

  I decide to go for a run the next morning and declutter my head before I start work. Ozzie’s gone from my bed before the sun has even risen, the space where he’d been lying empty and cold.

  Ready in my running clothes, Ray’s walking through the front door as I’m approaching it. Wearing a black shirt and smart gray slacks, he’s dressed like he’s come straight from the office.

  “Lyla,” he says with a relaxed smile, continuing to walk through the foyer. “Good Morning.”

  My curious nature wants to know where he’s been and what he’s got to say about Cindy’s behavior, but I’m on borrowed time. Whatever their reasons are for anything they do, none of them concern me. My mom used to call me a busybody when I was little, and I think she may have been right.

  I cross the porch and jog down the steps. My hair whips my shoulders as I run the stretching coastline, creating my own wind. The sun’s hot, the sky clear, ice blue. By the time I’ve ran for two miles, my skin’s damp with sweat, my lungs flaming. I passed the boardwalk thirty minutes ago, and I hike down the stone steps to the sand, giving myself that extra challenge and pressure on my legs.

  With the tideline dead-ahead, I set off toward it. A vise grip on my upper arm grinds me to a stop that nearly topples me to the sand.

  “Hey.” Garrett’s standing with his hand on me, his expression guarded.

  The moment catches up with me and I yank my arm away from him, the hurt and the betrayal screeching in my ears, yelling it still exists. He still exists.

  I study him, the high sun rough on my eyes. He’s got his board under one arm, and his white and orange shorts are dry. His tousled brown hair hasn’t been tainted by the water yet, his tan skin blemish free. I can tell by the darker bronze around his shoulders and forearms that he’s tanned just from this morning, and his color will change again by the end of the day. Because I know him. He’s familiar to me in all the ways that require time to repair and start over. My heart and my head remember him, and they aren’t interested in the bad—what he did wrong—they only cling to the good. I’ve been disillusioned for too long, only hurting myself.

  “Why?” I ask. That’s all I want to know. Why he did it. Why he felt the need to lie to me and then have sex with Masie. He could have had her. He knew I wasn’t a hookup, and that my feelings were real. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind I wouldn’t be devastated by what he’ done, and that’s why he did it behind my back, practically laughing at me to his audience.

  Ugh. I can’t bear to think about it. I’ll self-destruct if I do.

  Garrett’s shoulders deflate, the air sucking out of him. If I’d only just met him, I’d think there might actually be at least one sincere bone in his honed, athletic body.

  “I’m sorry, okay?”

  “No. Not okay. I was leaving to meet you when I saw the video. At the hotel. Oh my god, Garrett, how the hell do you think me seeing that made me feel?”

  “You were never meant to see it!”

  I gape, a smile growing from disbelief. “Then I guess that makes it all right.”

  The air sucks back into him, his meek, victim status wearing thin. “You know what I mean. I wanted you when we were alone on the beach, but you wouldn’t have it. You pushed me away. For all I know, your legs would have stayed shut at the hotel.”

  I literally cannot believe what I’m hearing. Who is this person?

  “Is that all you cared about?”

  “Of course not, but it would have been fucking nice not to have to rub one out after leaving your house most nights with balls tighter than my own girlfriend.”

  I take a step backward, and then another. The anger and frustration dulls on Garrett’s face, but it’s too late, he’s already said it. He was waiting for me to put out and I never did, so he found someone who would.

  I feel like my bones are shaking. “I’m sorry you feel that way, and I’m especially sorry I thought we might work out. That was my fault.”

  “Lyla.” He reaches for me with this desperate look on his face. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. And I didn’t mean it.”

  “Did you sign with the sponsor?” Adrenaline trembles my voice. I take another step away from him when he tries to move closer.

  “What?” Garrett frowns in confusion.
The surfboard slips from under his arm, and he jerks his shoulder, lifting it back up.

  “Did you sign?” I ask impatiently. His reluctance to answer tells me everything, and now his frustration is everywhere. “You did, didn’t you?” I hope he did. Because I need him not be here. I need him to go somewhere, anywhere else.

  “You want me to go?” The sting in his tone sounds real, but who knows at this point.

  I eye him cautiously. I can’t say it, because that isn’t what I want.

  “Fine.” He shrugs, and now he’s backing away from me. “I signed, Lyla. Aerial Surf’s getting me outta here.” He salutes me, his movements sharp. “Adios.” Now he’s just being a dick.

  I turn away with my heart in my mouth. I meant everything I’d said, even if Garrett didn’t. But I don’t feel any less like shit. What will it take for me to hate him? A transformation into Hitler?

  I’m not perfect, but hurting Garrett and being fully aware of that? No. I wouldn’t. He doesn’t give a single damn that he was in a video having sex with someone else days before knowing I would sleep with him. And not just because I had an itch to scratch. Because I had our ending to wrap and seal. And the video made the act seem so much worse than if he’d just taken her to bed and stuck his dick in her. Watching him, I’d felt like the video was a dig at clueless, idiotic me. Payback for getting involved with Falcon.

  I pick up into a run. I never intended to go this far, but it’s like I can’t stop. Even more so now I’ve crossed paths with Garrett. Running him out of my system with everything else, I continue until my legs buckle and my lungs are dry, raw, and deprived of oxygen.

  I fold at the waist, gripping my thighs and panting for breath. The ocean licks at my Skechers, and I’m gasping, my mouth and throat so barren I’m in physical pain. I collapse on the sand and cross my legs under me. I stay like that until it no longer hurts to breathe, and the only pain I feel is in a place that won’t heal from a few simple breathing exercises.

  When I find the energy and the will to stand up, I jog back the way I came. I don’t give the surfers I pass one look, fast-forwarding my jog to a stable run to move past them quicker. Just knowing Garrett’s one of them weighs on my chest and makes it a little bit harder to stay focused.

  For what might be the first time ever, I’m thankful to walk through the door and into the foyer of the Osbornes’ home. I head straight for the kitchen, the covered refrigerator in my sights. I grab a bottle of water and chug it in less than a minute, heaving for air afterward, the contents of the bottle swishing in my belly.

  Great. Now I feel sick.

  Cindy walks into the kitchen as I’m dropping the empty plastic bottle into the recycle disposal. I raise to my full height slowly, her unexpected arrival creating an incredibly awkward environment. The last images I have of her come gasping to the surface, infecting the clean-cut version of the Cindy who stands in front of me.

  Her fuchsia smile’s tight, and I’m sure mine doesn’t come across any less restricted.

  “I’m going away for a few days with my husband and Mariah.” She wraps her fingers around the teardrop diamond hanging from thin gold around her neck. “He’s taking us to one of his newest properties. I’m leaving you in charge here, if that isn’t too much to ask. You’re the only young adult under this roof who’s trustworthy.”

  Everything about that demands a deeper explanation, but I just smile and nod. Because that’s what I am here: a puppet. And Cindy’s usual aloof confidence doesn’t show in anything she’s said, or the way she clutches her necklace. I’d call her humble, but that word doesn’t fit right. Self-preservation? Something’s different about her. Maybe she’s still coming down from yesterday’s high, or she’s already landed with a mighty clash, and what’s left is this. This quiet, shrunken woman.

  “It’s not too much. I hope you have a lovely time.” And they’re taking Mariah? What the hell kind of parallel universe is this?

  I’m still reeling after she’s left, standing alone in the kitchen with my jaw on the floor.

  I climb up onto a stool at the island, savoring the quiet and the time alone. I should take a shower and change into my uniform, but my muscles have seized up, so I allow myself ten minutes to cool down and rest up.

  Four minutes short of my goal, I’m joined by Topher and Falcon. They pile through the French doors, hair wet, bodies glistening. Topher hops up onto the stool next to me, dipping his head and shaking out his hair like a wet dog.

  “You hear the good news?” he asks with an impish grin. No wonder I’m the only one Cindy’s capable of trusting. I wouldn’t trust Topher either. And Falcon and Ozzie don’t fare any better in that department. Too much of going after what they want without regard for anyone else while they do it. “’Rents are away,” Topher says for me.

  I lean one elbow on the counter, resting my chin in my hand. “And guess who they left in charge?”

  “You’re off duty for the rest of today and tomorrow.” I glance upward as Falcon strolls to the refrigerator and relieves the door shelf of two bottles of electrolyte water. He tosses one to Topher. “Party tonight, so forget the excuses for why you can’t come.”

  I put a hand on my chest, looking coy while I bat my lashes. “What? Lil ol’ me?”

  “That’s hot.” Topher pops the top of his bottle and squirts the mixture into his mouth. “Bend over.”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m not in the mood to party, but you guys have at it.”

  “Yeah, we don’t give a fuck,” Topher dismisses me. “You can either get the stick outta your ass or we’ll keep you awake all night.”

  “Maybe,” I say to shut him up. It’s not like I can avoid it altogether, not when I’m living here. But we don’t have the same circle of friends, unless…

  “Are Lauren and Kenya coming?” They’re really the only other people I know in Cape pearl, not including Garrett.

  “Lauren and who?” Topher looks at me with one eyebrow halfway up his forehead.

  Never mind.

  “Hey, wait.” Topher curls his fingers around my upper arm as I slide down from the stool. “What’s their Insta handle? Facebook? Whoever you want here, I’ll make it happen.”

  From Topher’s Facebook account, he sends out the invite. Kenya responds with a string of thumbs-up, smiley face, and party streamer emojis.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll come.”

  Chapter 28

  I run the soft brush of my clear gloss over my top lip, then smack my lips together. I’ve straightened my hair tonight, so I won’t be going within two footsteps of the swimming pool. Most of my clothes need running through the laundry machine, so I go for a plain and simple white jersey dress with spaghetti straps. The dress is short—upper-thigh short—so I put on socks and hi-top Chucks with it, dressing it down even further.

  Neither Lauren nor Kenya are downstairs when I brave the expanding crowd alone. Bass from a rap song vibrates the air, and there are unfamiliar faces in every room. The Osborne brothers don’t do things by half. Trashing their home doesn’t concern them in the slightest.

  I help myself to a drink, pouring from one of many liter glass bottles laid out on the center island. I mix in Coke with my Bacardi and dig three ice cubes from the freezer.

  Standing alone in the kitchen, nursing my drink while I lean against the wall, I start to feel the threads of discomfort weaving into me not belonging here. These people aren’t my friends, and that’s becoming more evident as the minutes painfully turn into an hour, and I’m texting my sister while others are getting drunk and throwing each other into the pool.

  Me: How’s school?

  I tap the button to delete and start over.

  Me: Are you coming home for fall break? I miss you

  I delete that one, too.

  Me: Doing anything fun tonight?

  Talia responds two minutes later.

  Talia: Homework. Does that qualify as fun?

  Me: You’re asking the wrong person :)


  Just when I’m about to give up the ghost and take my sad, lonely ass upstairs, or out for a sugar cone piled with mint ice cream, a body sidles up to me. I meet the invasive stare of his light blue eyes, his face instantly familiar to me. His messy black hair’s stiff with product, and he wears black gauges in both ears. I’d say he was attractive if he didn’t have such a slimy, vulturous look in his eyes.

  I look straight ahead, like he isn’t there. It doesn’t last long when his arm snakes around my waist and his hot, weed-scented breath fans over my face. I lean away from him, not getting far since I’m up against the wall, and I push his hand off me.

  “I don’t know you,” I say. “And I’m gonna need you not to do that.”

  “Then stop looking so irresistible,” he says, a weak delay to his words. Either stoned or drunk. Could be both.

  “Okay.” There’s no comeback for that.

  “Hey.” He points at my chest. I practically dive onto the floor when he touches my breast with the tip of his pointer finger. “Your nipples are sticking out.”

  “Touch her again, Brandon.”

  I look up. Ozzie’s standing in front of us, his expression cut like glass, eyes murderous. Brandon sniffs back laughter, glancing from me to Ozzie as though bored equally with each of us.

  With one last ditch attempt, he hooks a thumb at me while saying to Ozzie, “She yours?” Like if Ozzie says no that somehow changes my status from: get the hell way from me to get over here and lay one on me.

  “She isn’t yours,” is Ozzie’s lame clarification.

  “She could be.” Brandon side-eyes me with a perverse smile, quirking his eyebrows like I should be excited over the possibility. “You can help me out with her, though. I don’t mind sharing if she doesn’t.”