Summer Girl (Summer Girl #1)

by S. Love

  Falcon gives it a moment. “I thought we were, but now…”

  “You tried to stop loving her, but you couldn’t?” I offer for him. It’s so clear to see, he doesn’t need to say it. Watching him tear himself up over his ex lays it out plain and simple for me that love isn’t and maybe never was there between me and Garrett. Not real love. The kind of love you trip over yourself for. Not the vortex love that you continuously fall into over and over. Never understanding how, why, or when you got there, just that you did, and you can’t ever go back to normal life without it.

  When I saw Garrett with Masie, it didn’t hurt to breathe. I let months go by without him. I wanted him, of course, but at no point did I physically need him. I could always see a life and a future without him, even if I didn’t realize it at the time. He wasn’t the end of the road, only the end of us. Falcon’s stuck on this girl, and his future has her squarely in it. She’s the end of the road for him, and any other route leads nowhere.

  For his sake, I hope she can forgive him.

  I leave Falcon outside. I’m under no illusions I served as a temporary fix—a scenic diversion—and Falcon was the same for me. But letting him go completely catches me blind and gives me this weird sensation I can’t make sense of. His attention built me back up when I didn’t understand that was what I needed to overcome Garrett and the shitty complex he’d had a hand in creating.

  Falcon’s a routine that requires strength to break, and right now, strength isn’t something I have to spare. I’m so worn down I could do with a week-long vacation from this family on a deserted island in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

  I don’t even catch any respite in the ladies’ room. Cindy’s standing at the marble counter with the shiny, gold accents when I walk in there. The tip of her deep-red lipstick held up to her mouth as she leans over the sink to touch up her perfect makeup.

  The awkwardness only lasts a moment, and then she caps her lipstick, tucking it away in her black, padded clutch.

  “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hear you’ll be staying with us for longer.” I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t, allowing Cindy to do the majority of the talking. Since seeing her hopped-up on pills, I haven’t really been able to look at her the same. “You’re brilliant for Mariah. She just adores you.”

  I smile, because there’s nothing to say. “Did you enjoy your break?” I haven’t had the chance to ask her that yet, too sidetracked by her deviant son.

  “We did.” Her smile appears genuine, but she’s good at keeping her mask on tight. I sort of wish I hadn’t seen what’s beneath it. She’s ruined the illusion for me. “It was wonderful. The boys weren’t too much trouble?”

  “No.” I shake my head with a strained smile that feels all kinds of wrong. “No trouble at all.”

  We’ve been home minutes when the doorbell chimes throughout the house. Since I’m halfway up the stairs, I sigh, give it a while, and when it’s apparent no one else is going to do the honors, I go answer it.

  The girl with the long, raven hair and the hostile attitude stands on the porch, a smile lighting her blue eyes.

  I take one look at her, turn around and call up the stairs for Topher.

  “I’m not here for Topher,” the girl leans into the open door and tells me. Her low-cut top displays plenty of cleavage, and she’s practically bursting out of her skinny jeans. Her body’s amazing.

  “Okay, then who?” Falcon isn’t home, so that really only leaves one other person if she isn’t here for Topher.

  She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Oz.” Her voice is drenched in irritation.

  With the same amount of patience she has for me, I say, “Then I guess you already know your way to his room too.”

  Her eyelashes flutter as she shakes her head, barging into the house and breezing past me.

  An inexplicable rush of something that feels dangerously close to jealousy stampedes across my chest and dives into my belly. My head’s fuzzy, and I take a breath and try to think logically.

  But there’s no logic to be found, and when I’m alone in my room, I eventually stop searching for it. Mariah fell asleep at the country club, so I can’t hang out with her. It’s really saying something when you’re in a house filled with adults and you’d rather spend your time with a five-year-old.

  Topher’s lying on his bed playing on his phone when I knock on his door and he hollers for me to come in.

  “I’m not tired,” I say, holding the door open. “Wanna watch a movie with me?”

  He lowers his phone and stares at me blankly, probably wondering when I decided to stop shutting him out and start talking to him again.

  “Well?” I press, every second that Ozzie’s alone with that girl slowly eating into my jealous soul.

  “Ah…” Topher frowns. Locks his phone and puts it on the bed. “Sure.”

  “Good,” I say, a bit too abruptly. “Pull up Netflix and I’ll get us a soda.”

  I don’t go to the kitchen, though, I head straight for Ozzie’s room, knock twice in quick succession, and then barge in there like he did to me. I’m angry with him for reasons beyond my comprehension. He’s peeled back my skin, crawled underneath it, and sealed himself inside.

  I drag my gaze over both of them. Ozzie’s sitting on his bed, the girl straddling his thighs with her hands on his bare shoulders, his T-shirt in a heap on the floor. “Oh, sorry,” I say insincerely, and I don’t hide it either. He wouldn’t.

  Ozzie and I share a look, and I wouldn’t put it past him to have predicted I’d come in here. He’s playing me like a fiddle, and only he knows the notes to this chopped and screwed song.

  “Never mind,” I say, deciding not to tell him about the movie. “I can see you’ve got your hands full.” I give the girl a scant, second look, sweetening my chilly disposition with a flowery smile.

  “Where’s the sodas?” Topher asks as I climb onto his king bed. He’s lying across the mattress, at the foot of the bed, TV remote in his hand as he scrolls through the movie selections.

  “There wasn’t any,” I lie, keeping my impromptu detour to myself. “What’re we watching?” I put a grain of effort into not coming across as distracted as I feel, and just hope Topher isn’t in a chatty mood, otherwise he’ll be watching the movie alone.

  “How about this one?” He reads the information out loud, and I agree to it, never hearing more than a few words of what he’s said.

  I can barely keep still as the film starts and Topher turns out the bedside light. He stretches out on his back in his original spot and folds his hands behind his head. His feet hang off the bed, propped up on a rolling chair.

  Tiredness sneaks in by the time we’re over an hour into the action thriller, and I close my eyes for some relief from the rapid-fire flashing lights. My foot’s resting on Topher’s thighs as he mindlessly runs his fingers up and down my calf, and I tell myself I’m not going to sleep.

  When the noisy explosions have mellowed into lowkey voices, and I don’t recognize anyone on the screen, it becomes obvious that falling asleep is exactly what I did.

  My foot’s still resting on Topher, but his hand on my ankle is still, an arm flung over his eyes as he sleeps with his mouth slightly open.

  I close my eyes and start dozing again. I’ll go back to my own room in a little while.

  A hand covers my mouth right as my eyes blink open. “Sshh.”

  Ozzie.

  He’s standing at the side of the bed, and he takes my hand in his closed grip.

  “Con will fucking kill you,” Topher grumbles from beneath his arm, his voice thick with broken sleep.

  Not fully conscious to this world yet, and unperturbed by Topher, I stumble off the bed and end up in Ozzie’s room with him. I’m too tired to feel privileged or victorious that he’s brought me in here after turning me away on my first day of work. And if I acknowledge the shift between us, then I’m confirming it’s happening, and I’ll be forced to make a choice—one I’m not
ready to make.

  I’ve never had a reason to question my character in the past, and if I stood in front of a mirror now, I wouldn’t recognize myself beyond the surface.

  When the facets in my family began to crack and crumble from the root, I studied harder at school, pulled my grades up as high as I could. When my mom cried at night when she thought Tal and I were sleeping, I made her life easier by doing everything I was told and never giving her a reason to be upset with me when she was already so upset over my dad. When money came into question, I started working here to earn my own and take another load off my mom so she wouldn’t have to consider taking on a third job to carry me.

  Now I’m out of my own house and living in someone else’s, I’m harshly reminded I’m not that perfect, obedient daughter I’ve played the impeccable part of for all these years. I’m flawed and I make terrible choices for myself. My latest terrible choice is in this room with me, the taste of danger disguised in exhilaration

  Standing with as much use as a spare part without purpose or place, I watch in shrewd silence as Ozzie locks his bedroom door and then makes himself comfortable on one side of his king bed, three plump, white pillows behind his back.

  At some point since we got home from the country club, he’s shucked every item of clothing other than his jeans. It’s not unusual for Ozzie to hang out around the house bare-chested, but the girl who was in here earlier likely has a lot to do with it. I’d ask him about her, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of witnessing me give a crap.

  Bed’s neatly made I note to myself. Doesn’t mean anything, though. Ozzie’s had plenty of time to straighten out the sheets and squash the evidence. I have no idea how long I’ve been sleeping or how long the movie was, just that it was long enough for another to start and both me and Topher to fall into comas.

  “Are you trying to piss me off?” Ozzie says lowly. The room and him grow shades darker as I sink into his accusing stare. I’m in reaching distance, and he’s got my wrist in one hand in a fluid second, a hit of his cool, expensive cologne paralyzing me.

  He pulls me toward him, leaving me no choice but to brace at the edge of the bed and climb on top of him or go tumbling flat on my belly across his knees

  “Pissing you off how?” Grogginess clings to my voice, still lucid from lingering sleep forming like a protective cloud around me. I’m relaxed when I should be firing questions about the girl who was here before me and what Ozzie did with her.

  But this is still a war we’re in the middle of, and he’s still my enemy. Nothing’s changed in that sense. Even when my lips tingle to feel his, my palm itches to slap him across his pretty face. He’s a contradiction of himself, and he’s sucked me in like a vacuum. All my weaknesses, he’s cruelly exposed. And he’s my biggest one. I just wish he didn’t know it.

  “Because you knew I’d come.” Ozzie shifts on the bed, bolting upright to circle my waist with one arm. In a brusque, predatory move, he’s got me on my back and he’s above me.

  “Maybe,” I admit. Had that been my intention? Could be, because clearly I’m no longer thinking with my head.

  Vaguely, I make out Ozzie’s faint smirk. Other than that, he’s an inferno of darkness. “Well, I’m here, Help.”

  Suddenly filled with confidence, I blurt, “You’re not good, Ozzie. I don’t like you.” My chest rises and deflates too fast, our bodies so close my muscles ache and burn as they remember him, how me made me feel. They way he twisted me into putty and molded me with his bare hands.

  That menacing look in his eyes pushes my heart into my stomach, and there’s no getting away from the fact he still scares me.

  “That could make what I’m about to do to you a lot more fun.”

  “Take me against my will?” I say, not entirely joking. I wouldn’t put it past him. There’s no trust where Ozzie, or really anyone, in this family is concerned.

  “You should see the way your mouth looks when you say that.” I raise my hand to his chest, and he captures my wrist, holding my palm flush against his skin. “But it doesn’t have to be like that. You could always just admit you want it.”

  I try to tug my hand back, but he isn’t letting me go. He wants me to fight. He’s set out the hoops, and so far, I’ve jumped through every one without even realizing. “Lying’s not my style.”

  We enter a heated stare down, neither one of us backing off first. He’s calling me out and I give him nothing. Hold my neutral expression while his heart gallops into the crevices of my palm, my fingers, and if he could feel mine too, he’d know I was having the same, reactive response to him.

  “I’m not ready,” I confide. I let the animosity trickle from my rigid shoulders and straight back. In fighting him, I’m fighting myself. What my body thinks it wants, my head is adamant I need more time.

  Ozzie’s fingers skate from my wrist to the back of my hand on his chest, and he pushes his fingers between mine. His depthless eyes search my face, and I buckle under the piercing, weighty intoxication. He does something to me when he looks at me like that, reducing everything around me to just him, making it impossible to pretend he’s having no effect on me. Good or bad, terrified or not, I’m screwed. Whether I let him in, or he pushed his way in, he’s deeply rooted himself, and he’s fucked us both up in the process.

  “Okay,” is all he says, the easy acceptance in his voice foreign sounding.

  Something’s changed. Like this is the first time he’s actually hearing me. No threats, no games. Just me and him. I’m afraid if I move, I’ll ruin it. Break the spell and reawaken the passive aggressive attitude I’ve grown so used to. I want to speak, put my hands on his face and run my fingers through his hair. But it’s not worth losing him over, so I remain statuesque, the only movement coming from the cadence of his beating heart as the thump, thump travels through my fingertips.

  Chapter 34

  It’s dark out when I amble through the empty kitchen and open the French doors. The sky’s smoky sapphire. Seagulls squawk, the ocean lashes the beach. I didn’t check the time when I woke up, but it’s before six a.m.—has to be. There’s no sun peeking over the horizon yet, just the faintest moonlight haze in the black hue sticking to the rocky coast and gathering under the pier in the distance, slicing into the water like an elongated black shadow.

  Ozzie’s sitting on the steps up to the deck, his surfboard across his knees as he takes out the middle fin. His black windbreaker’s zipped up to his chin with the hood pulled over his head, and he’s wearing dark boardshorts and hi-top sneakers. Dressed for summer and winter in one confused outfit.

  “Going surfing?” I cross my arms. There’s a chill running through the muggy humidity peeling in with the fine sea fog, and it’s sweeping in with force. Not a strong wind, but tangible energy.

  Ozzie moves onto the outer fin, snapping it out and putting it on the deck with the other one. “Got a forecast alert on my phone last night. A storm just hit close by ahead of prediction and ripped the surf to shreds. Should be solid for the next three or four days. Doesn’t happen often, so can’t really pass up swells this big while they’re here.”

  The French door handle rattles and then the door swings open. I turn around, confronted with a sleepy, tousled Topher in Hawaiian-print boardshorts and a rainproof jacket similar to Ozzie’s, only his is navy, and he’s got the hood down, some sort of stretchy scarf-slash-facemask bunched under his mouth.

  “Ready to drain some barrels?” he asks Ozzie on the cusp of an open-mouthed yawn. He scrubs his wild, sandy-brown hair, his white and lime-green surfboard tucked under his arm lengthways. It’s a couple inches longer than the board he usually surfs with.

  Ozzie lifts the back of the last fin and pops it out. “Waves won’t peak for another few hours.”

  In the kitchen, the faucet runs and then shuts off. Wearing a lightweight athletic hoodie and black board shorts, Falcon ducks his wide body through the open French doors. Must be habit because the frame is certainly tall enough t
o accommodate his height. Nothing in this house is too small.

  Topher stands beside me and smirks. There’s a babyishness to his sun-kissed face, his maple eyes glassy from yawning. “The coast got buzzed last night. God bless gnarly hurricane swells. Maybe the best waves we’ve ever had.”

  Tell that to the people cleaning up their busted homes. This is the first I’m hearing about a hurricane. Although, I don’t track the weather patterns every night.

  Ozzie glances up from his board, shadow clinging to the hollow curve beneath his hood, the scarce moonlight sharpening the symmetry in his face and cut of his cheekbones, his perfect jawline. “The wind’s picking up, but we should be able to drop in without a face full of mist. It’s coming in from the northwest, but it’s offshore. Pressure’s stupid low.”

  “No fucking consistency up here if it isn’t winter,” Falcon grumbles. He’s laid out his board on top of a silver bag, and then he ducks into the shed at the bottom of the yard and walks out with a second, longer board. He crouches down and scrapes the old wax off that one, then scrubs on a new layer before zipping both boards into the bag with the leashes and pocketing the wax bar.

  He grabs the bag by it’s handles and picks it up. Our gazes collide twice, but we don’t speak to each other. Guess there’s nothing to say. It doesn’t feel weird with him, though, and I hope that’s the way it stays.

  With the sideways jerk of his head, Falcon pops the joints in his neck. “The point’s going to be crowded as fuck.”

  “Maybe not,” Topher chips in. “It’s Monday. Man’s gotta work.”

  When they look all set to leave, I’m herded against the house as they head for the French doors instead of walking down to the beach from the yard. It’s only then, still half asleep, do I realize they aren’t surfing local.

  Ozzie hangs back, his perceptive gaze roaming my face. “You coming, or what? The break’s a two-hour drive from here and we’re leaving in a minute to get a parking spot nearby.”