The Men of Laguna

by Kim Karr

  That is my room. Maggie took her grandmother’s room downstairs in the back, which has beautiful French doors that open to a magnificent view of the beach.

  The place itself is small. Enough for us, though. Just under one thousand square feet inside, it’s still bigger than my apartment in New York City. The best part is the outdoor living space and the view; they are both to die for. Beyond the short breaker wall is the white crystal-like beach and the ever blue of the Pacific Ocean.

  What more could a girl ask for?

  Running my hand over the shiny black granite in the galley kitchen, I look around again in awe. Franke farm sink, Sub-Zero refrigerator, Wolf cooktop and oven. Everything is new. The only thing that is the same as before is the solid wood flooring beneath my bare feet. When Maggie told me her mother had remodeled the place with intention to help her sell it before Maggie decided to move back here last year, I never imagined it would look like this. Katherine lives in LA and never wanted to move back to Laguna; that’s why the bungalow was left to Maggie.

  Maggie’s mother, like Maggie, was an only child raised by a single mother. Maggie’s grandmother’s family had come from money made during the California Gold Rush, a time when loose gold nuggets could be picked off the ground. The money had survived generation after generation, but for this generation it has almost run dry. This bungalow is the last of the wealth for the May family. Luckily, Maggie’s mother has a great job and earns a good living.

  Taking a few moments to absorb all the changes in the house, I can’t help but think how vastly different this place is from Manhattan. For once, change isn’t causing me to break out in hives.

  I’m more than okay with it.

  Moving forward the only way I know how…without regret.

  After unpacking and napping for a few hours once we’d arrived from the airport, Maggie insisted we go to the beach. Although I was nowhere near done setting up my room, I gave in and went. The day was warm and sunny, and I wanted to feel the heat on my skin and the sand between my toes. And maybe, just maybe, I hoped to get a glimpse of a certain lifeguard on duty. We walked for miles. Every time we passed a lifeguard tower, I snuck a quick glance at the guy in red shorts and a white T-shirt, but not a single one was Cam.

  By the time we got back, and horsed around by dousing each other with the hose on the side of the house like we used to do as kids, I had needed some more sleep, and so did Maggie. Feeling beyond exhausted, I went from the doorway of my new room to the bed in a few steps. I shed my dress and dove onto the soft mattress with its mound of white covers and pillows. Smiling under the sheets, I looked around. I had a blank canvas to decorate and make my own—all in due time.

  Yet even though I was tired, I tossed and turned.

  Images of Cam floated through my mind.

  I wondered if it was only because I knew that eventually I’d see him again. He was my neighbor, after all.

  Sleep wasn’t forthcoming. It was seldom easy for me, but this time it was because memories of Cam were causing that ache he had created so many hours ago to throb, almost painfully.

  I wished I’d already bought that vibrator Maggie had put on the list. I could use it right about now. My hand would have to do. I wasn’t sure if Maggie was asleep, though, and what if the bed squeaked? I gave half a second’s thought to embarrassment and tossed it aside for the sake of finding relief.

  The bottom line? I was horny.

  The memory of Cam Waters’ groan slid over me and traveled somewhere deep inside me right down to my clit. I didn’t do this often, but I knew how to make it quick. Having a roommate for so many years taught me that.

  Turning to my side, my fingers circled my hard nub and I plunged one inside to fuck myself. Sweat slid down the line of my spine and rested just above my buttocks. Then it trickled down a little farther, and it felt so much like a tongue licking along my skin, it put me close to the blissful edge of climax. I shifted ever so slightly against my hand, once, twice, three times.

  Sweet tension curled inside my belly. Before I could blink, my sex tightened and my body tensed. Soon, I found myself tipping over faster than ever at the thought of being the reason Cam had made the sounds he had.

  I shook in silence and then turned farther to bury my face in the pillow and stifle my own moans. Boneless and sated, after that, sleep found me.

  The house was quiet when I woke and once I’d showered, I unpacked enough to find something to wear to meet Maggie’s we don’t have a label guy. Uncertain if the upcoming night air would be chilly, I went with a simple white KVF wrap dress with silver sandals. Once I’d dressed, dabbed some makeup on, and blow-dried my hair, I snuck out onto the balcony. Looking one way, then the other and back, I spent more than fifteen minutes staring at the house to my left and the other to my right.

  Which did Cam live in?

  Maggie’s being coy and deliberately not talking about him. Okay, so maybe not coy exactly. I might have said to her, “I don’t want to talk about him.” And then added, “Ever again.”

  The bitch of it is, I’m super curious and for the life of me, I can’t tell which house he lives in. Eventually, I’ll break down and ask, but for now I’m going to enjoy a glass of spiked lemonade on one of the lounges on the patio that overlooks the water and wait for the sun to set or Maggie to wake up, whichever comes first.

  Slipping off my sandals, I settle in the chair. I wish I had my book, but as luck would have it, I left it, along with my iPod, on the plane. Yes, me, Miss Organized, did that. In my defense, all I cared about at the time was getting the hell out of Dodge. I checked with the airport and neither was found. I’ve added these purchases to my to do list. The iPod will have to wait, but I’ll go to the store some time next week and buy another copy of Summer’s Ménage, if only to pretend it’s Cam reading it to me.

  I’m uncertain of when Maggie plans on going out, and my stomach rumbling tells me I should get up and get something to eat in the meantime. There is some hummus and carrots in the refrigerator, and I think I saw some all-natural cheese there, but there are no crackers in cupboards. Maggie’s on a minimalist health kick and shops accordingly.

  Tomorrow I’m so hitting up the grocery store.

  The thought of the rather unappetizing food isn’t enough to motivate me to get me to move from this spot, so I decide to wait a bit.

  The sound of the waves and feel of the warm breeze makes me feel more relaxed than I have in ages.

  “Hey. I thought you might be out here.” Maggie stands at the end of the pathway along the side of the house that leads from the driveway to the patio, wearing a red baseball hat, tight jeans rolled up to the ankles, leopard pumps, and a white sleeveless silky top with a black sequin blazer.

  “Hi.” I shade my eyes to look at her. “I didn’t know you even left. Here I was creeping around the house because I thought you were still sleeping.”

  She laughs. “I ran out to get food for dinner.”

  “You’re cooking?” I ask in utter shock, and possibly with a hint of concern about what she could be cooking.

  She laughs again. “No, Derek is going to grill some fish.”

  “He cooks?” I make an impressed face.

  Shrugging out of her jacket, she tosses it on one of the chairs at the outdoor table for four and walks toward the house, but pauses to turn around. “Not exactly. He grills. The rest of the meal is from the Whole Foods salad bar.”

  That sounds more like Maggie. Setting my drink down, I swing my legs onto the ground. “Let me put my sandals on and I’ll help you unload the car.”

  “No, it’s all set.”

  “You should have told me you were going; I would have come.”

  Maggie opens the barn-like door to the kitchen. “Don’t be silly—you were tired and needed to sleep.”

  Once I’ve slipped my sandals on, I begin to walk toward her. It’s not until I’m a step away that I hear the loud male voices inside.

  Male voices.

  As i
n two men.

  They must have come in the front while she came around back.

  My eyes bug out of my head. “Maggie?”

  She turns toward me and squints. Still, I can see the mixture of guilt and mischievousness in her eyes. “Yes, Makayla?”

  “Who’s inside?”

  Her smile is as bright as the setting sun. “Remember, I told you Derek and his partner wanted to talk to you about selling your designs in their surf shop?”

  I’m going to kill her!

  “Yes; however, you never told me that was what we were doing tonight. You told me you wanted me to meet Derek, and that we were having dinner with him.”

  Before I can say another word, a very good-looking blond man with his hair pulled back in a slight ponytail, pressed white shirt, and black pants appears in the open doorway. A suit. Just like I thought. Albeit a hot-looking suit. He’s a very tanned, very tall, and very well-built man.

  God, he must work out night and day.

  Maggie smiles at him and his arms go around her small waist. “Hey, babe, should I start the grill?”

  Babe?

  He calls her babe.

  Okay, personally, I think when that word is used, it means the relationship status has passed the no-label phase.

  Allowing a moment of tenderness to pass between them, she soon pushes off his big, broad chest and grabs his hand to turn him in my direction. “Derek Helmsley, I want you to meet my very best friend in the whole, wide world, Makayla Alexander.”

  His smile is genuine, and I get the idea right away that he is, too.

  I hold out my hand, but he surprises me with a kiss to the cheek. “So you’re the infamous Makayla. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Crushing my irritation with Maggie, I manage a courteous smile. “Not all bad, I hope.”

  His arm swings around to pull Maggie closer. “No, nothing but good. This one right here thinks you walk on water.”

  Okay, so he’s pushing it a little, I’m sure, but scoring brownie points never hurts. “You’re going to make me blush,” I tease.

  Just then a man dressed in a gray button-down and black slacks with a black leather necklace of some kind around his neck appears in the doorway. He has a bottle of wine in one hand and four stemmed glasses woven between his fingers in the other. How he managed that is a feat in itself.

  This guy might even be taller than Derek, but he isn’t as wide. Whereas Derek is football player material, he is more the soccer player type. His dark, slicked-back hair borders on black. I’m guessing Italian or Latin. He’s attractive in the boy-next-door kind of way. Just not the boy next door that I, for some reason, want to see. “Hey, am I missing the introductions?” He smiles. He has a really great smile and really white teeth.

  Maggie and Derek rush to take the open wine and glasses from him. Without preamble, Derek nods toward his business partner. “Makayla, this is Andre Randle. We own the surf shop in the village here in Laguna. He also owns other surf shops up and down the Pacific coast.”

  Andre shakes my hand and his eyes rake over me. “Very nice to meet you, Makayla.”

  His hand is warm in mine and his grip tighter than I’m normally accustomed to when I meet men. “Nice to meet you.” I smile.

  Clasping my other hand with his other, he practically makes us hold hands. Like I said, he’s attractive; I just don’t know if I’m attracted to him.

  “Wine, anyone?” Maggie asks, looking at me specifically with puppy dog–like eyes that are screaming, “please don’t be mad at me.”

  My glare tells her I’m going to kill her.

  “Let me get you a glass,” Andre offers.

  With a sweet smile, I answer, “Yes, sure. That would be great,” even though I could walk the four feet to the table to get it myself.

  After the wine is poured, Maggie announces, “I’m going to get the food ready.”

  “I’ll help you,” I answer, trying not to grit my teeth.

  “No, really, Derek and I can do it. You sit down and relax. The sun is just about to set. Tomorrow your Cinderella duties can start,” she teases.

  My laugh is forced, but that joke always gets me and a real chuckle eventually ghosts out of my mouth. She knows I love cleaning. It’s my thing. And since she hates it, when we lived together in the past, she would do anything to get out of cooking and cleaning.

  With a glass in each hand, Andre hands me one. “What do you say we sit on the beach and take in that sunset?”

  Sunsets are beautiful and especially at the beach. With that, I can’t say no. “Sounds great.”

  Andre offers his arm and I loop mine through his. Okay, he’s handsome and charming.

  How bad can the night be?

  Sitting on the sand outside the breaker wall, we fall into easy conversation. “So, Maggie tells me you worked for a fashion house in New York. What did you do there?” he asks.

  My gaze lands on the setting sun. “I was a designer in the accessories department at Kate von Frantzenberg.”

  “Did you like working in New York with all that traffic and all those people?”

  I dig my toes into the sand and look over at him. “It’s the only place I’ve ever worked. I don’t know any other way.”

  Andre sips his wine. “So,” he says, “what made you quit and move out here?”

  The wind blows and my hair tangles in front of my face. I push it away. “I was ready for a change.”

  He doesn’t look away from me. “Lucky for us. By the way, I saw your work. I think it is fantastic stuff.”

  Feeling proud of what I’ve created, I smile at him. “Thank you.”

  “What if I could sell your designs in all my stores, not just here? Would you be interested?”

  My heart thumps in excitement. “Yes, of course I am, but there are some things to discuss.”

  “What are you concerned about?”

  I take a sip of wine. “I’m not concerned per se, but I think it comes down to how much you can sell them for, and what your cut will be?”

  He shakes his head with a small laugh and swallows a sip of wine. “Something tells me I may be more willing to negotiate my terms with you than I am with most of my vendors.”

  With excitement in his voice, he goes on to tell me about his shops. What he sells, where he finds the goods, and how each item is unique and some of the products are even custom made for him. He’s young and seems to have done extremely well for himself.

  Looking out toward the fading yellow glow, I push myself up. “We should get back; they’ll be waiting for us.”

  Andre stands and takes my empty wineglass. “I hope I’m not coming across as being pushy. I just really think we have a win/win here.”

  “No, not all. I just want to make sure it’s a deal that can work for both of us.”

  “It will be,” he assures me. “We need to figure out a way to mass-produce your pieces.”

  The wind blows my hair in my face and I push it away. “That’s just it. They’re handcrafted, which it what makes them unique.”

  Andre turns to me with a grin. “Maggie told me you’d be a hard sell. I just want you to keep an open mind. How about we agree to discuss it another time?”

  Seagulls above squawk and I look up and then over at him. “Sounds like a plan.”

  We walk side by side, and my eyes wander to the house on the right and then the one on the left. Cam lives in one of those houses. Which one? Is he home? Does he see me out here? What will he do when he finds out who I am? How will I react when I see him? Only time will tell.

  “Here, take these,” Andre says, handing me the glasses.

  Once the trade-off is complete, he opens the gate from the beach to Maggie’s private outdoor living space. As I pass by, he stops me and whispers in my ear, “No more business talk tonight, I promise.”

  I smile at him and think he really is charming.

  “Oh, good, everything is ready. Sit down,” Maggie says excitedly.

  No longer a
ble to stay mad at her, I give her a grin and look around.

  Andre sets the glasses on the table near my lemonade and rushes to pull my chair out before sitting beside me.

  The rumble of tires on gravel has my ears perking up. There has been no activity at either house to the right or left of us all day. The one to the right had lights on when we walked back from the beach, but I saw no one outside.

  This is the first sign of life, and I know the car just pulled in to the house on the right because the one to the left has a paved driveway, not stones.

  After trying to crane my head, I give up and decide I can’t see anything from here.

  As soon as I can, I’ll excuse myself and run upstairs to take a look.

  “Food is ready,” Derek says, taking the fish off the grill.

  Looks like it will be a while.

  I sigh and decide to put my mind to rest. It probably isn’t Cam anyway, and even if it is, he’s no one I need to be dwelling over. I was more than likely just another almost notch in his belt. With that stark, cold reality, I vow to enjoy the night.

  After all, Maggie worked hard on this. Soft rock is playing in the background; the table is set with real dishes, not paper; more wine has been poured, and candles are flickering all around us.

  It’s almost romantic.

  Too bad the man beside me isn’t the one I want to get romantic with.

  But then I think about the list. About the ten items on it and how Andre could help me check off number two or number three.

  Wear a bikini

  Have sex with someone you don’t know—Andre?

  Fuck on the beach—Andre?

  Join the Mile High Club

  Get drunk and let someone else worry how you’re going to get home

  Give a guy the best blow job of his life and make sure he knows