by McKayla Box
Summer: A High School Bully Romance
Sunset Beach High, Book 4
By
McKayla Box
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Summer: A High School Bully Romance
Sunset Beach High, Book 4
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019
Cover design by McKayla Box
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.
THE SUNSET BEACH HIGH SERIES
FALL
WINTER
SPRING
SUMMER
INTRODUCTION
The thrilling conclusion to the bestselling series is here.
I made it through senior year.
Barely.
I thought that would be enough.
Get to the end and move on.
That's what you do, right?
Fight through it and move on.
That should be enough.
But it's not.
Because I want more.
And the one thing I want the most?
It may be the one thing I lose.
WARNING: Summer is the fourth and final book in the bestselling Sunset Beach High series. It's the conclusion you've been waiting for! It contains mature themes, sexual content, and profanity. If you're not a fan of those things, this isn't the book for you. But if you like serious stuff mixed with lots of bad words and some sweaty sex, THIS IS THE BOOK FOR YOU. Find out what happens NOW!
ONE
Every time he walks out of the ocean, the same thrill washes through me.
Every. Time.
This time is no different.
The beach is crowded and I’m sitting on a towel. My board is on the sand next to me. I’ve been out of the water for maybe half an hour. The July sun is high in the sky, hot and bright. I’m nearly dry.
I scan the water, shading my eyes from the sun with my hand.
And I see him.
The wave picks him up and he’s on his feet with no effort, the small white board gliding down the wall of water. He turns hard and the board slashes through the water, his back to the shore. Then he twists again and he shoots back up the wave, through the lip, water and foam spraying everywhere as he floats into the air, defying gravity. He and the board are one as they arc above the water, then land softly on the surface. He whips his hair back, sending water flying again as he rides in toward the shore. He drops to his stomach and lets the white water carry him in.
Damn.
He slides off the board and scoops it off in one motion. His entire upper body, baked golden under the summer sun, glistens as the ocean clings to his skin. He tucks the board under his arm, runs a hand through his sun-kissed blond hair, and walks toward me, the corner of his mouth turned upward.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
I know heads are turning as he walks up the sand. He’s that guy.
The one everyone points at when they watch the surfers because he’s so much better than everyone else.
The one that every girl pretends not to look at but can’t help themselves because he’s so unfairly gorgeous and they can’t believe how blue his eyes are.
And the one that’s mine.
Trevor drops his board next to mine, leans down, and kisses me.
He tastes like the ocean and I want to drink him up.
He stands back up and pushes that wet hair from his face again. “I might go back out. It’s still firing.”
I glance at my phone on the towel next to me. “Thought you wanted to leave at three?”
He shrugs his shoulders. The muscles in them, shaped and formed by years of swimming in the ocean, ripple.
Damn.
“Don’t you have to meet with your dad and the lawyer?” I ask.
He makes a face. “Yeah. But they can wait.”
“Trev.”
“Pres.”
I sigh and look away.
Two girls are walking toward us. About our age, both in bikinis, whispering to one another, both eyeing him.
“Here comes your fan club,” I tell him.
He doesn’t turn to look, the corner of his mouth flickering upward again.
We’ve done this dance before. In the past, I’d be jealous because I know what it’s coming. But now I’m more amused than anything else.
They reach us, glance at me, then look at him.
“You’re really good,” the blonde one says.
She’s cute. Great hair. Nice tan. Yellow bikini.
Trevor smiles at me. “Thanks.”
“Do you, like, give lessons?” the brunette asks.
She’s even cuter. Long, black hair. Red bikini that barely covers her boobs.
“Lessons?” Trevor asks, turning in their direction. “Nah. Sorry.”
Red Bikini raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “You sure? I think you could. And I’d be super into...anything you could teach me.”
“Or maybe you could do us both,” Yellow Bikini says. “Teach us, I mean.”
He looks at me. “What do you think?”
“I think I'd like to hear what you think,” I say. I look at both of the girls. “I mean, since they clearly look like they need...lessons.”
Red Bikini gives me the stink eye.
Yellow Bikini ignores me, keeping her gaze on Trevor.
“Not interested,” Trevor says.
Red Bikini frowns, then glances at me. “Is this your girlfriend?”
I smile at her.
“Yes, Presley is my girlfriend,” he says, laughing.
Yellow Bikini finally looks at me. “Presley?”
“You have a problem with my name?” I ask. “First you want to fuck my boyfriend, now you don't like my name?” I shake my head. “You guys are amazing.”
Yellow Bikini leans over to Red Bikini and whispers something in her ear. Red Bikini frowns, then goes a bit pale.
I wait.
“Are you the girl that...that ripped off that guy's head?” she finally asks.
I shake my head. “Not his head. I ripped off his hair.”
Trevor laughs.
I tilt my head to the side. “You have really nice hair. Be easy to grab. If someone wanted to.”
They are both already shuffling backward in the sand.
“What's wrong?” I ask. “You don't want any...lessons now?”
They both turn and walk away, picking up their speed as they go, like they can't get away fast enough.
He looks at me. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“Lucky for them.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? You were looking to throw down?”
“A girl does what a girl needs to do,” I tell him.
He smiles and sits down on the towel next to me. “They probably made the right decision. Walking away.”
“Oh, they definitely did,” I say. “They both looked like they cared a lot about their hair.”
He laughs again, leans over, and kisses me.
“I didn't even notice what they looked like,” he says. “Were they hot?”
“You're so full of shit,” I say. “But thanks for pretending.”
He laughs and kisses me again.
“We really should pack up and get out of here,” I tell him. “You shouldn't be late.”
/> The mischief exits his eyes and he frowns. “Plenty of time. For everything.”
Except there really isn't.
There really isn't much time left at all.
TWO
“What are you guys meeting about today?” I ask.
We're driving home from the beach in Trevor's truck. Our boards are in the back and the windows are down. The salt and sand is stuck to my skin.
“Same shit,” he says, one hand on the wheel, the other arm out the window. “I don't know.”
“Are you still considering the plea bargain?” I ask.
“Nope,” he says.
It's been a little over two months since he was charged with assault in two different incidents. Both involved defending me. The case up in Santa Barbara ended up being a misdemeanor charge, which required nothing more than him paying a fine and some community service hours. The other charge, though, from the night I was drugged at a party, has ended up being way more complicated.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because fuck Derek Morgan,” he says.
I look away. We've had the same discussion before. Derek's parents pressed hard for an aggravated assault and battery charge against Trevor and that's what ended up being filed against him. It's potentially a felony conviction, something that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“That's a stupid legal strategy,” I say.
Because it is. His father hired three attorneys to defend him. All three have recommended that they seek some sort of plea, to move the conviction to something lesser than what was filed.
Trevor won't do it, though, because he won't plead to anything that forces him to say he's guilty.
“No one's ever accused me of being smart,” he says.
Which isn't true. He's plenty smart.
He's also plenty stubborn.
But this is a big deal. It's not a pissing contest.
He's messing with his future.
“So you want a trial and want to trust in a jury to find you completely innocent in all of this?” I ask. “When even you admit to the fact that you beat the shit out of him?”
The light in front of us changes to red and he slows the truck. “Pretty much.”
I shake my head and look out the window. “Utterly stupid.”
“What do you care?” he asks. “You're leaving for Santa Barbara anyway.”
I turn to look at him, but he's smiling.
“Kidding,” he says.
I am leaving for Santa Barbara. I got into UCSB and decided that's where I wanted to go. I decided that it was far enough away from home, but not too far. And it's on the beach.
“I don't think it's funny,” I tell him. “You know I don't think this is funny. You could go to jail. And if you're convicted, you won't be able to go to college. You're going to have a hard time getting a job. This isn't the hill to die on, Trev.”
“I don't want to die on any hill,” he says. “But this is all bullshit and I'm not taking it. Fuck him. Fuck his parents. And fuck the way all of this has gone. Shanna got jackshit for what she did to you. Athena, too. There's no way I'm gonna let this motherfucker win here.”
I lean back in the seat. Shanna ended up pleading to a disorderly conduct charge, which was absurd. She was fined and she's on probation for two years. I think there's community service, too, but when I found out, I didn't care enough to listen because it's irrelevant. Our attorney explained that because I'd waited so long to report what she'd done to me and there was no way to prove that the drug was in my system, any attempt to really go after her was going to be difficult. We never got that far along in the process because I didn't see the point. It was clear that the time that elapsed between when it happened and when I reported it was problematic.
So it's my fault.
Athena was charged with threatening and intimidation. She immediately admitted her guilt, which was surprising. But it was done because her attorney was able to arrange a deal for her that essentially didn't require much more than a written apology, destroying the original video, and a probationary period. If she managed to stay out of trouble, it would be removed from her record.
Like it never happened.
And people wonder why girls don't go to the police when shit happens to them.
But I don't think there's anything Trevor can do to make up for that.
“It won't change anything,” I tell him. “It won't change what's happened to them. It won't change what they did to me. This isn't something you can balance out. And you could lose.”
The light turns green and he punches the accelerator. “I'm not gonna lose.”
“You don't know that,” I tell him. “You can't just bull your way through this.”
“I'll be fine,” he says.
His fucking mantra.
I'll be fine.
Except I know that he's not.
He's been way more on edge. Snapping at friends. Moodier. He's made no decisions about college, which basically means he's missed all of his admission windows and he won't be going to school in the fall. I know it's all weighing on him, but he won't admit it.
He just says everything is fine.
“You're not even speaking to your dad,” I say, trying a different tact.
“Not true,” he says. “I talked to him two nights ago.”
“Yeah. You told him to fuck off.”
He smiles. “Oh yeah. That's right.”
“I'm serious,” I say. “You fucking moved out. You don't see that as a problem?”
“No,” he says. “I'm having a great time.”
Brett and Jake snagged a summer rental two blocks from the beach and he's crashing with them. They've tried to pitch it as just wanting to have their own place so screw around for the summer, but I know better. I know Trevor and his father were screaming at each other every single day and Trevor packed up his stuff one night and hasn't gone home since. His father is still handling the legal stuff, but that's the extent of their relationship right now.
And that's not good.
“I know you're having a great time,” I say. “That isn't the point.”
“Then what is?”
He's being difficult just to be difficult and it's so fucking irritating.
“I don't want you to go to jail,” I say. “And I don't want you to screw up the next twenty years of you life. It's not worth it. He's not worth it.”
He raises his hand up, the one hanging outside the window. He makes a fist and holds it up against the wind as we drive. He lets it push it backward, then he pushes forward against it. I remember doing something similar when I was little, playing with the force of the wind, feeling it against my hand and skin. He does it all the time.
But now it looks like he's punching the wind.
He glances at me with a smile. “I'll be fine.”
THREE
“Pres? That you?” my dad calls out.
“It's me. Not a home invader.”
Trevor drops me at home and I'm surprised to see my dad's car in the driveway. He's been making an effort to be home more often and he hadn't mentioned that he'd be home early. Not that I'm disappointed to see him.
He comes out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Glad you're not a home invader.”
“Right?” I ask. “Lucky for you.”
“How was surfing?”
“Good,” I say. “But I need a shower.”
“I'm grilling some chicken,” he says. “I know it's early, but I didn't eat lunch. Hungry?”
I nod. “Yeah. Let me rinse off.”
“No rush. Chicken's still cooking.”
I go to my room, strip out of my wet bathing suit, and jump in the shower. I scrub the ocean and the sand off my skin and out of my hair. I get out, towel off, and pull on a pair of clean shorts and a tank top. By the time I finish brushing through my hair, my dad is yelling that the chicken is ready.
The kitchen smells like grilled food and my stomach growls. “Wow. Now I'm really h
ungry.”
“I threw some tomatoes on, too,” he says, sliding the plate with the chicken on to the table. “And some peppers.”
I get a glass of water from the fridge, sit down, and fill my plate with grilled food. It takes me all of five minutes to eat everything on it.
He pushes the plates with the food on it in my direction. “Eat more.”
“I'm starving,” I say, spearing another piece of chicken.
“No kidding.”
I fork another tomato and a couple of peppers and drop them onto my plate.
“Hopefully, you'll get sick of dorm food and come home once in awhile for these kinds of meals,” he says.
“I'd come home even if you didn't know how to cook.”
“Maybe,” he says. “I will try to make some more good food over the next couple of weeks to entice you,”
“I don't need to be enticed, Dad,” I tell him. “I'll come home. Trust me.”
“Hmm. We'll see.”
I know that he's struggling with the idea of me leaving. He's trying to be cool about it, but he's very clearly already nervous about it. It's part of the reason he's making a point of getting home earlier when he can. He wants to spend time with me and he's not looking forward to having an empty house. I've asked him multiple times if I should just stay and not go and he freaks out. I know that's not what he wants, but I also know it's hard for him to imagine me being gone.
“You're home early,” I say, biting into another of the peppers.
“Frank had a meeting,” he says. “So I checked out early.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Think it was with Trevor and the lawyers.”
He nods. “Yeah. Frank was pretty grumpy today.”
“Like father, like son.”
“Is he giving any thought to pleading it down?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Stubborn as ever. Idiot.”
He sighs. “I wish he would come to his senses. I think Frank wants that, too. Originally, he was all about fighting it. But I think he's seen the writing on the wall and knows it's an uphill battle.”
