Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “You two are children,” I said. “You realize that, right?”

  They just shrugged.

  “Anyway, Leo said he could get this shit up on Facebook and Instagram and stuff, and make sure Van is tagged or whatever,” Cooper said.

  “Leo?”

  “Oh my god, keep up,” Cooper said. “Yes, Leo. Don’t ask me how he can do it, because I don’t know, and I don’t ask him questions like that. It’s not my area. I just know that he said he could, and it won’t look like we were involved. In about five minutes, a video of Van sucking salt off that girl’s tits is going to be all over the Internet. Then we sit back and let things happen naturally.”

  I had to give it to them, they’d come up with a decent plan. Especially if Leo could pull that off—although I didn’t want to know how. It sounded like it might be illegal.

  Cooper finally took a sip of his beer. “Well, boys, I think our work here is done.” He turned to me. “Thanks for your help.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” I said.

  “You bought the beer.” Cooper lifted his phone and snapped a picture of me. “And now I have proof you were here, so don’t rat us out.”

  I shook my head and took a drink. Ratting them out to Zoe was the last thing I was going to do. Were they complete juveniles? Yeah. Was I proud of them? Hell yeah. I wanted them to take this guy down. And it felt good to know Zoe had them on her side.

  “I didn’t see a thing,” I said. “We were just out having a couple beers.”

  We finished our drinks, and it wasn’t long before Cooper and Chase had gone to sit with a table full of girls. They each had one on their lap. They motioned for me to join them, but I shook my head. I had no interest in some random hook-up.

  Mostly, I thought about Zoe. Wondering how soon she’d see the damning evidence. If I’d know when she did. Regardless of what she’d said to me at breakfast last weekend, I did give a shit. About my family. About her. Just because things hadn’t worked out between us didn’t mean I couldn’t care. I just didn’t like seeing her with someone who could disrespect her like that. She deserved better.

  She deserved better than either of us.

  14

  Zoe

  Van opened the door just a few seconds after I knocked. He was shirtless, in just a pair of sweats, running a towel through his hair.

  “Hey,” he said, looking me up and down. “You look hot.”

  I glanced down at myself. I was wearing a slouchy t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. Casual and arguably cute, but I hadn’t been going for hot, necessarily. It felt like he was just making shit up.

  “Come on in.” he said.

  “Thanks.” I stepped across the threshold of his apartment and my back prickled. It was a weird sensation, almost like déjà vu. But I didn’t have the impression of repetition. More like foreboding.

  I needed to calm my ass down, but I was wound up so tight, I felt like I might snap in half. I’d been on edge all week. Monday I’d been so fucking distracted, I’d almost missed an appointment with a client. Thankfully, I’d been wearing a stain-free shirt, and had been able to rush downstairs to meet them. But I hated feeling so unhinged.

  The answer was simple. I’d take it out on Van.

  Sexually, of course.

  That was what he was good for, wasn’t it? He wasn’t a bad lay, and I usually got off. And I needed it bad. Like, bad bad. Like nothing I’d done to myself in the past few weeks had done nearly enough to relieve the pressure that built every day.

  It was Roland, but I staunchly refused to believe it had anything to do with the way he looked in a button-down shirt, or how good he’d felt when I’d slept in his bed. It most definitely had nothing to do with the way he smelled, or the fact that sometimes if I played my cards right, I could dart out into the hallway after he walked by and get a tiny whiff of him.

  Not that I’d ever done that. I had way too much self-respect.

  Okay, no I didn’t.

  But no, it was none of those things. It was the fact that his very presence at Salishan Cellars emitted a stream of negative energy so potent, I was in a constant state of stress. I could feel him through the walls. Sense every furrow of his brow. Every heavy sigh. He was brooding and grumpy and I barely saw him, but he was basically ruining my life.

  Which was why I needed to have stupid, meaningless sex with a guy named Van.

  Perfectly legit.

  “You want a drink?” Van asked.

  “That would be great.” I very, very much wanted a drink. That would make all of this so much easier.

  I put my purse down and sat on the edge of the couch while he went into the kitchen. His apartment wasn’t big, but it was always immaculately clean. Almost oddly clean, for a guy. It was nothing like Cooper and Chase’s place, which made you wonder if you should sit or just stand and hope you didn’t touch anything. Even when it was clean, the goofball boys’ house smelled like them. Like guys. It wasn’t a gross smell, actually. It was a bit like guys’ deodorant and maybe aftershave or their shampoo, mixed with a hint of that man smell that on some guys was fucking delicious.

  Van’s apartment always smelled like cleaning products. At first, I’d wondered if he was a germaphobe. But he didn’t seem to wash his hands all the time or worry about wiping off tables or the bar top when we were out. At this point, I figured he just preferred to keep things clean.

  I hadn’t seen Van in a while. Not since we’d left the bar together in front of Roland—and I’d gone home alone. He’d texted me earlier to see if I wanted to come over—no pretense of anything but sex, he hadn’t even asked me to meet him for drinks first—and I’d waffled for an hour before answering.

  Why was I being so weird about his? I liked sex, and sex with Van was… well, it was fine. It didn’t mean anything, and I wanted it that way. I didn’t have feelings for him, and he didn’t for me, and none of that was a problem. It was like I’d told Brynn. Sometimes having a fling was a great way to get over a broken heart.

  Only my heart hadn’t been broken last week. It had been years. What did I still have to get over?

  Van came back with my drink, and I shook off that thought.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He nodded—more of a tip of his chin—and sat beside me. Close. Because why wouldn’t he sit close? He’d texted me for a booty call, and I’d come over, so he had every reason to believe this little visit had a happy ending.

  I took a generous swallow of the whiskey.

  His phone dinged. He had this weird chime sound when he got messages and for no good reason, it always made my skin crawl. He picked it up off the coffee table and swiped the screen with his thumb, his drink perched on his bent knee.

  I leaned back and waited. So he was just going to sit there looking at his phone? I took another drink.

  His forehead creased, and he flicked his thumb up and down the screen. “What the hell?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Who put this shit on Facebook?” He stood and started pacing, still looking at his phone. “That crazy bitch.”

  “Why are you freaking out?” I dug my phone out of my purse and opened Facebook. I was friends with Van, so maybe I could see what had him so riled up.

  After finding his profile, I scrolled down. There were a couple of status updates. A bathroom mirror selfie from earlier that made me cringe, even if he did have decent abs.

  Noise blared from his phone and he jerked, like it surprised him. “A video? Who the fuck…”

  I scrolled down more and came face to face with a photo of Van. Although he was kissing some girl, there was no doubt it was him. She was dressed in a shiny silver top and a skirt that was barely long enough to cover her ass. Hanging on his other side was another girl wearing a plastic crown and pink boa around her shoulders.

  That wasn’t the only photo.

  A sick feeling spread through my stomach as I scrolled through the rest. Van kissing the pink boa girl. Taking a shot glass fro
m between some girl’s boobs with his teeth. Walking out the door with both girls, one on each arm.

  “What the hell is this?” I asked.

  I scrolled again, and a video started to play. Distorted crowd noise mixed with music in the background, and a guy leaned over a girl lying on the bar.

  “Oh shit—Zoe, don’t,” Van said.

  He lunged for me, but I stood up and moved a few steps away, my eyes glued to my phone screen. Even in the video’s low light, I could tell the guy on the bar was Van. He leaned down and licked his way up the girl’s stomach, then buried his face in her boobs. The taste of bile hit the back of my tongue as he took something out of her mouth and dry-humped her a few times.

  “Are you fucking kidding me with this?” I asked. The car-wreck of a video wasn’t over, but I tapped pause. I didn’t want to see any more.

  “It was just a party,” he said.

  “Did you or did you not do the world’s raunchiest body shot off a drunk girl, and then leave with her and someone else?” I asked.

  “It’s not a big deal,” he said. “We were all a little happy last night. Things got carried away.”

  “This was last night?” I asked, holding up my phone. “Where did you take those girls?”

  “What does it matter?” he asked.

  “You brought them here, didn’t you?” I asked. “Both of them. Less than twenty-four hours ago, you had two drunk girls here, in your apartment. And you called me to come over?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I don’t need more recovery time or anything. I’ve got plenty to go around.”

  “You think I’m worried your dick won’t work?” I asked.

  “It’s not like you and I are a thing,” he said. “I thought we both understood that.”

  “I know we’re not, but that doesn’t mean I’m cool with this,” I said. “These girls barely look old enough to drink.”

  “It was her twenty-first birthday,” he said.

  I stared at Van, the taste of bile returning with a vengeance. “Twenty-one? You’re thirty.”

  “So?”

  “Oh my god.” I put a hand to my forehead. “You honestly think this is okay?”

  “Zoe, I had some fun last night. They had fun, too. That’s all it was. And that’s all this is,” he said, gesturing between us. “Is there a time limit I’m supposed to wait before we can hang out again if I’ve had someone else over? Do we really need a set of rules, here? Besides, it’s not like you’ve been available lately.”

  “I have work,” I said. “And a life.”

  “Right,” he said. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with your ex-husband being in town.”

  “What?”

  “Your ex shows up and suddenly you’re always busy,” he said. “I don’t know what you expected me to do. Wait for you?”

  “Roland doesn’t have anything to do with… with anything,” I said.

  “Sure.”

  “Let me get this straight. My ex being in town somehow justifies all this.” I held up my phone again. The image was frozen on him on top of the girl.

  “Look, you’re cool to hang out with, and the sex is great,” he said. “And I have never given a shit about who else is fucking you. You want to bang your ex, go ahead. But don’t expect me to suddenly become a fucking priest while you’re getting boned by someone else. I’m in this for a good time, and if I don’t have it with you, I’ll have it with someone else. No big deal.”

  “I’m not banging my ex,” I said. “God, Van. No one else is fucking me.”

  “I’m just saying, I don’t care. And I don’t get why you do.”

  Swallowing hard, I looked away. What had I expected? We’d established in the beginning that this was just sex. We hooked up when we both felt like it. Used a condom every time. That was it. What I’d agreed to. What I’d wanted.

  But it had been easier to ignore the reality of him sleeping with other women when it wasn’t being thrown in my face.

  “You know what, this isn’t working for me anymore,” I said.

  “Zoe.” His tone was soothing, like he was talking to an angry child. “Don’t be like that. Sit down, have another drink. I’ll rub your back, and then…”

  “Seriously? You fucked not one, but two girls in here last night, and you’re trying to coax me into staying?”

  “I cleaned up,” he said.

  “Oh god,” I said. “That’s why it always smells like bleach in here, isn’t it? You don’t want the women you bring home to smell each other.”

  “No, I just have good fucking manners,” he said. “Of course I wash the sheets in between.”

  The danger of me vomiting was growing by the second. Although maybe vomiting all over Van’s bleach-soaked apartment wasn’t a bad idea.

  “I’m done,” I said. How exactly was I supposed to break up with someone I wasn’t really dating? “This thing with us is over. Got that? Don’t call me. Don’t text. Take me off your hook-up list.”

  “Zoe—”

  “Don’t.” I grabbed my purse and went for the door. “This was a mistake, and I’m done.”

  I left before he could argue. My stomach roiled with nausea and my heart beat uncomfortably hard. I hurried to my car and left, needing to put distance between me and Van’s apartment.

  What the fuck had I been thinking? That randomly having sex with some guy who didn’t care about me was a good way to spend my life? That wasn’t me. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have even considered something like that. Sure, I loved sex, and one of the bummers of being single was not having any. But even when I was young, and my idea of an ideal Friday night was having sex where the danger of being caught was high, it still meant something to me. I’d never slept with just anyone.

  Why had I compromised myself like that?

  Because compromising myself was exactly what I’d done. I’d ignored what I really wanted. Settled for something so much less.

  I stopped at a stop sign and sent Cooper a quick text, asking if he was home and I could come over. Some girls had their BFF to go to when they felt like shit. I had Coop and Chase. I just hoped they weren’t out. I really needed them tonight.

  15

  Zoe

  Cooper texted back to say they were home, so I went straight there. They lived across town from Van, closer to the winery. I parked and went up to the door.

  Cooper answered. “Hey, there you are. What’s up?”

  “Can I come in?” I asked. “I’ve had a shitty night.”

  “Sure.” He held the door open and I went inside.

  I tossed my stuff down on their table and flopped onto the couch.

  “What’s going on?” Cooper asked. “No, wait, let me guess. How many tries do I get? How about five. Okay, first guess: You ran into Roland and he did something to piss you off.”

  “No, nothing about Roland,” I said.

  “Damn,” he said. “Are you sure? Because Roland is pretty good at pissing you off.”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “I told Van I was done. I’d say I broke up with him, but it’s kind of hard to break up with a guy I was stupid enough to be sleeping with but not dating.”

  “Zoe, you didn’t let me finish guessing. Wait.” His eyes widened. “Did you just say what I think you said?”

  “I broke things off with Van?”

  Cooper raised his arms overhead, like he was mimicking a ref calling a touchdown. “Yes. Oh my god, finally. Zoe-bowie, I have been waiting for this day. Fuck yes.”

  “You’re very excited,” I said.

  “I know,” he said, his eyes huge and wild. He turned to shout over his shoulder. “Chase, Zoe’s here and it’s go time. Where’s the box?”

  “Hang on.” Chase’s voice came from his room. A few seconds later he stumbled out, pulling on a pair of sweats. “I think it’s in the closet by the door.”

  “There’s a closet by the door?” Cooper asked, turning around. “Holy shit, there is. How did I not know that? This is
an awesome place for a closet. I could have been putting my coat in here all this time and I didn’t even notice the door.”

  Chase shrugged and pulled a dark blue shoebox out of the closet. He brought it over and handed it to me. “Here.”

  “What’s this?” I was a little afraid to open it.

  “It’s your break-up box,” Cooper said, sporting a big grin. “We put it together for when you broke up with Van.”

  “What’s a break-up box?”

  Cooper sat on the arm of the couch and tapped his leg. “Just some things we thought might help. Last time you broke up with a guy, you were sad. And I hate it when you’re sad. But let’s face it, Chase and I suck at this stuff. We figured we should be better prepared the next time. Obviously, there was a next time coming with Van. I won’t get into all the I told you so stuff, at least not tonight because your wounds are fresh and I’m way too nice of a guy to do that to you.”

  “Wow, this is… really sweet. I think.” I slowly lifted the lid, slightly less afraid it contained a live spider, and took out the first thing. “Tissues. Makes sense, but I’m not going to cry over him.”

  “Good, that douche doesn’t deserve it,” Cooper said. He took the little package of tissues and tossed them over his shoulder. “Fuck that. And if you did cry over him, I’d take these from you anyway because you’d be stupid to shed tears over someone so fucking unworthy.”

  “Uh, Coop, tissues are good for other things, though,” Chase said.

  “Which is why they aren’t in the garbage,” Cooper said. “They are quite handy to have around. If we ever went through a dry spell, I’d be buying this shit in bulk. Not that we ever go through dry spells. But shit, a dude can only go so long without blowing his load before he’s basically a danger to society. Whacking it is a public service, if you think about it.”

  I ignored Cooper’s babble about masturbation and pulled out a small, flat package wrapped in plastic. “Microwave popcorn?”

  “Movie theater butter,” Chase said, puffing his chest out a little bit like he was proud of himself. “When you’ve had a shitty day, it’s always good to have an easy snack.”