“I told you. I take care of myself.”
I knew that Lola liked rough sex. We’d had that kind of sex before, but after six years it had intensified. There was a new edge to her. She was still my playmate, but there was a fierceness mixed with femininity that I found irresistible. “When did you get so tough?”
She let out a laugh. “Oh, let’s see. Somewhere around the time I figured out that it was just my kitty and me.”
I toyed with a lock of her hair. “Seriously. Why do you need to be so strong?”
“You like me strong.”
“Yeah, I do. It’s just that you need somebody to take care of you.”
“Right.” She lifted a finger in the air. “One robot-man at my beck and call coming right up.”
“Quit it. You know what I mean.” What did I mean? Lola was independent. I loved that about her, but I also needed to watch over her. “If I turn into a robot will you oil my creaky joints?”
We both laughed, and the serious mood was broken.
Finally, we exited the bath.
When I walked into the bedroom my phone was ringing. “Hey, Papaw. ‘Sup?”
“What the hell’s going on out there?”
I jerked my head away from the phone and Lola’s eyebrows raised.
“I just got a text from Devin. With a link to a YouTube video.” His breathing was slow and measured. “I don’t know what you’re doing out there, but can you just stick to winning the contest and then get the hell out?”
“What are you talking about?” I sat on the edge of the bed and Lola kneeled behind me.
“What I’m talking about is the fight. Jesus, Justice. Is this how you solve problems?” I knew this tone in my grandfather’s voice. He was doing his best to keep his cool. “I’ll text you the link.”
“Send it to Lola’s phone. Mine won’t play videos.” I gave him her number and we hung up. Shortly thereafter Lola’s phone dinged. I jumped off the bed and grabbed her phone.
“What was that about?” Lola said.
“Goddamn Devin’s ruining our lives. He sent Papaw some kind of video. I scrolled to her messages, and she jerked the phone out of my hand.
Devin’s YouTube channel appeared with his smug grin. She pressed play and there, for all the world to see, was the footage of me, plain as day, shoving Devin so hard that he stumbled backward with a surprised look on his face and fell into his gourmet feast-laden table. The camera swung around to Kristin exiting the Airstream and yelling, “Devin! Are you okay? Oh, my God. What’s going on?” The camera moved to me again, and I said, “This isn’t over buddy. Not by a long shot.” The final shot was of me pulling a surprised Lola through the parking lot. I looked like a crazed animal.
Lola’s hand flew to her mouth. “It’s gotten over a thousand views already.”
“Fuck me.” We scrolled through some of the comments:
Who’s the deranged asshole?
Go get him Devin.
Hey, isn’t that Lola Cortes? How’d she get mixed up in this?
Cool Airstream.
I always thought Kristin was a class act. Where can I get a bracelet like the one she’s wearing?
Hey dude. I’d press charges if I were you.
Yeah, who’s the Looney Tunes who’s not man enough to beat you up fair and square?
Then Devin’s two cents chimed in:
That dude’s a nobody. Just somebody who thinks he can beat Kristin and me at the wave pool tandem contest. He got his panties in a bunch tonight. No sweat.
“God damn him!” I paced the room like a crazy man. “He is not getting away with this. First, he talked me into taunting you when we were kids. Then he tried to steal you from me when we were teenagers. Then he waited for me outside school and beat me up. Then he said my family framed his drug-dealing dad. Now he wants to take my uncle’s shop and turn it into a fucking grocery store with lofts on top.” I mimicked Devin’s annoying voice. “‘I’m up for a big redevelopment award.’ I’ll show him redevelopment. I’ll redevelop his face with my fist until nobody recognizes him.”
I stopped pacing and looked at Lola, my breathing heavy. “You know what I want to do? I want to walk over to his precious Airstream right this second, haul him out of his designer bed and beat the crap out of him.”
“Stop! You’re not going to do that.”
“I hate the motherfucker.” My fists clenched. “I’ll get back at him if it’s the last thing I do.” I wanted to beat Devin to a pulp, but Lola was right. Devin’s videographer would only be there to record the blow-by-blow.
I strode into the bathroom, picked up a wet washcloth, and hurled it against the mirrored tile where it slid into the bathtub. “No fucking way is he getting the shop. That was my uncle’s shop. We built it together. I grew up in that shop. It’s mine now. When I get the fifty grand, I can’t wait to rub every single crisp dollar bill in Devin’s smug face before I tear his precious contract into a million pieces and sprinkle it all over his overpriced mahogany desk.”
Lola and I faced each other, my breathing heavy. She gripped my biceps. “We’re going to win.”
When I looked into Lola’s fierce eyes, the truth I’d been running away from crystalized.
We were meant to be together.
Uncle Seth’s death was fate’s intervention. My uncle was gone, but I could make his demise mean something, turn it into something positive by winning the contest. By reuniting with Lola.
I held her face in my hands and our eyes locked. “I need you, Lola.”
She stammered a reply. “I’m right here.”
My vision tunneled until the room disappeared and it was just the two of us—Lola and me. “I need you to win.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“I need you, babe.” I felt like an idiot, the way I kept repeating myself. I wanted to tell her that I needed her as my forever partner, that I had made the mistake of my life by leaving her. I wanted to pour my heart out and somehow convince her that we were right together. That I was the type of man who knew how to work together, not a man who would run away when the going got tough.
But what if we didn’t win the contest? I’d have nothing to offer Lola but the rubble of Uncle Seth’s shop. I was ready to pull out all the stops to win the contest. I’d be the best damn training partner Lola had ever seen. We’d win, and I would pull her into my embrace and propose to her for real.
We had to win the contest.
Results. That’s what mattered. Training was one thing I knew I could control. “Let’s get out there tomorrow and train our asses off.”
“Devin’s nothing but a freakshow surfer wannabe. We’ll win.” She smiled slyly. “And I cannot wait to see the look on his face when we take the trophy.”
Twenty-Six
Lola
Justice and I spent the next two weeks driving the van up the coast. During the day we would soak up the warmth of the sun as Justice gripped me tightly in advanced tandem moves. At night, we would savor decadent food of the famous wine country bistros—fancy food even, like risotto that I never had a chance to eat at home.
Our training took on a new dimension. Justice was a man possessed, a fierce determination filling his blue eyes as he forced me to run trails, work out like a mad woman with his free weights and elastic bands.
He had an unbreakable toughness that was contagious. “In the water before the sun’s up, Lola!” We did push-ups together until I thought my arms would fall off. “Drop and give me fifty!” Justice performed one-handed push-ups and push-ups with a clap in between.
Surfing was my love, a sport that I’d learned from my papai as a kid and tandem surfing was the funnest of all—a kick in the pants.
But Justice treated our training like we were about to enter the ring with Mohammed Ali. “Count me down while I get in the next hundred push-ups. One more hour on the trail. Thirty more sit-ups, Lola.”
Justice would hold my legs for more sit-ups
; his eyes searing right through my skimpy workout briefs. I’d find myself wondering what really went through his head.
Despite his repeated proclamations of love I wondered if he were truly with me only for the sake of the contest and some wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am rough-and-tumble sex? I pursed my lips as I strained, my abdominal muscles on fire.
Justice had been my best friend. We’d fallen right back into that comfortable relationship we’d always shared. Justice made me feel like laughing and playing. He also made me feel confident. Like I could find the success with my bathing suit business I’d always dreamed about.
And the sex. Santa Maria, the sex!
But what we had wasn’t real. A fake marriage fabricated for the contest.
What about the future? If we won the contest, he’d stay and take care of the shop. If we didn’t, would he just head for the hills again? Disappear from my world? I told myself I didn’t need anyone. I would be fine without him.
But when I met his seductive gaze, I fell into the dangerous abyss of his possessive domain—a place where women wore turquoise bathing suits and men ripped their skimpy bottoms off, bent them over the bed, and roared their dominance over their females until their asses bloomed pink.
Oh, I had a tough veneer alright. Wonder Woman move over, ha ha. But underneath, I was still that little girl Justice had fallen in love with. A tomboy begging for her playmate’s love.
Here was the simple truth and it scared the hell out of me.
I was falling for Justice again and I’d be beyond devastated if we lost the contest and he left me again. I couldn’t face that. I needed to protect my heart.
* * *
Two days before the competition we found ourselves in a crowded lineup at a surf spot called Pleasure Point in Santa Cruz. The sun rose over the ocean early that morning, the mist lifting off the water.
It didn’t take long to realize that Justice and I had an eager audience of local surfers. “Whoa! Check out that Barbie doll,” I heard one athlete say as we passed him. Justice gripped my legs as he lifted me into a perfect arabesque. “Man, what a show!” another onlooker said.
My heart filled with excitement and pride as the usually competitive crowd of this locals-only spot cheered us on. “Way to go you two!”
At the end of one wave Justice eased me out of a particularly tricky lift and kissed me on the cheek. “Looks like we’ve got fans.”
“Too bad they’re not judges.”
“We’re rockin’ this.” His grin was huge. “Let’s go blow their minds.”
We paddled back out to the lineup. The stares of admiration and encouraging banter filled me with positive thoughts. We’re a team. We’ve got the win. We’re like one person. Knight’s Ferry here we come!
We practiced for a few hours, and the crowd seemed lulled into a trance by our show. Their morale-boosting support filled the early morning air with an electricity that was hard to resist.
Justice hugged me tightly toward the end of our practice session and kissed my neck. “Want to try the cobra?”
My mood was giddy. Nothing would stand in our way. “Let’s do it!” The cobra was one of the highest scoring lifts. Justice would hoist me over his head, and I’d ease myself into a full split holding one arm over my head while he gripped my legs.
He peeked over his shoulder at the oncoming set. One of the local surfers lay prone on his board ready to paddle for the wave, but then he pulled back and motioned to us. “It’s all yours!”
The chilly water rushed underneath us, and we paddled like crazy. The wave picked us up. We jumped to our feet, and everything felt balanced and in harmony like we were part of each other, part of the ocean, part of the rising sun.
“Ready?” Justice said. He gripped me firmly and brought me to his shoulders and then hoisted me overhead. I eased myself into position as Justice’s powerful hands held my legs in place so I could spread them in a full front split. My legs felt amazingly flexible, and I pointed my toes, lifted one arm into the air and arched my back gracefully. I felt poised and elegant. I was flying! My body soared in perfect stability over Justice; his hands expertly positioned on my legs. I was an adornment to the surf gods, a stylish ballerina.
The crowd of surfers went crazy.
“That’s what I’m talking about!”
“Gnarly!”
“Showtime!”
I tipped my head back and turned my face to the sky taking deep savoring breaths. The moment came together in one delicious orgasm of surfing exhilaration.
The wave ended, and Justice gently eased me out of the move to the whoops and hollers of the crowd. We splashed into the water, and Justice threw his arms around me. “We are going to knock the competition out of the water!”
We kissed deeply. When we broke the kiss Justice looked me in the eye. “This is it, Lola. You and me. We get to Knight’s Ferry and we focus. No distractions. Failure is not an option.” He caressed my cheek and let out a happy sigh. The ocean swirled underneath us, and I inhaled the briny scent.
We were a team. Optimism surged through me. “We’re going to win.”
“Damn right we are.”
I’d never felt more confident about anything in my life. That trophy was as good as ours.
Twenty-Seven
Lola
The day before the two-day competition, we left our motel at zero-dark-thirty for the drive to Knight’s Ferry. I clutched a hot mug of coffee as Justice maneuvered the van inland, past open fields. I squinted under a moonless sky only seeing the shadows of ghostly farmhouses. I even heard a cow mooing.
We arrived just as the sun rose, the sky coming alive in an awe-inspiring display of burnt orange, violet, and red against the blue sky with silver clouds streaking over the peaceful countryside.
Justice patted my knee. “Welcome to our little slice of paradise, Mrs. Hamilton.”
We rolled past a weathered brown sign. “Welcome to Historic Knight’s Ferry. Established 1848.”
As beams of sunlight lit up the landscape, we took in the small town. The place looked like a gold rush town, complete with an old-style saloon and I imagined Justice and I sitting in porch rockers as we sipped cold beer and watched the sunset.
“Didn’t they film some eighties TV show here?” I asked. I picked up my smartphone. “Here it is. Little House on the Prairie.” I screwed up my face as I read. “And a really old black and white show called Bonanza.”
Justice bounced up and down in the driver’s seat. “Bonanza? What’s it about?”
I skimmed through the Wikipedia entry. “It’s a western.”
“Well, yee-friggin haw! A black and white western. Sounds like something I would like.”
I smacked his arm. “You and your old movies. Are you ever going to move into this century with the rest of us?” I smiled at my fake husband. I loved that he refused to fill his life with mindless scrolling through Facebook and Instagram. Justice would be the last person you’d find standing in line for the latest iPhone. He lived in the moment.
He patted the dashboard and winked. “I talked Papaw into installing a cassette player in this baby, didn’t I?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re impossible. The world could end, and you’d be the only one left along with the cockroaches, happily playing your Doors cassettes and reading books on a stone tablet.”
He pointed to himself. “That’s right. This throwback kid ain’t going nowhere.”
We drove past a primitive General Store—the oldest store in all of California according to Wikipedia—and past a delightful wooden covered bridge. I rolled down the window and took a deep breath of fresh air, the river babbling contentedly in the background.
I took in the early morning beauty of the tiny town nestled in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. “Check out those gorgeous California Oaks. Kinda makes you want to climb a tree. If you think La Fortuna’s little, this place takes the prize.”
Justice smiled. “I like it. Anything fresh and new in lif
e gets my vote.”
“Is that all you care about? Fresh and new?” What did that mean for our future? Did we even have one? I pressed my lips together. We were here to win the contest. Focus, Lola.
“It’s totally cool that they’ve got a wave pool out here. Dang. Over a hundred miles from the ocean.” He rubbed his hands together in glee. “Can’t wait to see it. Life’s always better on a surfboard, right?”
“Right.”
Once we’d checked in to our cozy motel, I dug around in my suitcase for the surprise I’d made. “Close your eyes, Justice.”
“You planning on blindfolding me?” His eyes glinted with amusement. “That sounds promising.”
“Just close them.”
He closed his eyes, and when I had my surprise laid out on the bed, I said, “Okay. Open them.”
His eyes flicked open, and he gasped, his eyes growing wide. “What? When did you—”
Two custom rash guards lay on the bed: The matching design favored my signature bohemian pattern: a swirly delight in hues of turquoise, red, orange and yellow. I’d silk-screened the phrase Team Lola and Justice in bold letters on them. My heart beat in my throat. “Do you like them?”
He picked up the fabric and held it against his chest. “Killer! I love them!” Justice was like a kid on Christmas morning, dancing around the room and clutching the shirt to his chest, his dark hair falling in his eyes. His smile was dazzling. “Our lucky charms!” Shoot. Why did Justice have to be so dang adorable?
“Put yours on,” he said. Justice dragged his T-shirt over his head, and I sucked in my breath again when I saw his six-pack abs and the way his chest heaved with every breath he took.
I pulled off my shirt, and he let out a low whistle. “Damn, Lola. I love that bra. Look at the way your tits practically hang out.” The look in his eyes was lewd and hungry.
“Shut up and don’t get sidetracked. We need to go sign in.” I pulled on the rash guard I’d made for myself.
Riptide of Romance: A Fake Marriage Sports Romance (Pleasure Point Series) Page 18
