Summer Indiscretions

by Tamara Mataya

  Mel grimaces at her phone, then shoves it in her bag. “That looks amazing,” she murmurs. “You did such a good job, Stephen! What’s that style called?”

  “Thanks. It’s realistic Trash Polka. What do you think, Blake?”

  “I think the name of the style sucks, but I love the tattoo.” I shake his hand.

  “That’s what I love to hear. Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll get going on yours, Mel.”

  Her lips quirk to the side. “Actually, I, uh…” She wrings her hands. Mel’s nervous? Now I’ve seen it all.

  “Mel, if you don’t want to get a tattoo, don’t get one. It’s OK.”

  “You’re not pissed? I’m sorry. I really thought I could do it. I wanted one, but I can’t.”

  I grab her into a hug with my left arm. “I’m not mad at all. I didn’t get a tattoo for you. I got it for me. I wanted to get one with you, though.”

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbles against my chest.

  Stephen clears his throat. “It’s not something to rush into if you’re not sure about it.”

  I nod. “Stephen’s absolutely right. You don’t have to feel bad about anything. I’m glad I got mine done.” I tip her chin up so she looks me in the eyes. “I’m still glad we did this. Even though you’re a totally bad influence on me.”

  She smiles, and I kiss the tip of her nose. “I’ll pay Stephen, and we can go do something else to celebrate my last night here,” I add.

  “I already had one idea.”

  “OK. As long as it doesn’t involve alligators, skydiving, or the water. One thing’s for sure—I won’t miss the sand that creeps…everywhere.”

  “Neither will I. And no, no swimming in my plans.” She glances to make sure Stephen’s not paying attention. “But they do involve a bed and you touching the parts of me that are very white.”

  “I can’t wait to greet those white bits.”

  Her smile is so dirty it could use a glass and an olive. “Then let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter 21

  Melanie

  Guilt gnaws at my guts all the way back to the beach where we’re meeting everyone, but worse than that squirmy, murky feeling is the regret. I should have gotten a tattoo. I wanted one. I’ve thought about getting one for a while, and I wanted something tangible to show myself I can change. So why didn’t I bite the bullet and choose something?

  Thaddeus sent a barrage of ridiculous texts that tore me from the fun of the moment with Blake. Thaddeus actually questioned my professionalism and commitment to my job—and he cc’d my boss on another email, basically calling me a negligent party girl, like he knows exactly what’s been happening in Miami. It made me want to throw up.

  So, overwhelmed and unable to focus on what to choose, I chickened out.

  Blake strokes the back of my hand with his thumb, but my heart pounds for another reason. Does turning down the tattoo mean I haven’t really changed? Is my nature more powerful than my desire to change? Was it all just a fun getaway? Has Florida only been a break from my life instead of a new beginning?

  “Hey.” Blake gently pulls me closer, and I lean into his warmth, tucked beneath his arm. “I can practically hear your thoughts working overtime. Knock it off.”

  “I can’t help it. I’ve gotten a lot better.” At least, I thought I had.

  “You really have. But there wasn’t anything wrong with you to begin with, Mel. Not everyone is the same. If changing things makes you happier, then fine. But don’t change just for the sake of it. I like you as you are.”

  Yeah, but you only like Florida me—and I don’t even know if she’s permanent.

  It’s ridiculous. Ink has zero to do with anything other than personal expression, but Thaddeus managed to seep under my skin. Ugh, that’s ironic. I sigh and nestle closer to Blake. “Thank you.”

  “And”—he lowers his voice, brushing his lips against my earlobe—“if you’re still upset when we get back to Shelby’s after, I’ll have to work that much harder to make you forget about it. Especially since we have the place to ourselves again.”

  Heat chases the shiver that ripples through my body. “Yeah?” I like Ariella and Andrew, but at this moment, I’m ridiculously happy they’ll be gone.

  “Yeah.” His teeth graze my earlobe, and I struggle to keep my moans to myself, lest the cabbie hear and kick us out.

  “What are you going to do?” I narrowly manage to keep my voice a whisper, closing my eyes to block out everything but the sound of Blake’s voice and the vibrations of the car beneath us. I shouldn’t ask. We’re not going to be able to do anything about it until later…but that’s part of the fun.

  “I’m going to take your panties off with my teeth, for starters.”

  I gasp. Yeah, that’s a good start.

  He traces a gentle line down my collarbone. “I’m going to kiss you everywhere. I’m going to lay you on the bed, spread your legs, bury my face in your pussy, and lick and suck at you until you can’t take it anymore.”

  A high-pitched whine fills the air, and it’s an embarrassingly long minute before I realize I’m making that sound.

  Blake chuckles. “Then I’m going to fuck you. Hard. Hard enough that you feel it for days. And every time the turbulence jostles you in your seat on your flight home, I want you to think of me and remember why you’re sore. I want you worn out. Exhausted. Your throat raw from screaming my name.”

  I’m so wet I’m a little worried I might leave a spot on the seat, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to go down without a fight. I want Blake to remember me too, the way I am when I’m with him here, with his hand on my thigh and my inhibitions unlocked. I turn so my lips are near his ear. “I’m so wet right now, Blake. You wouldn’t even believe it, but you’re going to feel it. You want to take my panties off with your teeth? That makes me wish I were wearing some right now.”

  His chest expands, and his head tips down like he’d be able to see beneath my calf-length skirt.

  I smile. “What’s the matter, baby? Wondering if I’m telling the truth?”

  His hand reflexively grips my thigh just above my knee. “Christ.”

  “One stiff breeze could have blown my skirt up. Anyone could have seen if I wanted them to.” I set my hand on his upper thigh, wanting to brazenly run my hand up to feel his cock straining against the crotch of his jeans—but even in my wildest flirting, I’ve never dreamed of taking things so far in the back of a cab.

  Yet my hand creeps steadily up, fingers trailing over the rough denim. My mouth practically waters with the desire to take him in my mouth, but I’ll settle for feeling that hard bulge under my palm until we’re behind closed, locked doors. Unfortunately, we’re not heading for a private place but a party. I can’t resist, though.

  His grip is like steel, fingers locking around my wrist. He stops my hand before I can feel if he’s as hard as I hope he is.

  “Mel.”

  “Yeah?”

  The tremble in his fingers says it all. I smile in the darkness, power coating my skin. It’s heady and I love it.

  I’m still grinning when we pull up to the beach and get out of the cab.

  We’re immediately swept up in a flurry of introductions and handshakes, cold beers and warm buns covering juicy pulled-pork sliders. A couple of the guys roasted a pig in a pit, and while looking at it grosses me out the tiniest bit, I have to admit that the end result is pretty fabulous.

  A few drinks later, an impromptu dance party’s begun on one side of the fire. Little by little, the stress of the texts with Thaddeus melts away, and I leave them in the sand beneath the feet I stomp on the ground.

  Shelby’s friends are amazingly warm and open and welcoming, and I realize with a start that they’ve become my friends too. Maybe we all just need to borrow someone else’s life for a bit and dance around a fire like they did back in th
e day.

  There’s an article in there somewhere—parallels between stress relief and outdoor music festivals that take us back to more primal roots where we express things with sound and movement and energy, but I’m thirsty and wander back by the fire, snuggling against Blake.

  Ariella flops beside me in the sand. Someone’s busted out a drum, accompanying a woman who’s playing something soulful on an acoustic guitar. Blake’s shoulder is pressed against mine, and the smoke from the fire mingles with the salty tang of the ocean in a way that makes me want to bottle it up and keep it forever. Blake and Andrew are debating the finer points of something to do with some old rock band when Ariella grabs my hand. “Where is it, then?”

  “Oh. I didn’t end up getting a tattoo.”

  She frowns despite my casual tone, not missing a thing. “Do we need to talk about it?”

  I shake my head. “It’s been a crazy trip, Ari. Blake got one. I still might, but I don’t know what to get and didn’t want to choose something just to have one.” It’s technically the truth but not the whole truth.

  Ariella’s friend leans over. “I don’t blame you one bit,” Ka’aina says. “Come to Hawaii. My brother does traditional tattoos, and he can really hook you up with something cool.”

  That’s an interesting thought. “So, how do you feel about the whole ‘Free Hawaii’ movement?”

  Ka’aina shrugs. “Mostly, we just want to be left alone. We’re not like the mainland and couldn’t care less about what you guys get up to.”

  I nod, pondering another article. “I can see why. You’re basically like your own country anyway, far enough away and so different. Do you guys hate the tourists?”

  He shakes his head. “We don’t hate them—well, we don’t hate all of them.” He smiles, white teeth sparkling in his brown skin. “We hate the ones who are disrespectful or try to play local.”

  “The ones who show up and start aloha-ing? And yet, you’re willing to help me with a traditional tattoo.”

  Ka’aina laughs. “But you’re cool, and that makes all the difference. A little respect goes a long way. You don’t know our culture or history, or how it feels to be invaded and taken over, then exploited years later as a means of making money for the people who tried to stamp out our culture.”

  “That’s brutal,” Blake says.

  “It is,” I agree.

  “Way to kill the party, Kai,” Ariella chides, punching him in the shoulder.

  He laughs. “Then let’s get it going with a little midnight surfing!”

  We stand and brush ourselves off and head toward the water. Blake can’t go in the water because of his fresh tattoo, and I can’t quite bring myself to go too far away from him right now, so we give the surfing and swimming a pass. I’m secretly glad because, well, sharks. They didn’t bite my ass off before, but that doesn’t mean the odds have gotten more favorable. Instead, we decide to go on a little walk down the beach.

  It’s completely breathtaking. The sand is so soft between my toes that I don’t even mind when it gets between my soles and the sandals. Instead, the sensation makes me more acutely aware of everything—and everything I’m going to miss when I have to go back home.

  The scent of the breeze, the warm, radiant heat, the music. It feels like there’s thrumming music everywhere, trying to seduce you into dancing in the street. Some people do. A rhythm lives just beneath the surface of Miami, waiting for you to stop everything and listen to it. Maybe it takes the heat to open your pores so you can let that pulse inside you. I’m going to miss it.

  A little uneasiness enters my stomach at the thought of this coming to an end. We created this relationship while on vacation, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to fade with my tan.

  We walk a little farther up the shore, and I try not to think about what comes next.

  Chapter 22

  Blake

  Somewhere along the way, I missed when the sand turned into a sidewalk leading to some docks, and we pass a bunch of yachts lined up in big, white rows with the dark ocean sparkling between them. Maybe because I can’t stop sneaking glances at Mel.

  “This must be the yacht club Ariella told us about,” Mel says.

  “Have you ever wanted to sail or boat or whatever they call cruising around on a yacht?”

  Mel shakes her head. “Not really. I feel like it’s more of a lifestyle, and beaches aren’t typically my thing.”

  “And you need water with a yacht, which limits the places you can go on one.”

  “Exactly. And the places I want to see aren’t along the U.S. coasts. Where do you want to travel?”

  “All over Europe. I’d also love to see the pyramids, maybe do a safari to see what animals are like when they’re not in cages in zoos.”

  She grins. “Faster and more dangerous, I imagine.”

  I bump my shoulder into hers. “Smart-ass.”

  “It is strange seeing animals out of their natural habitats, though. Like, most zoos have lions, even ones where it snows a lot. Are the lions like ‘What the hell is this cold, white crap?’ or are they used to it? Maybe most were born in captivity and they don’t know any differently. That’s kind of sad. I mean, we’ve saved some species from extinction, but I don’t think that counts as a coup when we’re the ones who wiped them out to begin with. We’re so destructive, and it’s brutal.”

  I think of the dolphins in Marathon. “It is,” I agree. “I had a client who was an environmental engineer, and she said that the only way earth could be saved would be to wipe humans off the face of it.”

  “Wow, that’s cheerful.”

  “Yeah, she carried a lot of tension.” I laugh. “I don’t think we’re that bad, but at the same time, I want to see the things in the world before we destroy them and they’re gone forever. Spend a night in a jungle, see the North Pole.”

  She smiles. “You lost me with those last two. I hate bugs, so staying in a jungle does not sound appealing, and I hate cold weather, so the North Pole is out for me.”

  “Aww, you’re not going to make me go to the jungle all alone, are you? I could get eaten by a man-eating tiger.”

  “A big, strong man like you? You’ll be fine.”

  I grin.

  “You’re definitely more adventurous than me.”

  I take her hand. “Oh, I’ve seen you get a little wild, Mel. It’s a beautiful thing to behold.” Warmth spreads through my body, and I never want this night to end.

  A buzz of activity draws my attention to the right, behind a low iron fence. Through the palms and foliage, I catch the low strains of jazz and glimpse people milling around a pool.

  Mel squeezes my hand. “Want to check it out?”

  Two women exit through a gate, champagne flutes—and shoes—in hand, giving me matching, very thorough head-to-toe once-overs. “Are you on the list?” the tall brunette sneers at Mel.

  Her spine stiffens, and fire enters her gaze. Uh-oh, I’ve seen that look before. “Cute. But I’m surprised they let you in, Becky.”

  “It’s Kirsten.”

  “Whatever.” She turns to me and winks so only I see it. “Come along, Rufus. I’m thirsty.” She snaps her fingers, and I follow her past the girls inside the gate like a dutiful dog. Surprisingly, they don’t stop us.

  “What was that?” I ask when we’re out of earshot.

  Mel grins. “We don’t look enough alike to be siblings, so obviously we’re dating. And if I am the entitled rich girl in this scenario, that means you’re my boy toy—and I’ve seen how the glitterati in New York treat their boy toys.”

  “I’m not sure if I should be impressed at your bravado or insulted that I’ve been demoted to your boy toy. I prefer the term man candy.”

  She lightly taps my cheek. “Still waiting on that champagne, MC.”

  I laugh and hand her a glass that I snag fr
om a waiter’s tray, appreciating the crispness of the perfectly chilled bubbly as we find a semi-empty spot by the food where we can stand and assess the party.

  The crowd’s a little older—and a lot wealthier—than the party we left behind. Chanel logos wink at me from purses, red soles flash from women’s heels, and the only thing more plentiful than the bubbles in my glass are the diamonds dripping from earrings, fingers, and necklaces.

  We’re surrounded by serious wealth, and judging from the men in suits with suspicious shoulder bulges, this party doesn’t look like an open-invitation affair. Maybe coming in here was a bad idea—I’m in cargo shorts and flip-flops. “Think we’re a tad underdressed?” I murmur.

  Mel tilts her head. “Maybe. That just means we have to pretend we’re wearing this stuff ironically.” Her eyes sparkle, and she winks at me. “We are the cutting edge of fashion, darling. These people don’t know that we’re not elite trendsetters whose clothing choices are so ten minutes from now.”

  That makes a certain amount of sense, but I try not to cringe as one of the men zeros in on me and Mel standing by the buffet table no one else has come near.

  “Oh shit. I think the jig is up.” Mel leans toward me. “Follow my lead.”

  The tuxedoed security guard comes toward us with narrowed eyes. They say the best defense is a good offense. He opens his mouth, and Mel puts on a falsely bright smile and interrupts. “Hi, it’s probably not your department, but can you find out if this caviar is non-GMO? Thanks so much.” She then promptly turns her back on the guard and smiles up at me. I cover my discomfort with a sip of champagne while Mel prattles on in a voice unlike her own.

  “So, of course Oprah had to bring Gayle along, and then we had uneven numbers for tennis, and Mummy was pissed but couldn’t say anything, because you know how Oprah gets. I thought Mummy’s head was going to explode.” She pauses to stare pointedly at the guard, who still hasn’t moved, this time pooching out her lips into a bitchy little moue. “Hi, the caviar? Thanks, that’s super helpful of you.”