I Flipping Love You
Page 6
Rian stares at his retreating form with a cross between incredulity and possibly relief, although it’s hard to tell.
“I think it would be in your best interest not to answer should he have the balls to call you again. Any man who can’t handle Mexican food should be on a no-date list,” Amalie says.
“Yeah.” Rian expels a breath and looks at her empty table. “Well, uh, I guess I should be on my way, then.”
“Or you could join us?” Amalie suggests.
She’s almost as persistent as I am.
Rian raises her hands like she’s been subjected to electroshock treatment. “Oh no! No, thank you. I should go. I’ve embarrassed myself more than enough for one day.” She takes a step back. “It was nice meeting you, Amalie. I apologize for…” She gestures to me as she continues to back away. “Anyway…” She grabs for her purse. “Bye!”
I watch the sway of her ass as she rushes for the door. She avoids touching the handle, using her hip to push it open.
Amalie claps her hands. “Well, that was fun!”
“I’m glad you’re entertained.”
“I seriously think you need to ask her out.”
“She’s already said no.” Several times. I nab one of the mini octopi from her plate and pop it in my mouth.
“So ask again.”
“Annoy her into dating me, then?”
Amalie sets down her fork, her expression turning serious. “Whatever works. Come on, Pierce. I haven’t met a girlfriend since you and Stacey ended things, and this one seems like fun.”
“Stacey was the one who ended things when she decided to screw someone else behind my back.”
“She’s a ladder-climbing bitch and you’re better off without her. But that was a long time ago, Pierce. You need to put yourself back out there. Not every woman is out for your bank account or your ability to slingshot their career.”
“I know that, Amie. I’m not sure if you noticed, but she thinks I’m an asshole. And just because you haven’t met a girlfriend doesn’t mean I haven’t dated. Besides, it’s not like I’d want to bring anyone to a family dinner.”
“Mom and Dad have been a lot better over the past couple of years.”
She’s right. They have. I love my parents, but their relationship is tumultuous at the best of times. At the worst it’s downright embarrassing. “I never know if they’re going to start some kind of bickering match at a family get-together. I don’t want to be subjected to that kind of drama, let alone bringing anyone else into it.”
She sighs. “Fine. I’ll give you that, but you haven’t introduced anyone to me. There hasn’t even been a mention of a girlfriend in forever.”
“I don’t want to be tied down.”
“You don’t have to be into BDSM to be in a relationship.” Her grin drops when I don’t laugh. “Seriously, Pierce. You’re such a good guy. It’d be a shame not to share that with someone else because you got burned once, don’t you think? I mean, look what happened to me, and I’m willing to get on the horse and ride again.”
“Such a bad analogy.”
“You know what I mean.”
I appreciate her concern, but I don’t want to get into this with her. Not right now, if ever. I’d met Stacey in my last year of law school. She was smart, fun, great in bed, gorgeous. I’d proposed after graduation. She’d said yes.
I’d made partner fairly quickly after that. But when I started to reconsider my passion for law, Stacey had been quick to shoot down my suggestion that I walk away from this career to try another. And then my mother got sick. Her battle with cancer combined with my uncertainty as to the future of my career was enough to push Stacey into someone else’s arms. Someone who could propel her career forward faster than me. I haven’t been in a serious relationship since.
People could only let you down if you allowed them to. So I didn’t.
CHAPTER 6
BEACH HOUSE SIXTY-NINE
RIAN
“I told you that dress was perfect!” Marley thinks this whole thing is hilarious. She’s far more interested in Pierce being at the same restaurant than the rather abrupt end to my date. I still haven’t told her about him asking me out. Relentlessly.
“My boobs were like a homing beacon.” I dig my spoon into the half-pint of toasted coconut ice cream. I stopped at the convenience store down the street from our duplex on the way home and stocked up on snack foods since I missed out on dinner.
“That’s crazy that he was at the same restaurant as you! What are the chances?” She bites into a giant carrot with an obnoxious crunch.
“Slim to none.”
“I can’t believe you called him out. Well, okay, I can totally believe it, because it’s definitely something you’d do, but damn, I would’ve paid good money to see that go down.”
I sink into my chair and shovel more ice cream into my mouth. Now that I’m home and I’ve had time to reflect on my actions, I’m highly embarrassed by them. This is why I’m the paper-and-numbers girl and Marley is the one who deals with the public, because I do humiliating things. Granted, he was staring at my chest, and has been pestering me for a date, which would’ve been very rude if he had a girlfriend.
His sister seems nice, though.
One of our phones buzzes on the coffee table. Marley is quicker than me and nabs them both, rolling her eye when the screen on mine lights up.
“For the love of all that is good and holy, do not message him back.” She tosses it to me.
Terry has left four new ones. He’s been pretty desperate to reschedule the date. He’s thrown out three options for the week after he comes back from his conference.
I refuse to acknowledge that I’m disappointed it’s not Pierce. I don’t bother to check the messages. Pierce’s sister is right, any guy who can’t handle Mexican food should be on a no-date list.
“Maybe you’ll meet some hottie on the beach this weekend.” Marley flips through channels, looking for decent brain candy. At my quizzical expression, she elaborates. “Angelica and Lauren rented a beach house for the weekend, remember?”
“Oh, right, it totally slipped my mind, to be honest.” Angelica, better known as Gel, and Lauren used to live down the street from us. They’ve been roommates forever and moved to New York City a few years ago, so we don’t get to see them very often anymore. They’re obviously doing well if they can afford to rent a Hamptons beach house for a weekend getaway.
“It’s on the calendar in the kitchen. Have you packed a bag yet?”
“What?” I think I’m slipping into an ice cream coma.
“They invited us to stay the weekend, or did you forget about that too?”
“Why would we stay with them when we live near the beach?”
“We don’t live that close, and because it’s fun and convenient. It’s supposed to be ridiculously warm this weekend, bikini weather even. If we stay with them, we can get our drink on and have some fun with friends we rarely get to see.”
“But we have the open house on Saturday afternoon, and then the bungalow on Sunday,” I remind her. We’re holding back on listing the second house until Sunday morning on the request of the sellers. They want the other property on the beach to sell first, hoping to entice buyers their way. Nothing stays on the market long in the Hamptons, so we anticipate it will sell during the open house. On the up side, we’ll have a gauge with which to price the bungalow. The better the price point, the better our commission and the happier the sellers are.
“They’re not scheduled until the afternoon, and we’ll be close since Gel and Lauren rented a place in Hampton Bays. We can have fun tomorrow night, and then when the open house is over on Saturday, we can get our party on again.”
“I don’t know, Mar.” My sister loves to get her drink on, especially when she’s with Gel and Lauren.
“Oh, come on. We can have a girl’s night out. We’ll go to a fun bar on the beach. You can wear one of my dresses and hook up with some hot guy named Trent, who
buys you drinks instead of making you pay for your own like Terry.”
I don’t actually like it when guys buy my drinks. It’s as if they think because they spent ten dollars on me, it automatically means they can get handsy. “You know how I feel about the bar scene.”
“You need to let loose, and we haven’t seen Gel and Lauren in forever. Plus, we can troll the beach for potential properties. I was talking to another agent yesterday and there might be a couple of places coming up for sale, something about people being concerned about zoning laws or whatever. Consider it a multipurpose work-vacation.”
She has a point. Staying on the beach has some definite advantages. Not the least of which is the opportunity to canvas desirable properties and their owners.
“It’s supposed to be a gorgeous weekend. We can work on our tans. Check out hot guys playing beach volleyball.”
Always with the volleyball players. “Okay. Fine. But no getting superhammered tomorrow night. We need to be functional for the open house on Saturday. Based on the market, this property should go for over asking and that check I cut for the Tesla paint job won’t hurt so much.”
Marley’s tongue peeks out and her eyes light up. “Has he texted you again?”
“No. And I can’t imagine he will after tonight.” I should be thankful, not disappointed. I grab my empty ice cream container and head for the kitchen. “What time will Gel and Lauren get to the beach?”
“Gel said noon and we can meet them there any time after that. I already have the address and everything.”
We’ve been working our butts off lately, and it would be nice to enjoy the beach and not just show the view to other people.
* * *
The following day, Marley’s ready to hit the beach at 12:01, having already packed my bag for me first thing this morning. I check the contents and toss in some jeans, a T-shirt, and extra underwear.
We take the Acura—I’m driving because I don’t trust Marley for obvious reasons. She keeps changing the radio station, blasting music, and singing off-key; she also doesn’t know any of the lyrics.
I turn it down so I can speak without yelling. “Have you heard from Gel and Lauren? Are they at the beach house already?”
“Gel texted while you were in the shower and said they were leaving soon.”
“Should you check in with them? It would be kind of weird for us to show up before them.”
“Sure. I can do that.” Marley shimmies to the music as we make the short trip from our duplex off the beach to the rental.
“Hey! How’s it going? We’re on our way and superexcited to see you,” Marley says into the phone. There’s a pause, and then she turns the music all the way down. “Oh no. That’s not good. Is Noodles going to be okay?”
“What’s going on?” I turn right onto the street that leads not only to some of the oldest beachfront properties, but also the Mission Mansion. It’s farther down the beach, and in one of the more exclusive areas, but the sprawling eight-thousand-square-foot mansion is hard to miss since it’s the biggest home in the immediate area.
Marley holds up a finger, uh-huhing and mmming a bunch of times before she says, “Okay, keep in touch.” She ends the call as I pull into the driveway of a gorgeous beach house, a big, bold, black 69 fixed to the front door. I shift the car into park and wait for her to explain what’s going on.
“They’re not going to be here until tomorrow at the earliest,” she says.
“What happened?”
“Noodles ate a pound of butter.”
“Oh God.” Noodles is Gel’s labradoodle. She’s the sweetest dog, but she eats everything. Including socks. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Yeah, but she has wicked diarrhea, so they have to stay put until she’s done destroying their lawn. They said they’ll check back with us tomorrow, but they might not be here until Sunday, depending.”
I’m surprised at my disappointment. Not just because I don’t get to see Gel and Lauren, but also because I’d been looking forward to a weekend on the beach. I put the car in reverse.
“What’re you doing?”
“Going home.”
“Park the damn car, Rian.”
I take my foot off the gas and hit the brake. “We can’t stay if Gel and Lauren aren’t here.”
“We sure can! We have the code. She’s forwarding the email from the rental company. As far as anyone knows, we’re Gel and Lauren.”
I consider this for a moment. Possibly so many moments that Marley feels she needs additional justification.
“They rented the place for the weekend. Why let it go to waste because their dog ate a pound of butter? Gel said she wants us to enjoy it if they can’t. It’s too late to cancel and they can’t get their deposit back.”
She has a point. I shift back into park and Marley lets out a whoop of excitement. “We’re gonna have so much fun!”
I cut the engine and step out into in the warm sunshine. We’re having such great weather for May, and I’m looking forward to spending some time on the beach soaking up the sun—with my laptop, but still.
The two-story clapboard house is a sight to behold and the craftsmanship is stunning. Marley keys in the code while I lug our bags up the front walk. The interior is as breathtaking as the exterior.
While the outside retains that classic Hamptons style, the interior is modern and fresh. Granite countertops and a massive open floor plan including a wall of windows facing the beach make this a desirable piece of property.
Marley lets out a low whistle. “Can you even imagine how much we’d get for this if we could convince the owner to sell?”
“I was thinking the exact same thing.” There must be some kind of brochure around here somewhere with their information.
I leave our bags at the entrance and cross through the massive kitchen, stopping at a wrapped basket that contains two bottles of wine—one white and one red, as well as antipasto and crackers. Whoever rents this place out pays very close attention to the fine details. There’s even a bowl of fruit and a list of all the amenities nearby. It seems like whoever the owner is, they go the extra mile to make the renters feel comfortable.
I hold up the personalized, handwritten note wishing Gel, Lauren, and Noodles a pleasant stay. “I wonder if we’ll meet the owner or if he or she has someone who manages this place for them.”
A set of sliding doors lead to a gorgeous cedar deck that smells new, a fabulous hot tub set to the right. This place is amazing. I’m so glad Marley convinced me to stay, because this is so much better than a weekend in our duplex, driving back and forth to the beach for open houses.
The crash of waves on the beach, kids laughing, and the low strains of music coming from somewhere close by are suddenly drowned out by the sound of a lawn mower revving to life. A few seconds later the mower appears from under the deck. Then the person pushing it comes into view.
Sweet mother of all things delicious.
The man pushing the mower is dressed only in a baseball cap, a pair of cargo shorts, and bright-green running shoes. His bare, tanned back is covered in a sheen of sweat that glistens in the sun. The glistening isn’t the only notable thing about this man. It’s the broad shoulders and tapered waist, along with the flex and shift of muscles in his back and arms as he pushes that mower across the lawn.
I’ve never considered lawn mowing to be a sexy activity until this very moment.
I want to call out to Marley so she too can get a look at our lawn boy, but I don’t want to alert him to my presence. I hope he has to spend the entire weekend tending the gardens. The flowers are already in full bloom. They must need a lot of watering. I envision this man, standing with a hose in his hand, spraying those lovely rose bushes, turning the water on himself when he gets too hot, letting it run down his back in sweet, sweet rivers … God, it’s hot out here.
When he reaches the edge of the lawn, he pivots with the mower. His ball cap is pulled low, obstructing my view of his face.
I’ll be so disappointed if his face isn’t awesome.
I take a few steps backward until I hit the sliding glass door. I knock on the window until Marley finally appears. “What’s up?”
“Check out our lawn boy.”
Marley follows my head jerk. “Whoa.”
“Right? I wonder if he comes with the house. He can mow my lawn any time he wants.” I say this rather loudly so I can be heard over the lawn mower.
Except as I’m yelling, the mower cuts out, which means everyone within a five-mile radius can hear me, including the lawn boy. I try to move Marley in front of me so I can hide behind her and disappear back into the house, but she bars the way.
At the same time, lawn boy pinches the brim of his hat between his thumb and finger, lifting it as he tilts his head up. He’s about thirty feet away from us, but based on his smirk, he definitely heard the mow my lawn comment. Awesome. Maybe I can blame it on Marley. My cheeks heat; not because the sun is shining on my face, but because I’m embarrassed to have been caught saying something so highly inappropriate. I take in the rest of his face. Oh man, it’s not disappointing in the least. He’s smokin’. And wait …
I squint and frown, wondering if this in an optical illusion. Or maybe I’m developing an obsession. The more I look at him, I swear, lawn boy is Pierce. The same Pierce whose car Marley hit. The Pierce who I embarrassed myself in front of last night. Yup, that Pierce. I give my head a slight shake and blink a few times.
Lawn boy cocks his head to the side, his brow furrowing in an expression that likely matches mine.
“Is that…?” Marley doesn’t finish the question as lawn boy abandons his mower and heads for the stairs.