Liam is absolutely nothing to me, but he has no reason to talk to me like I’m a piece of trash. We don’t even know each other. I suppose maybe I’m pissy after sitting in a car for almost two days, or the fact that I arrived to find my drunken best friend passing out, but there’s no need to greet a complete stranger that way.
Liam only turns toward me enough to show the profile of his face this time. “Nope, didn’t offend me, but you have interrupted me twice.”
“No, I didn’t. You weren’t talking,” I argue.
“I wasn’t done talking, though. Excuse me for taking a brief second to catch my breath.”
He’s truly rude, and I’m not sure I’ve ever met someone so crass during an introduction. I wonder what the hell his problem is? This is not how I planned to start the summer. "What's your problem?" I ask, shoving my fingers into his rock-hard shoulder.
He looks down at the spot I just touched as if I shouldn't have come into contact with him. "You're my problem," he says.
"You don't even know me," I argue.
"Yeah, and I'd like to keep it that way."
I'm completely bewildered by his behavior. Does he know me somehow, and I'm the one sitting in the dark here? "Good, well, the feeling is mutual. Dick."
"What was that?" he snickers rudely.
"I called you a d-i-c-k," I annunciate.
"Jade number two has a mouth on her, huh?" Liam asks Cale and Jared.
They both put their hands up, ignoring his question, which tells me it's time to get out of here.
"Can we go, please?" I ask Jade. She groans and pushes herself off my lap to stumble over me toward Cale. “Jade.” I take her arm as she’s balancing between two rocks while whispering into Cale’s ear, but she doesn’t budge. I want to leave, but I’m obviously not leaving her here like this.
With the slightest tug on her arm, she flies backward, into me. God, Jade. In a fit of giggles, she looks up with her big goofy doe-like eyes and smiles. “I loveeee youuuu,” she mouths, poking one of my dimples.
“I really want to call it a night,” I tell her while struggling to stand us up. “Come on.”
After keeping her steady for a second, I help her down the few rocks, somehow making it onto the few inches of exposed sand without tripping. “It was nice to meet most of you tonight,” I tell them, eyeballing Liam, who I’d rather not meet again.
“Goodnight, boyyyys,” Jade slurs through a holler.
“Thank God,” I hear Liam mutter. “The last thing we need right now is two Jades.”
“Dude,” Cale hushes him. “Give her a break, will you? We don’t even know her.”
As much as I’d like to turn around and let him know I hear him, it’s most likely what he’s expecting or wanting. I’ll be the bigger person and . . . ugh. I guess men are assholes in every state.
The walk back to my car feels much longer than it did when we walked to the beach. It could be because we’re on a slight incline and I’ve been dragging a hundred-and-ten pounds of Jade half of the way, or it could just be my exhaustion kicking in. “I’m sorry, Jules,” Jade says as we reach the car.
“You have a lot of explaining to do.” My tone sounds motherly, but how could she not have told me about Chip? We tell each other everything, and we’ve spoken almost daily since she left.
“I’m not with both of them,” she snorts. I don’t know who both of them are, considering there were three, but I let her air herself out. “Don’t worry, Jared and Cale are cousins, or no, brothers, something, but Cale only kind of likes me, and I don’t really have a thing for him. I’ve just been bored and had no one else to hang out with, but now my bestie is here.” She ends her lack of explanation in a high-pitched baby-babble as she runs her fingers through my hair. What about Liam?
I lift the passenger door handle and shove myself into the opening with Jade so I can drop her into the seat. “That is not what I was telling you to explain,” I groan with exasperation while I wrestle with her deadweight body.
“Fiiiine,” she slurs. “Liam isn’t always an ass. It just seems like he acts that way to certain women. It’s—ummmmm—he’s weird. I don’t know, you know?”
“Nope, not that either,” I tell her, though it’s good to know it’s not just me—but my type, rather. I wasn’t aware I could be categorized so easily without saying more than a few words, but clearly, it’s possible. “Want to try again or should I spell it out for you?”
“I want to go hommeee,” she whines, graduating from baby babble to the sounds of a small child begging for ice cream. With that in mind, I think it’s best to extract this information from her when she’s sober. Semi-drunk Jade swings one of two ways—happy and giggly, or angered and emotional, and seeing as she’s fully loaded, I think I’d like to keep things civil for tonight. I’m too tired to deal with an angry, drunk Jade.
“I cheated on him.” I glance over at her wide-eyed, pressing my foot firmly on the brake because Jade was madly in love with Chip. She had their future children’s names picked out and wall colors for a house they hadn’t bought yet. He was all she spoke about for years.
“Why?” Is all I can manage to ask.
Her eyes are closed, and her head is resting heavily against the back of the seat. “Jade?” What a perfect curtain call for her. Her eyes are closed again and I think she’s playing me this time. “Come on. I don’t know which apartment is yours.”
“122 Forester Avenue, Apartment B23,” she mutters before her breaths elongate into a comatose, inebriated state of unconsciousness.
The foghorn ringtone on my phone startled the hell out of me at six this morning, but I knew I’d need time to fish out my clothes and everything I didn’t unpack last night. I was too busy dragging my little life-size, adult version of Rainbow Brite up two flights of stairs into her studio apartment with one pull-out couch-bed.
Although Jade told me she had plenty of space for me after I booked a room at the hotel, I wasn’t planning to stay with her, but getting her settled stole the rest of my energy, and I just crashed here.
The edge of her pull-out bed, where the metal frame meets the thin mattress, is where I slept like a pencil all night.
It’s seven-thirty now, she’s asleep, and I need to go on a hunt for food. I’m debating whether to wake her, but she’s not a morning person, and I’m assuming she’s going to have quite the hangover on top of it.
She’s sprawled across the pull out, her arms twisted in different directions, and her legs spread eagle. Her coppery hair is everywhere, her makeup is strategically covering her face in spots makeup shouldn’t be, and she’s wearing her sequined black tank top and torn skinny jeans from last night because I only managed to get her shoes off seeing as those skinny jeans are painted onto her skin. That would have been a sight to watch.
I walk into the small galley kitchen, five feet from the edge of the bed, in search for a notepad and a pen, but the closest I find is a receipt and a crayon. Why does she have crayons instead of pens? Never mind, that’s just Jade.
* * *
Off to my first day. Hope you’re feeling better, girly.
I’ll call you tonight after work!
Xoxox,
Jules
* * *
Stepping out into the cool June air, I’m welcomed with the same scent of saltwater and sand. It’s like I suddenly can’t remember what Indiana smells like. Is there even a smell to remember? I mean, there are cows . . . lots of those, so there’s that “pretty” scent, but there’s nothing like this. It’s as if my lungs can take in more air here, making me feel lighter on my feet.
I drive slowly down the main road in search of a place to grab food, but there doesn’t appear to be any type of chain food stores. However, there is a bakery with a parking spot right out front.
Welcomed by the sweet scent of pastries and coffee, it takes me the length of five people in line to choose from their display or drool worthy food. This place is going to make me fat.
“What can I get for you?” a young girl asks. She’s dressed in all white with a Boston Red Sox cap on. Very New-England, I take it. “All of our specials are on the board.” She points above her head with a pen, while holding her focus on my face and probably the people lining up behind me.
“I’ll have a cheese danish with a large coffee, please.” She’s quick to put my order together—I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone move so fast in a bakery, but I have heard a rumor about this area; Everyone is always in a rush. It’s to my benefit this morning though, so no complaints because I’m already drooling from hunger. Like, there’s actual drool bubbling up in the corner of my lips.
If I didn’t skip dinner last night, I probably wouldn’t be drooling, but I was in such a rush to get here. That was obviously my first mistake.
“You’re not the first one to drool in this place,” a man behind me jokes. Now knowing someone actually saw me in the act of licking my lips and wiping the back of my hand under my lip, a rush of heat fills my cheeks with embarrassment as I wonder why, at this age, I can’t control the drool pooling in the corners of my mouth.
I turn around to face the fairly tall man. He’s decked out in a wetsuit, leaving little to the imagination, which is a lot to imagine. Feeling like I should look away . . . now . . . I glance past him and out the front door where I see a Jeep Wrangler with a surfboard attached to the top rigs. People surf here? I’ve never met someone who surfs. I thought surfers only existed in California.
“You surf?” I ask.
He flips his hair back, and it feels like slow motion as each piece of hair falls perfectly into place. With a hint of a smile stretching across his lips, he responds with, “Nah, I just like wearing wet suits.” That are soaking wet? The idea of it sounds miserable.
“Oh, why?” I concede, sort of wondering if he’s serious. That Jeep could belong to someone else, and I’ve heard the water here is freezing until midsummer. Maybe it’s necessary to wear a wet suit to avoid hypothermia.
“I’m kidding, eh.” Again, with the hair flip. He does have flippable hair. It’s nice, and blond mixed with even lighter highlights. Maybe he’s from California. That would explain the piercing turquoise eyes too—says every Southern California stereotype of a surfer. Although, I bet surfers from down there don’t have the odd accent I just heard. “My buddies and I drive down for the summer from Canada to go surfing. It’s our tenth year here.”
“Wow, I had no idea people surfed here.” There’s a good reason to plant my butt in the sand every weekend. Which, I will be doing.
“Have you ever surfed?” he asks.
I can’t help the laughter erupting from my throat. “Surf? I just came from Indiana, the middle of nowhere, and I don’t even know how to swim. I’m only here for the summer, though,” I lower my voice as I’m suddenly aware of how loud and embarrassing my confession sounds in this small bakery.
“No way,” he says, matching the softness of my voice. “That’s dangerous.” He pauses briefly, looking at me with bewilderment. “The part about not knowing how to swim.” So, I’ve gone from embarrassed to mortified in a matter of seconds. Note to self: Do not tell anyone else I can’t swim.
“Well, I’m not going surfing anytime soon.” I grin like an idiot while twirling my short hair around the back of my ear. Anddd I’m turning back for the counter, hoping my danish is ready and waiting for me.
“Hey,” the guy says. His hand touches my elbow, and it catches me off guard, so I instinctually jerk my arm away. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
I turn back toward him, backing up a bit since he’s decided to make physical contact. Maybe it’s a weird reaction, but seeing as I’ve avoided men for the past year, it took me by surprise. “It’s okay.”
“You should really learn how to swim if you’re going to be around the water for the summer. We get riptides sometimes, and they can suck you right in if you’re not careful.”
Oh my God. This is seriously embarrassing. I don’t even know this guy.
“I’ll just stay away from the water,” I reply with a little snappiness that he doesn’t quite deserve.
“Julia,” the woman behind the counter calls. She’s holding up a small paper bag and a coffee. I take my breakfast as quickly as I can and turn for the exit. “And Sterling, your order is ready too.” Sterling. Huh. It figures that he would have a sexy name like that. He didn’t even order his food—that means he’s probably a regular. I suddenly feel like such an odd ball here.
“It was nice to meet you, Julia.” I look over my shoulder just as I’m stepping my foot outside, waving my brown bag at who I now know to be Sterling.
I slide into my car and press my hands against my hot face, wishing my palms were anything but clammy. Ugh, I need to start work today with a clear mind, not a hot surfer in mind.
Grabbing my phone from the cup holder, I open my GPS and retrieve the saved address I entered right before I left home. Twenty-five minutes? Yikes! I thought it was right down the road. I eyeball the clock on the dash, seeing that I’ll be arriving right on time, which is not what I wanted, not when one of my negative qualities was obsessively arriving too early and leaving later than necessary from work. That’s what I get for kissing butt.
I’ll pick up some time on the highway. It’ll be fine. If I’m five minutes early, I’m still early. I pull an illegal u-turn and head down the street, driving over the crosswalk I didn’t see until I heard someone yelling for me to slow down. Shit. My face is getting hotter by the second, and I’m going to look like a blotchy hot mess when I arrive.
The small highway is clear for as far as I can see and I’m crossing my fingers that it stays this way. I should have stayed at the hotel last night. That would have prevented all of this. I’ve counted three town lines in my fifteen-minute drive, and I’m seeing signs for Kennebunkport. The GPS still says I’m ten minutes away, though. Freaking GPS. How fast do you expect me to go? I’m pretty sure I’ve been doing fifty in a thirty for the past ten minutes and you couldn’t give me a break at all? Screw you, Siri, and your damn map!
And of course, there are traffic lights. There were no lights in the town I was just in, but now there are lights here, like every hundred freaking feet. Why? Why? My God. The green numbers on the dash are taunting me as they slowly tick away with each red light I’m invited to stop at.
My heart pounds as I look down at the map, seeing I’m going to be one minute late. I don’t do late. I don’t necessarily do early like I may have mentioned, but I’m never late. Until today.
I grab my coffee cup from the cup holder as the GPS hollers at me to take my next right in thirty feet. Seriously, Siri? What the fuck? I swerve to the right, losing my tight grip on my coffee cup, and yup…there is burning hot coffee running down my goddamn leg now. FUCK. That’s hot!
No, no, no. It looks like I pee’d my pants. Why? Why does this keep happening to me? I place the coffee cup that’s now half empty back down into the cup holder and look back at the GPS, showing ten more turns to go before I arrive at my destination in one mile. Really?
After the ninth turn, I’m directed into a small development of houses . . . huge houses, that sit right on the waterfront.
Whoa. This explains the generous summer salary.
I pull up the long driveway covered with smooth beach pebbles, hearing my tires crunch and crackle against the hollow air between the rocks. Looking at my phone once more, I see I somehow managed to get here one minute early. That works for me other than scolding hot coffee spilled all over me. I always believe in starting with a great first impression. Excuse me while I use your bathroom, you know since it looks like I Just peed myself in my car. It’s so nice to meet you, nice person who is paying me money to care for your child when I can’t care for myself.
I jump out and race up the front steps while tossing my purse over my shoulder, trying to wipe some of the excess coffee off myself with a handful of napkins. So attractive.
The door
opens as I’m reaching for the bell and my new boss, Samantha, who is draped in form fitting yoga clothes that had to have been designed for a sixteen-year-old girl, greets me with a hearty smile. And a hug. Not just any hug, but the kind where her springy blonde ponytail whips me in the face. Samantha embraces me as if we’re long lost friends or relatives, and it’s mildly weird. “I’m so glad you made it here in one piece. I was nervous for you driving all that way alone. I could never do it. I’d fall asleep at the wheel. Gosh.” She releases her grip and tugs me into her house and I’m taken aback by the decor as I was expecting everything to be lavishly covered in marble and glass by the looks of the exterior, but it’s almost the opposite. It’s homey, with neutral painted walls, half carpeting, and half hardwoods. There are framed family photos strategically placed in different corners, and the scent of aromatic candles fill the air. It’s comforting.
“Your house is beautiful,” I tell her.
“Oh,” she says, scratching the back of her neck. “It’s home. It took a while to make it feel that way, but I love it here.”
“You must be exhausted from that trip,” she says. Nodding her head for me to follow her, she walks into the massive kitchen with a view of an outdoor kitchen and an archway that deceivingly looks like the entrance to the waterfront at this angle.
While staring out into the vast landscape of blues and greens, my senses are overwhelmed as I smell something delicious baking.
The biting pain in my stomach quickly reminds me that in my frantic race to get here, I didn’t take one bite of my Danish nor did I get even a sip of coffee in my mouth. As if the stain on my legs and the ache in my stomach wasn’t already making me uncomfortable, it rumbles loud enough to interrupt her tour of the kitchen. “Oh, gosh, are you hungry?” she asks.
“I got a little lost this morning, and—I actually left my breakfast in the car.”
She looks down, spotting the coffee stain. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”
The Man Cave Collection: Manservant, Man Flu, Man Handler, and Man Buns Page 4
