by Marika Ray
Barefoot Chaos
Beach Squad Series #3
Marika Ray
Contents
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
About the Author
Handcuffed Hussy Preview
Dedication
I dedicate this book to all the women out there who are learning to accept and love themselves as they are. To the women no longer comparing their bodies to other women’s. To the women looking for similarities that unite rather than tear down. I’m talking about a group of women who truly believe in themselves as human beings, not just as women. We don’t follow a guru…we think for ourselves. We don’t impose society’s beauty rules on ourselves…we recognize and create our own beauty in whatever form it comes in. We don’t punish our bodies with diet and exercise so our bodies become smaller…we strive to live big. We don’t contract…we expand.
We don’t belittle…we empower.
Copyright
Copyright 2017 Marika Ray
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13:
ISBN-13: 978-0-9992981-4-5 (E-book Edition)
ISBN-13: 978-0-9992981-5-2 (Print Edition)
Major thanks to these fabulous ladies:
Proofreading: Virginia Tesi Carey
Cover Artist: Robin Harper, Wicked by Design
Want a FREE novella about Bailey? Marika Ray is giving away a free novella to her Beach Squad readers group.
Click here to get your copy!
BLURB
Chaos - a state of complete disorder and confusion; unpredictable; a gaping void
I spend my days a buttoned up schoolteacher coordinating the senior project for my high school English students and my nights with my book boyfriends, not daring to think I could procure one in real life. It's precise, it's controlled....and boring as hell.
The tide shifts and I find myself with a hippie lifeguard who provokes me as much as he turns me on, a Senior class in upheaval, a crazy Beach Squad that wants to befriend me, a wild twin sister back in my business, and a public challenge to expose my long-held secret for the greater good.
Do I deduce this chaos is all serendipitous, meant to thrust me into my true place in the world? Ultimately, I have to decide if I can kick off my shoes, dig my toes in the sand, and trust in love again.
1
Hessa
"I thought you'd be...taller."
I smiled politely, covering my disdain through years of practice. I taught high schoolers, angsty teens sharpening their verbal sparring skills with no filter yet in place. I was used to thinly veiled insults and eye rolls.
And this knucklehead thought I wouldn't understand his "taller" comment.
Amateur.
The least he could have done was wait until we had sustenance before he commented on my looks. There went my chance at a nice dinner this evening. And I'd heard this place had killer calamari.
"I thought you'd be more gallant, yet here we are." I delivered a sugary sweet smile, thoroughly enjoying his confusion. I wondered how soon he'd whip his ancient Droid out of his drab corduroy pants and google 'galant'. I saved him the stealthy phone maneuver under the tablecloth and looked at my watch. "Oh, will you look at the time! I've got to get going. Thank you for the titillating conversation."
Before he could formulate a comeback in that tiny brain of his, I threw my napkin on my empty place-setting and grabbed my bag. I smoothed my hands over my ample hips, tugged my sweater set just so, and nodded my head like the Queen of England.
"Good day, sir."
And that's how my latest first date ended.
Actually, it ended with me in my pajama shorts, blanket wrapped around my shoulders, huddled in front of my tiny backyard fire pit grading papers. I still held out hope that one day, the heat of a man's touch sparking fireworks in my body would end my night, rather than an artificial flame put out by a tank of gas and a scratchy blanket that had seen better days. But it happened to be colder than a brass toilet seat in the Arctic, and I was nothing if not practical, so sandpaper blanket it was.
At thirty-one, I was beginning to lose hope in the hot man department. Thirty hadn't seemed so old, but tack on another year, and I'd transformed into an old maid, if only in my mind. The way I figured it, all the good men would have been taken by now, leaving me to navigate the water of divorcees with emotional baggage and ex's that had to be dealt with. I hated to be a cliché but the ol' biological clock was ticking and I desperately wanted to have children.
I'd become a teacher right out of college, having always known that something revolving around kids was in my future. I loved to watch a developing brain latch onto a concept, twisting and turning it over until they'd mastered it, then storing it in their temporal lobe. I could almost see their dendrites forming and growing, shaping their minds and in turn, shaping our future as a collective.
My personal need for stimulating, intellectual conversation lent itself to teaching the higher grades. The kindergartners seemed more interested in the placement of glue in unfortunate places. Not my cup of tea, thank you very much. I'd settled into a high school teaching job, focused on English and Literature. The past three years, I was given the golden apple of responsibility for all senior level English classes and more importantly, the senior projects.
Surf City High was known for having a senior project that was actually fun, depending on the day, for all parties involved. The project was called Care Dare, and it required an indecent amount of Care, though that wasn't why it was named as such. The work load fell directly on my shoulders, which was fine by me. If I had to be involved, I'd prefer to be the leader and in control of all aspects.
What's that? Control issues? No, definitely not. I just preferred things the way I liked them.
Currently, I was reading through my next batch of idiotic project proposals by my period four class. Granted, idiotic was a bit harsh, but sometimes I pondered if these kids, about to be set free in the world as card-carrying adults, scribbled out the first things to cross their sleep-deprived minds minutes before their papers were due.
The purpose of Care Dare was to interview a fellow classmate and develop a "Dare" of sorts that would enhance their lives. Most of us needed a solid push to leave the nest and fly. This was a safe environment for our seniors to develop the skill of interviewing (hello, job interviews!), along with spreading their wings and trying things that scared them. They'd be off at college or in the work force the following year and they needed guidance facing their fears and stepping into a braver, more mature version of themselves.
My job was to help them set up their interviews, ask intelligent questions, formulate an appropriate dare, and oversee their final report with conclusions from the program. The biggest headache was making sure these kids took the program with the correct level of thoughtfulness. There was a fine line to keeping one from phoning it in versus making a dare so debilitating that the senior couldn't complete it.
The new stack I was evaluating tonight held dares for anything from ice skating to confronting a deadbeat dad, eating a cockroach to working at hospice. Some of them were appropriate based on the fears and challenges gleaned from the interview proce
ss, while others were ridiculous in nature, or worse, so extreme as to be potentially harmful.
When my eyes glazed over, I set the pages aside, turned off the gas fire pit and took everything inside. I locked all the doors, turned off all the lights and went upstairs to my bedroom. I slid into bed, removing my glasses and placing them on my nightstand. The room went blurry and I let my mind wander.
I had this weird, yet delightful, ritual before bed where I'd lay my head down, close my eyes and let my mind travel to whatever struck my fancy. My favorite exercise was to indulge in what my life would look like five years from now. Who I'd be married to; what car I'd drive; where I'd live; how fabulous my clothes would be; what a bright, happy life I'd lead. I'd be asleep before I made it to naming my future children and I'd have a slightly better than average chance of dreaming what I'd been thinking about.
And that was how I woke up the next morning dreaming of hot chocolate. Doesn't everyone envision thick, sweet, rich hot chocolate late at night? You know, the fancy kind that makes you lick your lips and sip slowly so you can extend out the bliss hitting your tongue. Sunday mornings called for a walk down on the beach and today, the best damn hot chocolate in Huntington Beach: Chocolate Dreams.
I threw on a pair of sweatpants, an oversized t-shirt, and some flip-flops. A red Angels hat went over my bedhead and I threw my phone and wallet, plus some pepper spray (you just never knew) into a fanny pack, and I was ready to go.
There was a nip in the late October air, but I could tell the sun would be peeking out from behind the fog bank any minute now. I shivered as I walked along the cement strand parallel to the surf line. I should have worn a light sweatshirt, but I figured the lower temps would wake me up and make me appreciate the hot liquid magic (i.e.: hot chocolate) that much more.
When I pulled open the door to Chocolate Dreams, the waft of sugar hit me first, lifting my spirits. What hit me second was the eye candy lining the counter. No less than five male lifeguards, in their signature red shorts, stood talking to the blonde owner of the shop, a woman I'd seen on past visits. She was beaming and accepting congratulations from them, for what, it was unclear. I didn't particularly care as I drank in the sight of tan, muscular bodies filling out polo shirts in a way only a thirty-one year old single woman could appreciate.
My nose detected a faint smell of cologne mixing with the chocolate aroma and my body followed, like a dog on a hunt. Not that that was a metaphor I would have normally used, putting myself in the role of dog, but my brain was short-circuiting. I was surrounded by hot men and chocolate, the ultimate fantasy of every woman not concerned with staying a size two.
When I reached the back of the group, I stopped and waited patiently, presumably for my turn to order, but in reality, I just wanted to get close and breathe in their masculinity.
Don't judge.
My recent dates had been limp lettuce compared to this brightly colored smorgasbord before me.
The one directly in front of me was a few inches taller than my five foot eight and he was beautifully dark complected. His thick, black hair was cut short in the back, but long on top, making my fingers itch to run through it and mess it up.
It was as I was staring at his hair, that I heard a female voice break through my thoughts with a loud "Ma'am?" Before I could collect my gaze and reroute it appropriately, all five men swiveled their handsome heads in my direction. My cheeks heated as my eyes darted to the shop owner who had a smile on her face, but was obviously waiting for me to respond to a question I never heard.
When stuck between a rock and a hard place, my motto is 'tell the truth'. And so I did.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch what you said. I was too busy staring. Would you repeat the question?" I willed myself not to look over at the lifeguards. This was humiliating enough, I didn't need to also see pity or amusement on their striking faces. I heard a few chuckles but maybe that was only because my face was taking on a shade of tomato that didn't look healthy.
The woman laughed and shooed the men away from the counter. When they'd stepped aside, taking all available air with them, she winked at me and spoke quietly. "I know what you mean. I just got engaged to one of them and I'm still pinching myself. I'm Esa, by the way. What's your name, girl?"
"It's Hessa. Lovely to meet you. And my sincere congratulations on the engagement."
"Thanks! I know I've seen you here before, so just a heads-up, these boys come here Wednesday nights like clockwork if you'd like to come on by and stake out a table." She winked at me and then continued on as if the whole humiliating scene didn't faze her. "So, what'll it be today, Hessa?"
"Ah...well, I seem to have developed a craving for dark chocolate, so how about your salted dark chocolate with whip, please?" My face was finally cooling down, so I did the side-eye thing and ascertained where the group of men had moved off to. I'd be headed in the opposite direction.
"Excellent choice. That'll be $3.24." Esa gave me my total but before I could get exact change out of my wallet, a hand reached across me and handed a credit card to her. I followed the arm up to a white polo shirt and then up into the most startling greenish-brownish eyes of the lifeguard who'd been in front of me just a few moments ago.
"I didn't think eyes came in that color." Ah, bullocks, I actually said that out loud.
He shrugged off my awkward comment like the crazy lady I was. "Thought we'd pay you back for making you wait so long to place your order. Sorry about that."
I nodded, but didn't speak, having lost the ability when I heard his melodic voice, which was a blessing for us both. I couldn't place the accent, but I wanted him to keep talking so I could bask in its tones.
His friends hollered their goodbyes to Esa and my new obsession returned my nod and then headed out the door with them.
I followed his exit till I couldn't see him any longer and still I stared out the door. Esa interrupted my befuddlement with my steaming cup of dark chocolate decadence. "Wednesday night. Be here..." She gave me a secret smile and turned away to help the next customer.
I rushed out the door, suddenly eager to get back home and break out my song book. That face, that voice, needed to be written about before it faded from my memory. I wrote songs in my spare time, enamored with the creation process. I played the guitar and piano just well enough to piece together the melodies, but my real love was for the lyrics. It was a closely guarded dream of mine to get one of my songs sold and on the radio. I supposed I'd have to send my songs in somewhere in order to sell one, but I figured one day I'd get bold enough, or drunk enough, to actually do it.
The hot chocolate was as good as I remembered it, and it fed my craving, but it also left me wanting more. I was afraid this craving couldn't be bought, nor would it be satisfied by the new song that poured out of me about a gorgeous lifeguard with the mesmerizing eyes.
I had a new visualization of my future when I laid down in my bed that night.
"Okay, listen up class. I've looked through the first batch of proposals and I can tell you that ninety percent of them will be handed back telling you to re-interview your subject. And this time, do it right. This is to graduate, people. Put some actual work into, please?" The bell rang, interrupting my tirade. Just as well. I'm not sure if the students' work ethic gets worse every year or if it was my patience level declining.
Kids rushed to stuff papers in their backpacks and get to their next class before the second bell rang. A new group of kids piled through the door, intent on getting the seats in the last row before they were all claimed. The occasional few eager beavers took the front row seats, all the closer to kiss my ass. I know, that's crass, I really should hold them in higher regard. At least they listened to my lectures and didn't break out their cell phones underneath their desks thinking I couldn't see them.
As they settled in, my eyes snagged on one boy's shirt in the second row. It was lifeguard red with the Jr. Lifeguard emblem on the left breast pocket. My curiosity peaked, I approached him and spoke l
ow so the whole class wouldn't hear.
"Did you do Jr. Lifeguards this year, James?"
"Uh, yeah, I did. I do it every summer." James looked a little nervous, probably wondering where I was going with this line of questioning. I was wondering too.
"Who are your favorite lifeguards?" Maybe if I picked up a few names, I could narrow down who the lifeguards were in Chocolate Dreams the other day.
"Well, we have a quite a few, but my favorites are Kai and Jax." He perked up talking about these guys and I could see the genuine affection.
"You know, we typically have a lot of dares every year that involve the ocean. Do you think Kai or Jax would be interested in working with us?" I was fabricating this line of questioning, but I figured poor James wouldn't question me. Besides, I couldn't seem to stop myself.
"Oh. Yeah, I'm sure they would! They're good guys. You'd have to go through the head guy at the Headquarters building first probably."
"Thanks for the advice. Will do." I meandered back to my desk, wondering if I had the lady balls to take this intel and do something with it. I was guessing no.
"All right, class! Let's talk about Tautology." I addressed the class from the front of the room.
The groans ensued.
"We're gonna talk about Tit-ology??" This came from a particularly industrious fellow in the back row, followed by obnoxious laughter at his own hilarity.
