by Sarina Bowen
That does sound good. I shove one into my mouth and chew. It’s good to be back on land. It’s good to be on a pristine beach in the sunshine, surrounded by people who like me and aren’t afraid to say so.
So why do I feel so crummy?
“Now taste this.” Annika offers me her cup of punch. It’s sweeter than I like, but I take a sip anyway. “Now come this way,” my bossy ex-girlfriend insists, clamping her manicured hand over my wrist. “We’re going to play badminton.”
I laugh, because Annika isn’t a fan of sports. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yeah, I do. I’m tired of seeing that mopey look on your face. Just be gentle.” She disposes of our food and drinks, and then hands me a racquet.
I duck under the net to take up a position.
“Oh no, you don’t. Your spot is over here.” She points at the opposite side of the net, the one where I won’t be able to watch for the tram.
Yup, she’s got my number.
“Besides, if I let you take that side, you’ll play distracted. You’ll get whacked in the forehead with a birdie, and the guys will call you Cyclops.”
I laugh again, and it’s not hard to figure out why I spent so much time with Annika. Maybe she and I aren’t sexually compatible anymore, but she’s a great friend.
“Heads up, Hayworth,” she says as she serves.
I return the birdie, nice and easy, and soon we have a nice volley going. I play each return trying not to get her out, but rather to keep the birdie in play. I’m sure she can tell that I’m taking it easy on her. But she tries to ace me anyway.
And then she succeeds. I hear the sound of the tram approaching, and I miss the next shot.
Annika falls to her knees in the sand, like Serena declaring a Wimbledon victory. I move to turn around and she barks at me, “No, Hayworth! Stay with me! Don’t go toward the light!” She stands up and peers toward the tram herself. She gives a single shake of her head that dashes my hopes.
I’m just a guy, standing on a beach in nothing but his favorite pair of lobster shorts, waiting for the right man to love me.
“Your serve,” Annika says cheerfully.
We go back to our game, and I allow myself to be distracted. “I get next game!” calls Henry, Annika’s younger brother.
“Sure, pal.” I bounce the birdie back to Annika, enjoying the sun on my face. It’s winter in Chile, so the summer temperatures are a balm on my soul.
When I hear the tram again, I don’t turn around. I hit the birdie over the net.
Annika makes a little squeak of surprise, though, and returns it to me sloppily. I miss my next shot because I’m already turning around.
A guy has just stepped off the tram. His dark hair shines in the sun. Wearing mirrored sunglasses, a polo shirt and khaki trunks, he surveys the crowd a little uncertainly.
“Luke!” Annika yells.
He turns his handsome face in our direction.
That’s when Jim, a dude from the finance division, steps up to him, slapping him on the back, then shaking his hand.
I see Luke’s eyes dart toward me, then back to Jim. Luke can’t be rude. He probably reports to Jim at work. He’s drawn into a conversation.
“Oh, crap,” Annika says. “We could rescue him.”
“No, it’s okay,” I say, tossing my racquet to Henry. “I’m patient. And I don’t want to make a scene.”
Luke doesn’t need that, either. He’s surrounded by guys from Hayworth Pharma now. And even though I’m impatient, it’s cool to see how many people he knows. Someone hands him a beer. Bo, the CFO, steps in and introduces him to several more people.
I wait.
“This is so romantic,” Annika whispers beside me. “He’s almost free. Except...darn it!”
Now Luke is captured by Marcy, Bo’s secretary. She is clearly smitten. She pats his arm and pinches his cheek. When she hugs him, Luke looks right over her shoulder at me. Oh my God, he mouths.
I let out a bark of laughter, and Annika covers her mouth as she giggles.
“Who is that guy?” Annika’s brother asks, twirling his racquet in his hands.
“He’s my…” I swallow hard. “Boyfriend,” I say carefully, hoping its true.
“Realllllly,” Henry says, drawing the word out, sounding stunned.
I hope it’s true, anyway. Would he come to this party after that ultimatum I gave him and then reject me?
Either way, I’m about to find out. He disentangles himself from Marcy and begins crossing the sand. I tense as he waves to a couple more guys, but he manages not to get drawn in.
My God, he’s handsome. I’m rooted in the sand, just dazzled all over again by his square-shouldered swagger. I don’t come unstuck until he reaches up and pulls those sunglasses off, revealing a vulnerable expression. “Hi, Lobsterman,” he says quietly. “Somebody told me that missing this party would be a huge mistake.”
“It’s true,” I say, my throat constricting. “It would be a damned shame.”
And I don’t even know who moves first. But he’s in my arms a heartbeat later. Our hug happens so fast that it sloshes his beer. He holds it out to the side and laughs as his free hand wraps around my lower back.
I put my lips on his neck and inhale. “God, I missed you.”
“Same,” he says in a low voice. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick.”
“You’re not so bad,” I stammer as my throat tightens again. “Better late than never.” I take one more deep breath of his scent—sunshine and spicy aftershave. Then I make myself take a step back.
Luke gives me a shameless full-body onceover. “You’re right. This is a beautiful beach.”
“Isn’t it?” Annika giggles, reminding me that we aren’t alone.
Although alone sounds really good right now.
“Why don’t you give Luke a tour?” she chirps.
The girl is a genius. “Can I show you around?”
“I’m all yours,” he says. And then he does something I’ve never seen Luke Bailey do before. He blushes. It’s adorable.
“Go on, you two. I have some badminton to win here.”
“As if,” her brother snarks.
I clear my throat. “Want the tour?”
It’s a Sun Shelf
Luke
“Sure,” I say in a hoarse voice. This is obviously a great party but I feel so raw right now. Showing people that I care doesn’t come easily to me. I feel like my skin is peeled back, exposing things that have never seen the light of day.
Besides, it’s been way too long since I was alone with Keaton.
“Then right this way,” he says, gesturing inland, where I assume the house awaits.
I follow him up the path from the beach, and discover that the party is twice as large as I’d assumed. The beach path gives way to a manicured lawn and then a palatial pool area.
“Are those chairs in the pool?” I ask, trying to make sense of the layout.
Keaton chuckles. “That part of the pool is just four inches deep. The realtor called it a ‘sun shelf,’ whatever the fuck that is. But on a hot day it’s totally the place to be.”
Honestly, it looks like heaven. Barefoot guests are draped all over the six cushioned chaise lounges in the water. Drinks in hand, they are living the dream.
But it’s crowded here. Various partygoers stop Keaton and slap him on the back. “K3!” an older man says. “How’s college?”
“Great, Mr. Brown,” he says, giving the man the politest of brushoffs. He keeps moving. “I’d introduce you to everyone here,” he says quickly. “But I kind of want you to myself.”
“Noted,” I say. “Can’t say I’m in the mood to schmooze when I can get the private tour with you.”
This wins me a lingering glance from the shirtless hottie in the lobster shorts.
My impatience, coupled with the scope of the Hayworth’s spread, make the trip toward the house seem long. We pass a pool house, a covered pavilion with a bar area, a tent she
ltering a DJ, and a hundred more people sipping tropical drinks.
“We used to have a little beach house, like normal rich people,” Keaton says as we skirt the edge of the crowd. “But then Dad traded up to this place when I was in high school.” He rolls his beautiful eyes. “This crazy pool. The private beach. Clay tennis courts.” He points toward the fenced-in courts. “Do you play?”
“Tennis? What do you think, Hayworth?”
He gives me a sly smile. “I think I like it when you surprise me, that’s all. And tennis would suit you, ’cause you’re quick on your feet.”
“Aw shucks,” I say in my usual cool manner. But the flattery hits me square in the chest. “Maybe you can teach me.”
“Yeah?” He lights up. “That would be so fun. The tennis pro that Mom has on call is good eye candy too, just saying.”
I laugh out loud. “Male or female?”
“Oh, it’s a dude. A dude in tight white shorts.”
“Does your mom know you think he’s hot?” I’m still trying to figure out Keaton’s family.
“Of course. We’ve had long discussions about his hotness, and how we don’t like to serve the ball into the net when he’s watching.” He leads me around to the front of the house.
And then finally we reach the house itself—a low-slung modern structure that looks like something you’d see on the cover of an architecture magazine. There’s a living room that can’t decide if it’s indoors or outdoors—it’s completely open on one side. But Keaton bypasses that to lead me around to the side, where there’s an ordinary screen door into the kitchen.
He holds the door open and I step into a ridiculously large kitchen that’s teeming with caterers. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Keaton hisses, taking my elbow and steering me through the madness. “It’s Grand Central Station in here.”
We exit the kitchen on the other side, stepping into a quiet space. It’s a grand hallway with art on the walls and a thick carpet underfoot.
We’re the only ones here. Finally. So I do what needs doing. I grab Keaton with two hands and back him up against the modern stone tiles on the wall. Then I lift a hand to his perfect scruffy chin and kiss him. Hard.
“Oflug,” he says against my lips. It takes him maybe three seconds to get over his surprise. And then two hands yank me closer.
Like I said, I’m not used to laying myself bare. But right this second I don’t have a choice. Keaton parts my lips with his tongue, and I moan the second I taste him. What was I ever thinking? I need this man. And even if being half a couple doesn’t come easily to me, I have to try. Nobody has ever gotten under my skin the way he does. Nobody has ever needed me the way he does.
Not one person.
It’s terrifying.
Still. I don’t pull away yet, because the things I want are bigger than my fear. I want the slide of his mouth against mine, and I want the hum of pleasure he makes when I kiss him back. And I want the happy sigh I make when he holds me closer.
Yeah, I’ve got it bad.
I don’t pull back until we both need air. And even then, I tip my forehead against his and stare into his eyes. “I really missed you.” Four little words. So hard to say, but his quick smile makes it worth it.
“Missed you, too,” he says quietly.
I ease back to stand up straight again and look around. This place is like a museum. Art everywhere. “So this is the Hayworth beach mansion, eh? This is where the magic happens.”
“Isn’t it obnoxious?” Keaton spreads his arms wide. “You are probably disgusted.”
I turn around, where there’s another vast living room and more windows that open onto the ocean. Even in here you can hear the low roar of the surf. “That’s not what I think at all. I think it’s an amazing house. And honestly someday I hope I can figure out how to own one just like it.”
“Huh. Maybe we can go halfsies,” Keaton suggests. “Hey, you brought a bag?”
I look down at the rug, where my gym bag fell sometime right after I got a taste of Keaton’s kiss. “Yeah, just in case I had somewhere I needed to stay. There’s a train back to Penn Station at eleven, though. And another one just before two a.m.”
Keaton bends over and grabs my bag off the floor. “Come on,” he says.
“Where are we headed?” I follow him down the hallway.
“My room. Duh.” He leads me toward a big wooden door. Its surface is roughly hewn, like beach wood. Yet it opens neatly to reveal a killer bedroom. The big windows are open, and the DJ’s music floats past tasteful white curtains and a surf board suspended on wall brackets.
There’s also a king-sized, which I try not to stare at.
“You surf?” I ask, because that sounds like fun.
“A little. The Hamptons doesn’t always have great waves. The guys who are really into it spend a lot of time driving around looking for action.”
“Like me on the apps in the olden days,” I joke.
Keaton turns around with a serious expression on his face. “But not lately?”
“No,” I say quietly. “I met this great guy and kind of lost my taste for hookups.” I look away then, because old habits die hard.
Keaton’s room might be fancy, but it’s lived-in. There’s a stack of paperback thrillers on the dresser beside a sandy Frisbee. (See, he is a yellow lab!) And also…a black silk top hat?
“Stay here with me tonight,” he says. “I really want you to.”
“Yeah, I want that, too.” I make myself look right at him again, and I know he can see how much I really do want it. “But only…” I cross the room and grab the top hat. “Only if you can tell me why you have this in your room. Did you mug an eighty-year-old?”
He laughs. “No, but I wore it in a wedding.”
“Is there photographic evidence?” I ask.
“Probably. Besides, that hat is sexy,” he insists. “When I wear it, the babes are drawn to me like moths to a flame.”
“Uh-huh. Let’s see.” I flip it around in my hand and then drop it on my head. Then I move my body in a wave motion to the beat of the music, just to make Keaton laugh.
He doesn’t, though. “I rest my case. You look hot when you do that.”
“Yeah?” I flip the hat off my head and slide to the right, flipping it on again. “Hmm. See, if I were still dancing, I’d try to make something out of this. Props are fun.” I turn around, toss it in the air, and then somehow slide into just the right spot to let it land on my head.
“Keep going,” Keaton says, sprawling out on the foot of his bed to watch me. “Do you miss dancing?”
“No,” I say, and then think for a moment. “Not really. I didn’t like having to be ‘on’ when I wasn’t feeling it. But it had its moments. That pole kept me in terrific shape. And sometimes…” I slap my own ass and slide toward the bed with a dirty grind. “…sometimes all those eyes on me were fun. When the whole crowd is screaming for you, that’s a great moment.”
“So how would you make a new routine?” he asks, sitting up. “Break it down for me.”
“Hmm. Okay.” I know Keaton has always wanted to watch me, and I never gave in. Tonight’s the night, then. I came all this way to give the man what he wants. “This song works pretty well, honestly. It has a nice steady riff.”
The track is “Girls Like You” by Maroon Five. I swing my hips and let Adam Levine’s voice slide down my soul. With a flick of my wrist, I remove the hat and hold it between my hands.
A quick drop into a faux split makes Keaton’s eyes widen. “Oh, hell yes,” he says, laughing. “Keep going.”
Popping up again, I circle my hips in time with the beat. Keaton’s hot gaze is pasted on me, and I love his attention. Without dropping the rhythm, I toe off my shoes and kick them out of the way. I don the hat, and ease my way across the room in a sensuous roll of torso and shoulders. Then I start in on the buttons of my shirt, teasing them open one by one.
When I run my hands down my bare chest, Keaton flops back onto the bed with a
groan. “I’m dead,” he says. “Three months without you and now this. It’s the best kind of torture.”
“Then it’s working,” I say, adding some footwork while he watches with wide eyes. “Stripping is all about the tease.”
“You’re great at teasing,” he grumbles. “Get over here already.”
“Oh, I’d like to. But I can’t fuck you during a party at your parents’ house.” Anyone could look through the window, or walk in here looking for the john.
He sighs. “I suppose not. Want to go swimming? Maybe that will cool the fire in my trunks.”
“Sure, LobsterShorts. Take me swimming.”
He sits up and smiles at me, and that smile makes me stupid.
How did it take me so long to trust this man? “Keaton?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you. And I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out how to get over my own bullshit before and just be your guy.”
He swallows. “Can you be now?”
“I want to. If you’ll let me try.”
He gets off the bed. “Come here.” He pulls me into a hug. “We have to go swimming now, otherwise I’m going to maul you.”
“Okay,” I whisper in his ear.
“I love you, too. I know it’s easier for me to get there than it was for you. I don’t blame you for your scars.”
“Thank you,” I mumble. I wrap my arms around his wide body and sigh. “Are we really going to go outside and pretend we’re not just counting the minutes until we can take each other’s swimsuits off?”
“I have an idea,” he says. “Follow me.”
He walks out of the room, and I hurry after him down another hall I didn’t notice before. He grabs two striped beach towels off a stack and keeps going.
We leave the house again. But we don’t go back to the party. We cross the darkening side lawn and then a driveway paved with white stones. “Is this all your property?” I ask.
“Nope.” He leads me farther, until I spot another house and another pool. “We’re going to the neighbor’s.”
“Why? Where’s the neighbor?”
He hooks a thumb back toward his place. “Enjoying the free food and booze, courtesy of my parents. Mrs. Pennyworth won’t be home for hours. She closed down the party last year.”
