“Whadya say we take a ride, hey, old guy?” I gave Charlie a scratch behind the ears as he sat shotgun with me. It was my second day with Charlie and we'd just come from town after hitting the bank and post office.
He wagged his tail before he turned and stuck his big head out the window of the passenger side.
I wandered around some back roads on the way home from Wilmington. It was only a Tuesday. I hadn’t told Gavin I would be gone, but I didn’t have anything important that needed doing in the next handful of hours. I drove and wound my way along deserted, chewed-up roads, headed east toward the coast. I didn’t know where I was going, wasn’t interested in the GPS on my phone; just knew I’d get to where I needed to be as long as I kept heading east.
Old cottages and fancy beach homes whizzed by the windows. The sea breeze blew through the cab of my battered Jeep Rubicon and tossed my hair onto my forehead. I needed a fucking haircut like three weeks ago. I couldn't stand it in my eyes, but when it came around to actually getting it done, I just never made the time to do it. I ran my fingers through my hair and tried my best to tuck the too-long-but-not-long-enough strands behind my ears with an eye roll. A buzz cut. Maybe I’d get a buzz cut. Got a dog, a boat, and a buzz cut. Hell, maybe I’d even go off the grid. Put the Jeep in storage and sail until I felt like not sailing anymore. Sort of like Forrest Gump when he just went running. Maybe I would just go sailing. My lips pulled down in a frown when I realized I needed a job to make the payments on my boat, and the only job that I was good at was hacking, which required Internet, which required me to live firmly on the grid. There went that idea, then.
“Charlie! Man, fuck you stink. You gotta go to the bathroom, old guy?” Charlie turned and ticked his head to the side before crawling across the console and placing his two front feet on my thigh. I grinned and gave him a pat. I was going to like having a dog. He had the ability to communicate without saying a word. Perfect.
I pulled over on a private stretch of dirt road and climbed out of the vehicle, Charlie bounding out after me. He headed for the underbrush along the ditch and sniffed around, tail wagging the entire time. I leaned against the bumper and watched him with a smile. I shuffled my feet in the dirt and noticed that it was intermixed with sand, making us close to the beach.
“Charlie! Come on, old man, do your business.” I hustled him along as he wandered, nose to the ground, farther down the shoulder of the road. He lifted his leg every few feet. “Charlie, come on.” I walked along with him and patted him on the flank. He veered into the thicker underbrush off the road and landed at an old sign buried in the ditch. He wagged his tail and sniffed around it. I walked over and bent to find a rusted For Sale by Owner sign. I glanced up to find an old two-track trail that led into the woods. Maybe an old cabin was tucked back there; a cabin on the beach. The perfect place to go off the grid, yet not quite. I tipped my head to the sky as my eyes searched for power lines. I needed Internet; I couldn’t entertain living anywhere without some Internet to help pay the bills.
“You wanna go for a walk?” I looked up to find Charlie already far out ahead of me on the trail. I glanced back at the Jeep. It was parked far enough off the road, not that this place saw much traffic anyway, so I figured it was safe for a few minutes while I checked out the place that was For Sale by Owner.
Charlie and I walked down the two tracks that twisted into the woods. The closer we came to the beach, sand overtook the dirt, before we finally cleared a corner and the old house came into view. My eyes widened for a moment. I clenched my fists at my sides. It couldn’t be. No way could it be. I walked around the small cottage, weathered grey shingles and shutters, the roof of the wraparound porch part falling in, and headed for the side of the building. I came around the edge and ducked through the brush before the beach came into view. A long dock cut through the tall grass that waved in the breeze. The dock was in decent shape, considering the state of the house.
I’d seen this dock before. Memories of that night flashed through my mind. The taste of her skin. The taste of her on my lips. Our mouths tangled together. My hand fisted in her thick hair. Her thighs spread for me. Fuck, how could I have ended up at this house? The place that had been the backdrop for the most beautiful and painful memory of my life? Just one of the memories that had been playing on repeat in my mind. The first night Georgia and I had fucked. Except it had been so much more than that. Way beyond fucking. So far beyond I didn’t even have words for it.
I gritted my teeth together and kicked at a leg of the dock.
“Charlie,” I hollered and patted my leg to call him. He came bounding out of the woods at full speed, bright eyes, wagging tail, tongue hanging out of his mouth. He looked the liveliest I’d seen him all day. Even more so than when he was trying to stick it in the prissy poodle at the pet store. “Back to the car, old man.” I took long strides down the driveway, headed for the road. Fuck me if this didn’t serve as some kind of knife in my stomach. Like I hadn’t been suffering with the memories enough.
Thirty-Three
Tristan
two months earlier
The memory of that fucking cottage sat in my mind all week.
And the following week.
I stayed on my boat, dicking around, working here and there, listening to Gavin bitch at me because my head wasn’t in the game. I knew he was trying to be patient. I knew he was worried. I got random texts from Drew every few days that were about random stupid shit and I knew they were check-ins. She was worried, possibly more than Gavin was. I think it concerned them that I was alone up here at the scene of the crime with only the memories of Georgia and me surrounding my every thought.
Trouble was, this was the only place I wanted to be. I only wanted to be in the place where we’d made those memories. Hence, the reason that cottage down the shore from her beach house was haunting me. In some fucked-up way, I knew if I had that cottage, I would know if she came back. I realized this made me a full-on stalker. I knew that. I just didn’t care.
So I finally dialed the number that had been burned into my brain.
Not only was the place for sale, but also it was well under my budget. Significantly so, probably because the fucking roof looked like it was about to cave in. But I didn’t care. I offered the asking price. I think they were desperate to unload the place, as it had sat there abandoned for more than a year. The owner lived out of town and the cottage had belonged to his father, who had passed on. I tried to offer my sympathy, but in reality, I was relieved the place was for sale and was prime location.
I knew I was pathetic.
Wholeheartedly.
I also knew this was a rash decision. Except it felt like it wasn't. I’d tossed it around in my head on the deck of my boat for the better part of two weeks. And the month before that, I’d only thought about this place—about the moments Georgia and I had shared on this beach. If I never saw her again, if she never came back to the beach house and she married Kyle and had her perfect little rug rats and a white picket fence, I wouldn’t regret buying the cottage because the summer I’d shared with that one perfect girl had been my perfect summer. Being around her had filled me up inside. So if I never laid eyes on her again, just living with the memory around me would have to be enough, because I knew I had no chance of getting over Georgia Montgomery. Not in this lifetime.
* * *
I moved in on a Tuesday. I let the lease run out on my apartment and convinced Gavin to drive a moving truck up with some of my furniture. I paid him in beer. That’s all he ever needed. I knew it was unavoidable, but I feared seeing Drew would be torture. She'd driven separately because Gavin would need a way home. I knew she would lay into me the entire few days they were here.
I was right. She did.
I was pissed, but I held it in. That little dark-haired pixie could meddle like no one’s business. What punched me in the gut was she spoke to Georgia often; she knew how her life was now. I walked around like a mute, refusing to ask questions, but Drew filled m
e in anyway.
She told me Georgia was in rough shape.
I told her I didn’t care. Secretly, I did. I cared so fucking much it hurt.
Drew told me I should call her. I told her no fucking way. Georgia had to come to me. We’d been a fucking mess all summer, back and forth and back and forth, and I was done with it. Georgia needed to choose me, something she hadn’t done all summer.
She also had to choose herself, what she wanted. And what she thought she wanted was Kyle, so I had to respect that, no matter how much it made my stomach boil with anger and hurt.
I threw myself on the couch when Gavin and Drew finally left. Back to being by myself, just me and Charlie; exactly how I wanted it. No one to nag me, no one to shoot me pitiful glances. I had my dog, some beer, Internet . . . and it was all I really needed.
One evening, I was at the store picking up more beer and dog food, when I ran into Briana, or was it Kelsey? Fuck if I remembered. I could hardly keep them straight when I’d screwed them this summer. I tossed a jar of peanut butter into my cart when a hand slid around my waist and a husky voice whispered in my ear. I’d be lying if I said my dick didn’t twitch to life—purely reactionary—because the second thing my brain registered was this girl was trouble wrapped up in psycho.
“Didn’t know you were back in town. Why didn’t you call me?” she breathed as her hand trailed down to my ass and gave a squeeze. I rolled my eyes before I turned and plastered a smile on my face.
“Hey, what’s up?” I took her in. Briana, I think it was. Tight jeans, heels, bright red sweater that covered her sizable tits, but still managed to be indecent.
“You been here long?” she murmured in my ear as her hand smoothed down the front of my jeans and brushed against my cock. For a split second, I thought about taking her home. My body and mind raged. I wanted to fuck Georgia out of my system. Sink balls-deep into this girl and fuck away the pain. But the thought of being with anyone other than Georgia had my stomach twisting painfully.
“Few weeks,” I said before removing her hand from my junk.
“Let’s get together. You still have my number, right?” She caressed my arm suggestively.
“Yeah, I have it.” That was a lie. I’d cleared all numbers out of my phone that weren’t Georgia’s one night on the boat when I was drunk and bitter. “I’ll call you.” I turned back to the cart, trying to blow her off.
“Are you busy tonight? I have plans, but I could be persuaded into canceling them.” She brushed her tits against my arm. My dick was still stirring to life. He was all in. My fucking head wasn’t, though. I was getting pissed. I was so sick of girls that refused to take a hint.
“Got things to do. Sorry.” I pushed the cart down the aisle and headed for the liquor. Tonight was going to be a scotch kind of night.
“Maybe tomorrow, then?” She trailed after me.
“Maybe. I’ll call you.” I continued to walk.
“Okay, Tristan. Good to see you.” She cupped my ass and her fingers wrapped around to my balls from behind. I sucked in a quick breath as all the blood rushed to my dick. My head refused to think straight.
Fuck.
I ground my teeth together.
All I wanted was Georgia.
Could I fuck someone else? Did I want to? I’d tried that all summer and it hadn’t worked for shit. Except now, Georgia wasn’t here to pull me back in. I wouldn’t have to wake up the next morning, the smell of sweaty sex on me from some other chick, and look into her pained eyes. My dick pounded in my jeans as I scrubbed my palm over my face.
“See you later,” I grumbled, pushing the cart with a little more force than necessary. I bee-lined for the scotch, grabbed the most expensive bottle they had, and then hit the checkout lane.
Close fucking call. It was a good thing I didn’t have the girl's number because it was possible I’d be tempted to cave some night when I was drunk and angry as fuck with Georgia. Thankfully, at this moment, I’d had the foresight to see I’d only wake up with a sick sense of regret in the morning. I headed back out to my truck and prayed I wouldn’t run into her again.
Thirty-Four
Tristan
present
That week, I finally got back into my routine. I felt semi-settled—my couch, my chair, my TV—I felt like I was getting back to a new normal. I'd hired a contractor to come in and fix up the place, including a new roof. The quaint three-bedroom was small, but I could see the potential. The wide-open space of the kitchen, living, and dining areas made it feel more spacious, and the wraparound deck off the back looked out over the ocean.
Every morning, I woke up just as dawn hit the horizon and went for my morning run with Charlie. He was old, so he dragged ass, but it was good for him to get some exercise. If I let him, he’d lie like a pile of bones on the leather couch all day. He always took his time getting out of the house in the morning, but after a few minutes, we hit a rhythm and he trailed behind me happily.
Despite the fact that we were into late fall and I’d been at the cottage for more than a month now, the days could still have a humid stickiness to them. On those mornings, Charlie and I ran the first half of our morning jog and walked the way back. The dog was odd and had a favorite stick that he kept outside the front door. He chewed on it for a few weeks until it was down to nothing before he’d find another. So it was that morning he’d chosen a new stick and I was tossing it down the beach for him. We were on the way back from our run and he was galloping into the waves, trying to bite at them with his teeth, before I threw the stick and he paddled out to get it. He came bounding back to me, dropped the stick at my feet, and gave a shake every single fucking time. Wet dog stink in the morning. Nothing better. I grinned and gave his ears a scratch before throwing the stick back into the water for him. We walked down the beach until my dock and Georgia’s beach house came into view. I bit my bottom lip painfully, trying to redirect the pain that sliced into my gut at the sight of her house. I saw the little sand dune where we’d sat and read Tristan and Iseult.
Charlie came bounding up to me, dropped the stick, did his shake, and the cool water hitting me brought me out of my thoughts.
“Hey, old man, still got it, don’t ya?” I gave him a pat and tossed the stick again, my thoughts returning instantly to Georgia. It’d been over a week since I’d run into Briana at the store and I was thankful I’d turned her down. I was also thankful that I didn’t have her number, because I’d gotten so pissed drunk later that night on scotch I probably would have fucked anything on two legs if given the opportunity. In hindsight, scotch had been a bad choice. I was also thankful she didn’t know where I lived; I had no doubt she’d be tapping on my door all hours of the night, looking for a fuck if she did. Another Sophie all over again. Christ, was my radar off? Why was I landing in bed with the psycho ones lately?
“Come on, Charlie. Let’s head in.” I patted my leg and the old dog wagged his tail and then led the way up the dock to the porch of the cottage. I felt a twisting in my stomach, just like I always did when I passed the spot where Georgia and I had had sex for the first time. I kept walking and tried not to go down that road all over again.
* * *
The following Saturday afternoon, Charlie and I pulled into the marina, ending what might be our last day on the boat for the season. I locked up the boat before making arrangements with the marina to put it up for the winter. Charlie leaped up into the front seat of the Jeep and I started to make my way back to the cottage before I remembered Charlie needed dog food. I turned the car around and headed for the small pet store in town.
“No humping this time.” I pointed a finger at him as we pulled into the parking lot. His tail wagged back and forth as he looked up at me with big, round eyes. “Don’t do it, old man. I know you still got it, but you don’t have to prove it to every pretty little thing on four legs.” He gave a short bark and I smiled. “Come on.” I ruffled his ears and then moved aside so he could jump out the driver's side door. I b
elatedly realized I hadn’t put his leash on him, but he was pretty good at sticking by my side and the parking lot was nearly empty this late in the off-season anyway.
Charlie trotted around some cars and out of sight. I rolled my eyes and followed him around the back end of a car.
“Charlie!” I rounded the bumper. “Charlie, come on.” I slapped my thigh to get his attention.
“Tristan,” a soft voice carried on the wind. I lifted my eyes from his wagging tail and saw a dark mane of chestnut hair cascading around his big dog head and gorgeous brown eyes that had been keeping me awake at night peering back at me.
“Georgia?” Was I seeing things? Was she really here, stooped over in a parking lot, petting my dog? The girl who’d consumed my thoughts the past three fucking months. Had I wished her into existence? Was I going insane? “What are you doing here?” I asked, my mind a whirlwind of emotion—confusion, anger, and pain the most prominent three.
“I came back,” was her simple answer. What did she mean she came back? Was she here to stay? Was there a problem? Had Kyle done something to her and she was running? I knew I didn’t trust the guy the moment I’d laid eyes on him. The way he acted around her—as if he owned her, talked down to her—made my stomach crawl.
“To the beach house? When?” I squatted and patted Charlie as I spoke.
“Beginning of November.”
My mind computed the time.
Over a month?
She’d been right under my nose for over a month and I hadn’t noticed?
I searched my memory for a sign she’d been at the beach house, something I'd missed, but I found none. Maybe I hadn't been paying attention. Maybe I'd been walking around in a drunken stupor too much of the time to see the girl I wanted so desperately right next door.
Anger boiled in my stomach.
Sweet Alibi Page 26
