Summer Fling

by Tarrah Anders

  “Oh yeah? You’ve had a lot of second first kisses?” I question teasingly.

  “I’ve had enough to know that nothing compared to that one,” he confesses and then leans back in and takes my breath away again.

  I completely forgot about the folded note Royce gave me on our date until two days later when I’m in the middle of my shift at the shop. I’m wearing the dress from our date and talking with a customer when I put my hands in my pockets. My fingers caress the paper and I pull it out and briefly look at it, then put it back in to finish up with the customer. I finish with the customer, trying hard to disguise my impatience, and then scramble to grab the paper out of my pocket.

  The back of the note had a number two on it and inside the note had just one word: “are.” I’m confused, but shrugged it off. I’ll ask him about it later.

  I don’t need to wait long when Royce and Cyrus walk into the store a few minutes later. They wind through the aisles until Royce is standing in front of me.

  He hands me another folded paper. The back of the paper is marked with the number three and inside is written “more.” I look up to him and tilt my head.

  “So, what are these?” I ask him.

  “These are my love notes to you,” he says simply.

  “It’s only got one word on it, so it’s not a note.”

  “That’s because it’s a message I’m spreading out to you over many dates,” he says proudly.

  “I see. So, in order to get the whole message, we have to go out on several dates?”

  “That’s the idea.” His smile tells me he considers this one of his most brilliant ideas ever.

  “You’re assuming quite a bit, don’t you think? What if I didn’t like you? I would have an unfinished note,” I point out.

  “Oh, but you do like me.”

  “Cocky, aren’t we?”

  “Go out with me tomorrow night?” he asks as he leans on the counter.

  “I think I’m busy tomorrow.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “Oh yeah? Doing what?”

  “Washing my hair.” I say jokingly. I want to go out with him again, but I need to play hard to get.

  “Your hair looks great,” he compliments.

  “Today, but tomorrow you never know,” I banter back at him.

  “So, then I’ll pick you up, say, around seven?”

  “I never agreed.”

  “Your eyes are telling me yes.” He wiggles his eyes and smiles a mischievous smile.

  “You don’t play fair,” I shoot back to him.

  “All is fair in love and war.” He leans over the counter entirely and kisses my cheek, then retreats, walking backward until he’s reached Cyrus. As they exit my shop, I lean back against the counter behind me and sigh.

  HIM

  “You’ve gone on two dates with her and look at you. You’re a pussy-whipped pretty boy,” Jackson teases me.

  “I’m not pussy-whipped. I like the chick, that’s all.” I say with a roll of my eyes.

  “You just eye-rolled me for referring to her as a ‘nice piece of ass.’ I mean, if that's not pussy-whipped, then I don’t know what is.”

  I laugh quietly, get off my chair and lean over the railing. We’re enjoying afternoon beers on the back deck, which overlooks a part of the lake. Ignoring his jab, I watch the breeze move ripples across the water, lift the birds as they coast over the surface in lazy flocks, and rustle the trees along the water's edge.

  I close my eyes and think back to the other night when I showed up to Emma’s front door to pick her up for our second date. She was so shocked I was there that she slammed the door in my face. Then her roommate, Effie, let me in and explained that Emma wasn’t ready. I found out that “not ready,” meant she thought since she’d told me she had to wash her hair, that I would think she was serious and not show up for our date. Despite the surprise, she rallied and had herself put together in no time.

  Emma came out from the back hallway looking absolutely stunning. Her golden blonde hair was curled around the ends and falling over her sun-kissed shoulders. She was wearing a denim shirt and cropped black pants. Her make-up was light and her lips were shiny with gloss, which only made me want to kiss them more.

  She seemed unaffected by my reaction to her, unaware of the beauty she is and the effect she had on me. My palms were sweaty and I had trouble keeping the conversation going, not because I had nothing to talk about, but because I had so much I wanted to say to her.

  I took her out to dinner to Vic’s Pizza and then we went to the bowling alley and bowled a few games.

  Living in this town and being around Emma is giving me the experience of the simpler life rather than the crazy hustle and bustle of living somewhere fast-paced. Here in Sweeny, I don’t feel the need to compete, or to show off. I don’t feel like I need to be better than the person that I actually am. And I certainly don’t worry whether or not I’m good enough. There’s no pressure, which is new to me, since I grew up in a city where everyone had to be on top of their game, expect more out of every effort you put in and always put their best foot forward. People had a way about them that wasn’t as sincere and that they pretended to be what people expected rather than reality. Here in Sweeny, people want you as you are, and that’s what I am really beginning to enjoy.

  “So, does Sylvie know you moved?” Jackson asks, bringing me back to the present. “Cy mentioned you saw her back in Sac.”

  “I'm not completely sure. She knows I've been away, just not that I've moved. Probably thinks I'm spending my summer out of town, who knows,” I say as I turn back around to him.

  “Dude, I’m surprised she didn’t follow you here to ruin your life in this town.”

  “I still have the townhouse, and we didn’t talk about that when I saw her.”

  “Oh…?” Jackson replies with meaning, his eyes going wide.

  “No! Definitely not something like that. I went inside the house alone. I have no intentions to go there with her ever again,” I say quickly to squash those thoughts.

  “Word has it; crazy exes are wild animals in the sack.” Cy smiles as he walks outside and joins us.

  “Sylvie never needed to be an ex to be crazy in the sack. She was always a little rambunctious. She just always seemed to be playing a role, never really genuine. Come to think of it, I think all the sex was a little wild.”

  “Sounds fun.” Cy smiles.

  “You get tired of it,” I say quietly. "Especially if you're married to the person."

  “She was a crazy chick, so I guess her bedroom antics had to match. I never liked her anyway. She tried to control you too much. She didn’t like that you had your own ambitions and not the ones she expected out of you, let alone friends who had opinions,” Cy remarks.

  “I remember at your wedding, she dragged you all over the place like she was showing you off,” Jackson recalls.

  “So, what did she want?” Cy asks. “I forgot to ask you when you mentioned her.”

  “She wanted to hook up; at least that's what it sounded like. She made up something about wanting to talk. But she never wanted to just talk in our entire relationship. Her idea of communication skills were all about using her body.”

  “Wasn't she always like that? I mean I remember her being bossy, but she pretty much tried to alienate you from everyone as much as she could,” Jackson asked.

  “Not while we were in high school.” I shook my head.

  Sylvie and I were high school sweethearts. We got married our sophomore year of college when she had a pregnancy scare. Needless to say, we were great at first and then our relationship faded and when it was clear that I wasn’t the man that she expected me to be, we grew apart. I couldn’t measure up to what she wanted in a husband. I didn’t grow “my empire” the way she wanted or as quick as she would have liked. I didn’t have the same desire for material things she did and I certainly could care less about appearances.

  Sure, to those looking in from the outside, we we
re the perfect couple. No one would have thought we were unhappy. That we barely spoke, that we didn’t hang out together, that we weren’t even close to being friends. Towards the end, we kept up the appearance of being married and used each other for sex, she more than me. When I got sick and tired of it, she found someone else and finally left me alone. When I handed her the divorce papers a few months after we graduated from college, she appeared shocked. Shocked that I knew she was sleeping around and shocked that I would want a divorce.

  After a month of sitting on the paperwork, she reluctantly signed it and soon we were officially divorced. I thought I was finished dealing with her bullshit until word was, she was playing the victim for anyone who would listen. She said I abused her, I cheated on her, and I loaned her to other men for kicks. There were other horrid stories, but I lost track. Despite it all, she would still show up at the house for a quick fuck here and there, all the while playing innocent, regardless of how many times I would turn her down.

  “So, does she or does she not know you have moved?” Jackson asks yet again, seemingly not happy with whatever I’ve said to him so far.

  “She implied she knew I was out of town, but not that I moved. If she was aware that I moved, she would find an excuse to come to Sweeny or would make it her mission to come and find me for some strange reason. The lights at the townhouse go on a few times a week and my mom makes sure the yard stays somewhat maintained.”

  “So, you’re afraid of your ex?” Jackson laughs. I shoot him a look and he shuts up.

  “I’m not afraid of her, I just don’t need her to come and ruin something that Cy and I are working our asses off to make here. I’m keeping my movements under radar. Sylvie somehow manages to find out details about the most random things, and I don’t want this to be one of them."

  "What's her deal? Why can't she just move on with her life?" Jackson asks, shaking his head in disbelief.

  "That’s the question of the century, my friend." We clink our beers and lean back.

  “And you don’t want her to see you with Emma.” Cyrus nods.

  “That can also be a part of it,” I agree, nodding. I don't want my ex to come and potentially ruin a relationship that is just starting.

  “Imagine the craziness that would ensue. It would be freaking doomsday if Sylvie found out you were dating someone else. I mean, she can do whatever she wants, but the moment you meet a woman, she’ll go all Harley Quinn. I don’t think she’s ever known of when you’ve dated someone since you guys split.”

  We all laugh. Sweeny isn’t the type of town that Sylvie or her tag-a-long girlfriends would survive a night in. It’s too quiet here, there’s not enough nightlife and the dating options in this town, and well…it definitely isn’t their thing. The men here don’t wear three-piece suits or steam-pressed pants. People here are laid back, hardworking and easy-going.

  Hands around here get dirty, not manicured.

  While I don’t wish Sylvie would come here, I can appreciate the humor in the imagined scenario.

  “Enough about that evil witch. How was your second date with Emma?” Jackson asks.

  All negative thoughts about the evil ex disappear and I smile.

  6

  HER

  I’m doing the one thing I promised myself I wouldn’t do again. I’m getting involved with a tourist. Well, he’s isn't a tourist, but could still be considered one. It's confusing. Even though Royce and Cyrus are opening a business here, I’m not completely convinced he’s here for the long haul. But I’m giving into the temptation, not that he leaves me much choice. Royce Colton is a man who knows what he wants, and he has made it abundantly clear that he wants me.

  He has gone back to Sacramento once since we met and he’s going to be leaving again in a few weeks. He mentioned that he goes back to visit his family and to work at a clinic there; however, when he came back recently, I could tell he was holding something back. I wonder if something happened while he was back in Sacramento.

  I finish braiding my hair and put on some lip-gloss, then make sure my shirt is on straight. I smile at the mirror one last time to make sure nothing is stuck between my teeth and then head outside to my car.

  Tonight, I’m having a pseudo-business dinner with Cyrus and Royce to look at the latest batch of homework I gave them for their clinic. Since I started helping them two weeks ago, I’ve been pretty hard on them since finding out they were completely unprepared to open up a business. As a result, they’ve actually hit the ground running with any information that we’ve talked about and are ahead of where I thought they would be after two weeks. They came up with a budget, met with an accountant, my marketing guru, and the Chamber of Commerce within the past two weeks. I take an empty three ring binder with sheet protectors, Post-Its notes and divided tabs for them. I place it on the table in front of them and sit down besides Royce who throws his arm around the back of the booth nonchalantly.

  I look at him and see that he’s smiling at me. He leans towards me and lightly kisses my lips. Butterflies flutter in my stomach and my heart quickens with the brief contact.

  “Hey there, Em. What’s this?” Cyrus asks tapping on the binder.

  “It’s a binder.”

  “I can see that, but what is it for?” he smiles.

  “Organization. We are going to figure out what needs to go in your lead business binder. I brought Post-Its and some markers for us to figure that out as we eat and discuss things.”

  “Cool. Let us order first. I feel like I could eat a horse,” Royce says grabbing the menu.

  “Dude, this is the only diner in town. We’ve been here a dozen times, at least. You don’t have a favorite yet?” Cyrus asks him.

  “I try something different every time,” he admits with a shrug.

  We order and get to work, taking breaks to eat and laugh about everyday things. We don’t notice the diner has gotten busy until there’s a line outside waiting to be seated. The binder’s now full of Post-Its notes and napkins with writing on them. I look to the guys.

  “I think we’ve been successful here tonight, guys. You can do the rest on your own, so I think we can call it a night.” I stretch.

  We get out of the booth, Cyrus holding the binder like it’s a baby as we walk out of the diner.

  “Well, guys, I’ve got an early morning,” I say, my gaze lingering on Royce.

  “Take my car, I’ll get back to the house later,” Royce says as he tosses Cyrus the keys.

  I look at him and shake my head.

  “That wasn’t a hint to say that I want us to branch off together.” I laugh.

  “I know it wasn’t, but I want to get you alone and I can find my own way home,” he says.

  “You know that there is no Lyft or Uber here, right? Or taxis?”

  “That’s okay.” He smiles again.

  Cyrus looks at him in confusion and then smiles as he starts to back away from us.

  Royce stands in front of me and wraps his arms around my back.

  “I’ve wanted to get you alone all night. I was hoping Cy would have had to use the restroom.”

  “I do have an early morning,” I remind him.

  “That’s okay. Just one moment alone with you measures up to thousands spent doing anything else. I’d rather have something with you over nothing.

  Oh, he’s good.

  “Relish, eh?”

  “Em, I know a good thing when I see it and believe me when I say you are a very…good…thing.” He leans down and kisses me sweetly after each of his last three words.

  “Is that what this is to you, a good time?” I pull away and ask.

  “I didn’t say a thing about time. You. You are the goodness, and I will do whatever I can to share moments with you as often as I can.”

  “You’re pretty good with words. Does it work on everyone?”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve used my full vocabulary to woo a woman.”

  “Are you wooing me?”

  “You t
ell me?” he prods.

  I playfully pause and look up as if I’m really thinking about his question.

  “You might be. But only time will tell, and time is all we have with seasons.”

  “I’m not sure what that means, ‘time is all we have with seasons’?”

  “Sweeny isn’t your home, Royce; I know that. You’re just passing through.”

  He pulls back to hold me at arm's length and bends down to my eye level.

  “Em, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m building a business here. If that isn’t making Sweeny my home, I’m not quite sure what is.”

  “You go home all the time,” I say. He blows out an agitated breath.

  “I work at a clinic back in Sacramento once a month. I’m one of the rotating resident doctors there, but I’m making Sweeny my home. This is where I live,” he defends, his tone low. He’s not hiding the hurt my accusations have caused him.

  “I want to believe that, I really do,” I say quietly.

  “Then please do. I’m not going anywhere. We have no time constraints. The tourist season doesn’t define us.”

  “I don’t want it to.”

  “Then don’t let it.”

  He makes it sound so easy.

  HIM

  After I left Emma last night, I felt frustrated that she still thought we were on a time limit or whatever was going through her mind. My plan after our dinner meeting was to spend more time alone with her. Instead, it became uncomfortable and she just wanted to go home. She drove me back to the lake house and then left without a hug or a kiss goodbye.

  I feel like a chick, reading into the situation too much.

  I can understand the apprehension one might experience when getting involved with someone who isn’t going to be sticking around; however, how can she not see I’m planning to stay in Sweeny for the foreseeable future?

  I’m sitting on the back patio with my laptop. I have a graphic design program open and I am working on creating a few flyers and literature to place in the clinic. I already created a few ads to send to the local newspaper next month and I sent off to the printers some stationery items for the office and for takeaways. I open my email and shoot off a message to Cyrus for his approval.