Desire (South Bay Soundtracks Book 1)

by Amelia Stone

  “Hey, it’s a living. And a relatively safe one, which makes my wife happy.” Sage shrugged. “Safer than Afghanistan, at least.”

  Larkin nodded. “I know,” she repeated, sounding sad.

  “Anyway, I’ll see you on Tuesday, Lark. Violet gets home from school at three.” He gave her a final squeeze on her elbow. Then he nodded to Ellie and me and passed into the shop.

  We were all silent for a beat.

  “Well,” Ellie drawled. “I’m going to go buy all those awesome things I picked out in your super rad shop. Minus that shirt, anyway.”

  Larkin slowly looked down at the Ramones tee she was wearing. “Oh.” She looked up at Ellie, blinking like she was dazed. “Sorry?”

  Ellie smiled. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” She winked at Larkin. “Looks better on you anyway. You’ve got the boobs to make it work.”

  Larkin looked down at herself again, and my eyes followed. Not to be all Mustache Man, but she did have a spectacular rack.

  She cleared her throat. “Uh, thanks?”

  Ellie laughed. “Just calling it like I see it. They’re pretty great. I’m envious.”

  Well, that was one way to curb my inappropriate thoughts. I couldn’t really perv on Larkin while my sister talked about her own boobs.

  Larkin blushed. “Well, at least yours aren’t spicy.”

  I huffed out a surprised laugh. Always a surprise with her.

  “That is true.” Ellie grinned. “Well, it was nice to meet you and your violet eyes,” she said, giving me a pointed look.

  Larkin frowned in confusion, her gaze bouncing between me and my sister.

  “Smooth, Eloise,” I muttered. “Real smooth.”

  “I’ll see you around,” Ellie called, waving cheerfully at us as she headed out front again.

  And now I was alone with Larkin. We stared at each other for a moment, until finally I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, stepping forward until I was almost toe-to-toe with her.

  She sighed. “I hate that question.”

  I frowned, feeling like an ass. “Yeah, I guess you would.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not you. I hate every question. I am so sick of talking. I’m sick of thinking, sick of feeling. I just want to shut it all off for a while.” She looked up at me, her lavender eyes sad. “Is that really too much to ask?”

  I pushed her ponytail off her shoulder, because I needed an excuse to touch her. The brief moment last night when I’d shaken her hand still echoed in my mind, and I wanted to feel that again, that electricity, that vitality.

  I smoothed my hand down the length of her hair. Those long, black tresses were tangled, like they’d been through too much abuse since she’d last brushed it. But it was soft. So soft. I wondered how it would feel if I slid my fingers through it.

  She was blinking up at me like she was waiting for me to say something. Or confused by the fact that I was fondling her hair. Fuck. I needed to focus. Slow and steady, Morris.

  “It’s not,” I assured her as I dropped my hand. “It’s not too much. I can help. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

  She huffed. “I just want to get off this godforsaken island where everyone knows everything about me. I can’t even fart without it being gossip fodder for the whole fucking town. ‘Local widow gassy and bloated: news at 11.’” She shook her head, disgusted.

  “Where do you want to go?” I had my keys out of my pocket before I’d even thought about it. I twirled them around my fingers while I waited for her reply. She wanted to escape? I’d be only too happy to take her anywhere. She just needed to ask.

  She looked up at me, those stunning eyes blood-shot from pepper spray – and probably some tears, too.

  “I don’t care,” she replied. “Just get me out of here.”

  “All right.” I grinned, holding my hand out. “Come with me if you want to live.”

  “Then I knew it from the start,

  This friend of mine would fall apart.”

  - New Order, “The Perfect Kiss”

  We rolled the windows down as we turned onto the causeway, letting the crisp autumn air wash over us. The brackish stench of the bay rose up, and I sighed contentedly. This right here, this unparalleled location – this was why I would never move to the city. The scent of the ocean, the sight of the calm blue-gray water, the little white boats in the distance, the salt in the air. This was home.

  “I never got my beer on the beach,” Larkin said from the passenger seat, so softly that I almost didn’t hear her over the roar from the open windows. I snuck a glance at her. She was looking out at the bay, a dreamy expression on her face. She looked soft, and if not exactly happy, at least peaceful.

  I smiled. “What beer?”

  She shook her head. “It’s nothing.” I heard her shift, though she was otherwise quiet for a minute. “I killed my doorbell today,” she said eventually.

  I raised my eyebrows. “You killed your doorbell?” I pulled my eyes from the bridge long enough to sneak another look at her. “How does one do that?”

  “With a sledgehammer,” she quipped.

  I thought about it for a moment. “Seems inefficient, but I guess it would get the job done.”

  She snorted. “Typical engineer. I bet you’d spend two days figuring out the best method to disconnect a doorbell, only to waste another day doing it the ‘most efficient’ way.”

  I grinned at her cynical, but accurate, depiction of my profession. “Maybe. But it would make a hell of a lot less mess than your way,” I teased.

  She laughed softly, the sound raspy, like she hadn’t done it in a while. It was stuttering and hesitant, but I filled my lungs with it, the sound reverberating all the way through to my toes. I felt like I’d won some kind of prize. Because I made her laugh.

  I listened as her laugh faded, letting the silence fill the car for a few minutes. I really wanted to ask her the next obvious question: why had she killed her doorbell? But something about this moment felt fragile, like one wrong move could break it.

  Besides, she’d said she wanted to get away from everything, even her feelings, for a little while. So I decided instead to circle back to her original statement.

  “Well, the beach is closed this time of year, but my house backs onto a canal. We can sit on my dock and have a beer.”

  I could feel her eyes on me. “Is that where we’re going?” she asked. “Your place?”

  Her tone was wary. Shit. Yeah, I guess that was kind of sleazy. Hey there, vulnerable lady who’s having a very bad day – a very bad year, even. Come back to my place for beers on the dock. Afterward I’ll show you my etchings. That I keep in the master bedroom.

  I rolled my eyes at myself.

  “Not like that. I just want to help you take your mind off things. We can have dinner, maybe watch a movie. Or we can just talk. Hang out. As friends,” I clarified, when she raised her eyebrows.

  “Friends,” she repeated. “We’re friends?”

  I smiled. “Well, it sounds better than escape cohorts.”

  She laughed again, a fuller, bolder sound, and I breathed it in. Yeah, I could definitely get used to hearing that.

  “Why?” she asked, when her laughter died. I felt her gaze on me again, and I chanced another glance at her as I pulled off the causeway. She was studying me, chewing her lip thoughtfully.

  “Why what?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Why do you want to be my friend?” she said at last.

  I frowned. “You don’t want to be my friend?” I asked, deflecting her question for the moment.

  Because I wasn’t ready to say aloud that I might want more than just friendship from her. I didn’t really think either of us were ready to hear it.

  We stopped at a red light, and I turned to face her. She looked like she was still mulling it over, but I couldn’t read her expression. Finally, she took a deep breath in, then let it out slowly.

  “I guess we c
an be friends,” she finally said.

  I grinned. Friendship with Larkin sounded perfect. For now.

  “This kitchen is amazing,” she told me for the third time.

  “Right?” I turned my head, grinning at her over my shoulder. “It was the thing sold me on the house.”

  She looked around at the newly-renovated space, which still somehow managed to look appropriate for my 1894 Victorian. The white cabinets, soapstone counters, and farm sink looked like they could have been original, and even the professional-grade stainless steel appliances didn’t detract from the overall aesthetic. The previous owners had done a fantastic job with it.

  “Really?”

  I nodded as I stirred my sauce. “My realtor had to talk me into seeing this one. I was adamant that I didn’t want anything too big.”

  She smirked. “So you weren’t shopping for the future Mrs. Morris and a passel of green-eyed babies when you picked this house?”

  I laughed. “No. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do want to get married and have a family one day.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah?”

  Something passed over her face that I couldn’t quite read, and I wondered if I was being insensitive, talking about marriage and family so glibly. Her husband had died young, before they could even start a family. But the emotion was gone, her expression wiped clean before I could think twice about it. She looked mildly curious again, so I cautiously continued.

  “Sure.” I turned the burner off, moving the pan off the fire. “Someday. I’m not in a hurry.”

  I stepped away from the stove, pulling plates down from a cabinet and grabbing cutlery from a drawer. Then I set them down on the island, where she was sitting on a stool, waiting for dinner to be ready.

  “But anyway, it wasn’t really on my radar when I was house shopping. I just wanted something on the water with a big kitchen.”

  She nodded. “Because you’re such a gourmand?” she teased.

  I chuckled as I plated the steak I’d sliced a few minutes ago. “I’m hardly a trained chef. But I do like to experiment.”

  She eyed me warily as I spooned the roasted potatoes and vegetables onto the plates next, then topped everything with the honey-balsamic sauce. “Experiment?”

  I laughed at her fearful tone. “Not like that. I’m not just throwing things together for the sake of being clever.”

  She smiled. “Good. Because I don’t really go in for pistachio foam, or whatever passes for fine dining these days.”

  I laughed. “No foams or airs or essences here, I promise.” I took a seat next to her. “I just get excited about the science of cooking. Not just perfecting the ingredients, but understanding why they’re the perfect ingredients, and how to cook them to perfection. Understanding why onions are better when caramelized, and why steak needs to be rested before it’s served, and why the potatoes need to be roasted at a certain temperature to get the perfect texture out of them.”

  She smiled at me, and I stared for a long moment. Her whole face really did light up with her smile, and this was the first time I was seeing it in person.

  The pictures really hadn’t done it justice.

  “So what you’re saying is you’re a total geek?” she asked.

  I shook my head, trying to clear the razzle-dazzle effect of Larkin’s smile. It really was some powerful stuff, so it took me a second.

  Finally, I smiled. “And proud of it.” I shook my napkin out, laying it on my lap. “Plus, I really like to eat.”

  She laughed, and the husky sound did things to me in places that were not so friend-like.

  “So tell me, science geek,” she asked, taking a tentative bite of her steak. And then she moaned. “Damn. That is good.”

  Fuck. If the sound of her laugh had my pants growing suddenly too tight, the sound of her moan had me shifting in my seat in a desperate attempt to get more comfortable.

  I cleared my throat. “Tell you what?” I asked, wanting to steer the conversation away from the apparently orgasmic qualities of my cooking.

  She gave me a shrewd look as she forked some potatoes, like she could see right through my feeble attempts at hiding my lusty thoughts.

  “Tell me how in the hell you ever got laid in high school when you’re such a nerd?”

  I almost choked on the bite of steak I’d just taken. Her sharp words, delivered in such a casual tone, took me completely by surprise. But I should have been prepared. This woman had me on the ropes from the minute I met her.

  I swallowed quickly, reaching for my beer and taking a long sip. When I turned back to her, her eyebrows were raised in amusement. She was enjoying my discomfort.

  So I decided to turn it back around on her, for once.

  “Who said I got laid in high school?”

  Her cheeks flushed, and she reached over and poked me in the stomach, a little too low for my comfort. “Even I got laid in high school.”

  Fuck. That had backfired on me in spectacular fashion. Because I did not want to think of her having sex. What she’d look like naked, what sounds she’d make, how she’d feel underneath me…

  “Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “I was also on the football team, so the girls could overlook the fact that I was a nerd.”

  She chuckled. “Should have guessed that.” Her eyes leisurely roamed my body, and I felt it everywhere.

  Fuuuuuuuck. I shifted again, but there was no way I could stealthily reach down and rearrange myself. She was still watching me with those damn lavender eyes. The pupils were huge and dark and the lids were at half-mast. Her eyes were practically begging me to pull her into my lap and kiss her full lips. Lips that she was now licking slowly, luxuriously, as her gaze lingered on my chest.

  I gulped in air, expelling it in a noisy, ragged gust. Friends, Morris. Friends.

  When she was finally done with her perusal, she looked up at me with a goofy smile. “Tight end?” she asked, giving me a cheesy wink.

  And that was all I needed to knock my ass out of this haze of desire. I let out a hoarse laugh, grateful that she’d broken the spell – because another minute of her eyes on me, and I might not have been able to.

  And that was not what I wanted. I really was determined to keep it friendly with her. No matter how much I might want a peek under that Ramones tee shirt, I would not go there with her.

  Not yet, anyway, my lizard brain whispered.

  I did my best to ignore myself. “No, offensive line.”

  She looked surprised. “Really? You’re not nearly refrigerator-sized enough for that.”

  “Well, I’ve slimmed down a bit since then.” I grinned. She was funny. I hadn’t laughed so much with a girl in a really long time – maybe ever.

  “This is slimmed down?” she cried, poking me in the biceps. “You look like you have a Bowflex in your bedroom. Just twenty minutes a day got you the body you’ve always dreamed of.”

  I snorted. “Nah, I keep it in the basement.”

  She laughed. “No shit, really? You actually have one of those?”

  I smiled, spearing a piece of asparagus with my fork. “No, I go to the gym seven days a week, like a normal millennial.”

  She shook her head, still laughing. “You’re not a normal millennial. You own your own home.”

  I spread my arms, as though showing off my lovely home. “And I didn’t even have to sacrifice my daily avocado toast.”

  She giggled as she took a sip of her beer. “Congratulations.”

  I poked her in the biceps, because I needed to touch her, too. Just a little. In a friendly way.

  “Besides, you own your own home, too. And you’re even younger than me.”

  Her laughter stopped abruptly at that. She looked away, blinking rapidly in what I now recognized as an effort to stave off her tears.

  Damn it. Stupid, stupid me. She’d probably bought that house with her husband. The perfect little starter home on the beach for them to start their life together.

  “Shit,�
�� I muttered. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “It’s okay.” She took a deep breath, then started shoveling more food into her mouth. She chewed rapidly, then swallowed roughly. “It’s just, it’s not my money, you know?” She looked back at me. “It wasn’t even his money. And he definitely did not want it. Neither of us did. It came from his grandparents. He got this huge inheritance when they died, about five years ago now.”

  “Some people would call that a lucky break,” I ventured.

  She shook her head. “But in a way it was tainted, you know? See, his mom came from money.” Her eyes went soft, unfocused, like she was thinking. “She married an immigrant, a mechanic from Mexico. They eloped to Vegas two weeks after they met.”

  I smiled. “Sounds like a whirlwind romance.”

  She hummed as she took a forkful of food, chewing slowly. “It was. But her parents flipped out. Called him a gold-digger, said he was just looking for a green card. They said some really awful, racist shit. It was this huge blow-up. They threatened to cut her out of the will if she didn’t get it annulled.”

  I sucked in a breath. “That’s harsh.”

  She nodded. “And of course she refused. She was young and in love for the first time. She thought it could withstand any hardship.” She smiled sadly, and I knew she must be thinking of her own love story. She’d married her high school sweetheart as soon as they were legal. She must have known a thing or two about the power of that first love.

  Weirdly, I almost envied her. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely never wanted to have to go through the pain of losing a lover, like she had. But at least she’d gotten to experience the ecstasy before it had all been taken from her.

  As for me? At thirty-one years old, I’d never actually been in love. I’d had a few girlfriends here and there, but nothing serious. I’d never lost my heart to someone.

  And you would never hear me admit it to my busybody little sister, but I kind of wanted to. Ellie often teased me that marriage and family were just items I wanted to check off my to-do list, like getting the oil changed in the Jeep, or renewing my Prime subscription.