Wanderlove - Rachel Blaufeld

by Rachel Blaufeld

  My fingers, spine, and the rest of my body tingled at the prospect of that being now.

  Earlier, we had to leave Tuck at the house. Now, we leashed him up, stuck our feet in flip-flops, and headed for the short walk to the sand.

  “I love it here,” Price said while holding my hand. “Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect. Of course, growing up, I wanted to see the ocean, but it wasn’t a huge deal. Now I know what I was missing. Wonder if I would feel the same about Orlando? I’ve never been to see the big mouse either.”

  “It’s not as exciting when you grow up here. Town empties out at the end of the season. You learn not to make friends with the seasonal kids. They leave . . . like my mom. I guess my dad made that mistake, and lived to regret it.”

  Price squeezed my hand. “Not when he got you. Aren’t you glad you came home? See how it wasn’t a big deal? He’s your father . . . he’s not allowed to stay mad at you forever.”

  “How did you get so wise, Mr. Barnes?” I half joked.

  “Look, I may not be into this whole scenario with my dad, but I grew up respecting my mom more than anything. My stepdad made sure of that. He’d kick my ass if I back-talked her or didn’t take her advice. She always told me, I’m your mom . . . it’s my job to do right by you, but I love you no matter what. Even when we have words.”

  “Aw.” My eyes teared up. “That’s the sweetest. I grew up wanting a mom like yours. I guess I got a dad instead.”

  We reached the beach entrance and kicked off our flip-flops, then hiked up and over the dunes, and I sort of hoped we were dropping the heavy conversation.

  “You have a lot to be thankful for, Em,” Price said, squeezing my hand again. “Your dad loves you. Take pride in that.”

  “I am, I guess. Truthfully, I thought it would be more dramatic, but you saw . . . my dad acted like nothing when we arrived. And now you guys are BFFs. Throwing Robby out the window.”

  Price stopped and turned me toward him. “Pretty fucking sure that Robby did that to himself. And right or wrong, your dad kind of played you with that. Knew what he was doing. Made sure you didn’t end up in the wrong hands. I’d die for a dad like that. Look at us—you have the dad I always dreamed about, and I have the mom you wanted. I guess, together, we make the perfect pair.”

  A lump of regret formed in my throat, making my eyes burn. “I shouldn’t have ignored my dad all summer. He’s pretty good. The best.”

  “Hey.” Price lifted my chin. “He knows you’re growing up, and now you found me. So, yeah.”

  His lips met mine before he finished his own sentence. We stayed like that for a long while, beer on his breath, the moon in the background, Tuck digging in the sand by our feet.

  “Thanks for bringing me. I didn’t know it, but I needed something to cheer me up after the shitty time I had in Philly. I never should’ve gone there to see my dad. Should’ve gone to see my mom.”

  I eased my lips along his neck, standing on my tiptoes. “Hey, you didn’t know. You’re trying. That’s all you can do.”

  “He’s a no-good prick. I don’t want anything to do with him, or anything or anyone related to him. I’ve gotta get out of that damn apartment.”

  “Come on, let’s walk a bit,” I told him as Tuck chased his tail by our feet. “Look, you have a free place to live, and you’re getting your degree. Your mom wants that for you, so think of it that way.”

  He nodded. “Let’s talk about you. You’re done at the Bangladeshi place . . . thank fuck . . . and now you’re going to ask Bev for a job. But what’s the end game?”

  “I don’t know. I was thinking some sort of trade. Culinary. That way I could work anywhere. I don’t know how much longer I can afford New York.”

  “So, you’ll move in with me, make that ostentatious place feel more livable. Problem solved. My mom will be happy, so you can’t say no.”

  “Quit it.”

  “I’ll talk to your dad about it tomorrow. I know he’s worried about your safety . . . that should seal the deal.”

  “Grrr, Price, don’t you dare.”

  “Now it’s on!”

  I didn’t have time to argue because he swiftly lifted me, laid me down in the sand, and kissed the heck out of me. The gritty shit dug into every crease and crevice—but I didn’t care.

  “Think your dad’s asleep?”

  “You’re not sneaking into my room!”

  “We’ll see.”

  I wondered how my dad would like hearing that. With the way things had gone down, he probably wouldn’t care.

  Price

  “Have a minute?” Emerson’s dad found me in the kitchen the next morning, helping myself to some coffee.

  “Hope this is okay?” I held up my mug.

  “Yeah, that’s what it’s there for . . . to drink.”

  I nodded and took a swig before saying, “Thanks.”

  “So, I’ve been nice, and I like you, kid. But don’t go thinking you can take advantage of my daughter,” he said, eyeing me over the rim of his own mug.

  Of course Bend wanted to make himself and his expectations known . . . but I liked this dude. He didn’t pull his cock out to do it.

  “Yes, sir, I get where you’re coming from, and I appreciate you telling me like a grown-ass man. I don’t think my own father would’ve been as diplomatic.”

  “Well, good for me . . . and my daughter. You’re an all-right guy.”

  “Ha. You mean the apple does fall far from the tree.”

  He topped off his mug and looked at me. “I don’t know your dad, but if I was him, I’d be damn proud of you.”

  Leaning my ass into the counter, I shrugged. “I don’t know him all that well either. He was never really around, Mr. Bender.”

  Staring me down, he said, “Call me Bend, will ya? Look, some situations can’t be avoided. We don’t know why some parents do what they do, but they do it. Doesn’t make it right. Look at Emerson’s mom. I never thought I’d meet a woman who didn’t want her own baby, but then it happened.”

  We were just two dudes, shooting the breeze, talking serious, and drinking coffee.

  I wondered if it would have been like this with my dad if he’d been around. Bruce was cool and a great stepdad, but he always trod carefully with me, afraid to overstep.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. My mom’s been a saint. Raised me to be a gentleman. All I ever shared with my good ole dad was my last name and some Middle Eastern bloodlines, hence the olive skin. Price freaking Barnes.”

  For a moment, Bend rubbed his chin and closed his eyes, looking pained, but then he snapped out of it. “He was from New York? Your dad?”

  “Not originally, but he settled there. His mom was where his Middle Eastern roots came from. His dad was Irish, so his last name kept him in good graces, I always assumed.”

  “Got it.” Bend picked up his mug, glancing at me. “So, what do you and my daughter have planned for today?”

  I didn’t get a chance to answer because the aforementioned daughter popped into the kitchen, clad in only a bikini, a stark contrast to my plaid pajama bottoms.

  “Wave jumping, picnic lunch, letting Tuck roll in the sand,” she said, bopping through the kitchen toward the coffeemaker.

  “How about some shorts and a T-shirt?” her dad asked.

  “Dad, I live at the beach. This is pretty much how I run around half the year. If you mean because of Price, you should see how some of the girls dress at the bar. This is fully clothed,” she said with a giggle.

  “I’ll bet,” Bend said, but he seemed to have an extra eye on me and how I responded.

  “Why don’t you grab some shorts and a tank,” I said. “And flip-flops. I’ll be ready to go in a few.”

  Hey, I wasn’t a father, and I barely had one myself, so how was I to know what this all felt like in someone’s gut?

  “By the way, you don’t need your boots!” Emerson tossed back at me.

  “Uh, yeah, I know. Maybe you’ll get a pair? We c
an be twins.”

  “We’ll see. I prefer my flippies.” Giving me a quick wink, she skipped out of the room. Not sure I’d ever seen this lighthearted version of Emerson, but I definitely dug it.

  “Hurry up. I’m waiting,” I called after her. When she was gone, I turned to Bend. “I was kidding. I’d wait all day for her. In case you were worried.”

  “I wasn’t, kid,” Bend said, seeming to vibe with me, and I can’t say I wasn’t happy. “I never believed in kismet, but maybe now I do . . .”

  He didn’t finish his thought as he guzzled his coffee and sauntered out of the room.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if he was only referring to my asking Emerson to put on clothes, or if it was something else. Mostly, I was relieved that he seemed to like me, and considered the visit a job well done on my part.

  Emerson

  The rest of the weekend was pretty much the same, with the bromance in full swing between my dad and Price. He was even referring to my dad as Bend. No joke.

  When they weren’t hanging, Price was trying to seduce me every second. Now, that I liked. It might be a bit new to me, but I knew one thing—what I’d had with that sleaze, Robby, was nothing compared to this.

  “Come on.” Price grabbed my hand. He had a blanket under one arm, a bag of fries in his other hand, and Tuck at his feet. “Okay, buddy, you’re staying here.”

  Price released my hand for a second to pat Tuck’s head, and the damn dog seemed to act like he knew what Price really wanted. Me.

  My dad and Price had walked to a small strip of shops earlier, grabbing a six-pack, and apparently the famous beach french fries. After catching them having a heart-to-heart about Lord knows what this morning, I’d almost offered to join them. But they’d given me that look, the this is a guy thing look. So I’d stayed behind. There was no way I could deal with whatever else they might have discussed.

  While my dad was in the kitchen, fixing the sink with a beer next to him, Price and I had a rendezvous on the dunes for our last night. Settled on the blanket on the sand, hidden from view, Price reached over and fed me a fry.

  “Um, these are good,” I murmured, teasing him, keeping my distance, our thighs barely touching.

  He plopped one in his own mouth. “They are.”

  “Mmm.” I snatched another one.

  “You know what’s better?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You,” he said.

  Price leaned over and kissed me, and the next think I knew, he was spread over me. No sand in my back this time, thanks to his planning.

  “I wonder what my dad thought when you grabbed the blanket,” I joked, running my hand through the back of his hair.

  “Babe, I think you’re forgetting he had a shit fit when he heard about your apartment, and more than agreed you should live with me.”

  Suspicions confirmed. They’d been discussing me on their walk—and probably earlier.

  With Price’s lips so close to mine as he spoke, I’m not going to lie—mine burned as I waited for him to kiss me again, and my concentration was ruined.

  “Well, you certainly set me up for that. I just can’t get over my dad. I thought all these rules were about me. I guess he saw right through Robby.”

  Price ground into me. “Let’s not talk about that dipshit when I’m on top of you.”

  His mouth met mine again, his tongue slipping inside, lightly touching mine. I loved his easy exploration of me, his patience with my inexperience, and the way he helped me find my own way.

  I couldn’t describe it. I just felt it.

  His hand slipped under my shirt and over my bra, his thumb caressing the satin covering my nipple. I moaned . . . maybe too loud.

  “Shhh,” Price told me. “When we get home, and I send Johnny to get your shit, you can moan as loud as you want. But here, we don’t want to get caught.”

  “Johnny?”

  “Yep, I’m becoming a true New Yorker, having people do my shit. Look what you’re doing to me.” He nibbled on my lip and pushed his hardness against me.

  “Don’t blame this on me,” I said, and my words came out panting, wanton.

  “Nah, I’m kidding. I have class on Monday, and I can’t miss it. Plus, I don’t want you going back there ever. So, Johnny likes to do what he gets paid for.”

  “Stop, you’re making me crazy. I can do it,” I said, squeezing his butt.

  “I’ll stop when you’re settled. In my place. Or maybe when I find my own goddamn place.”

  “This is nuts. I’ve known you two seconds, and now I’m moving in with you. I can’t do that.”

  I felt myself sink a little deeper into the sand, like my feelings sank a little deeper for Price. He was like quicksand, though. I was sinking deeper and deeper, falling for him hard.

  “Yep, you’re moving in. I’ll dress up like the bunny in your bar, if that makes you feel better . . . more at home.”

  His kisses were soft, closed mouthed, promising. I wanted more, harder.

  “I’m not quitting the bar, I’ll have you know.”

  “It’s fine, Johnny can take you. And you can pack. Happy?”

  “Ugh, you’d better kiss me again. I don’t like where this convo is going.”

  He obliged and more. Slipping his hand inside my shorts, he made sure his thumb found the right spot. I went off, not sure how he did that, especially so quickly. Not one to argue, I savored his fingers on me, inside me, our mouths fused.

  “You sure about the condom thing? I’m clean,” he said, drawing me out of my haze. “I don’t want to ever push you to do something before you’re ready.”

  “Except move in.”

  This sassiness got me thoroughly kissed. Tongue-twisting, hungry, can’t get enough of me and my snark kissed.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” I said when we broke apart. “When my dad didn’t know what to do with my periods, he had a neighbor take me to the doctor. They gave me the pill to regulate me. I’m clean too.” I winked, not able to help myself.

  Price left my shirt on but lifted it to kiss my chest. He ran his hot breath over my bra, until he came to my belly button, where his tongue swirled. His hand quickly took care of removing my shorts and panties, and he shrugged off his own shorts.

  “Commando?” I asked.

  “You bet.”

  And then he was inside me, and I forgot all about the fact that I was going to live with him at the encouragement of my dad, and Johnny was going to take me to get my stuff. For a few minutes, Bev hopefully waiting for me to make up with her didn’t cross my mind. Of course, I still wanted to find my mom, but she was way back in the recesses of my brain.

  At this moment, all I wanted to do was feel Price, to be with him in every way.

  Emerson

  Monday night, I walked into the Lucky Artist Bakery, sweaty and worn out from moving, but the task at hand was too important to skip. I’d forgotten the significance of Monday until I shuffled through the door and mumbled shit to myself.

  I’m important to Bev.

  “Hey,” I said to my friend, whose back was to me as she fiddled with the cappuccino maker.

  She turned and said, “Hi.”

  Huh. So that’s all she’s going to give me. She’s going to make me work for it.

  I reminded myself not to drop the glass jar in my hand and make a mess. “Here,” I said, sliding it toward her over the counter. The shells inside tinkled and rattled.

  “What’s this?”

  As she eyed me, I smoothed my hair back into my messy bun. “I made it at the shore this weekend. It’s just some shells I collected. A peace offering, I guess. A stupid one, but I didn’t know what to do.”

  “It’s pretty.” She picked it up and placed it under the painting that started this shit. Paula’s whimsical coffee cup was anything but frivolous.

  “Look, Bev, I’m really sorry. I didn’t come looking for you. When I came in here the first time, I thought of it as a lucky break. Some kind of luck, or the gods lo
oking out for me. Now I’ve come to think of it as a sick coincidence. Shit luck.”

  She didn’t interrupt or disagree, so I kept talking.

  “What I didn’t count on was meeting you, finding the first true friend I’ve made in a long time. You became a good friend quickly, and I think that’s because we have a great connection. But I shouldn’t have lied . . . by omission or otherwise. I should have told you what I was thinking from the minute I saw that painting,” I said, glancing at it and then back to her.

  We still stood opposite each other, the metal counter nothing compared to the emotional divide between us.

  “Let’s sit down.” Bev untied her apron and started to pour two coffees, but then paused. “You want it iced? You look like you’ve had a day.”

  Her small, caring comment surrounded my body in warmth, like I was wrapped in a bulky blanket in winter.

  “No, hot is good.”

  Bev walked around, and I took in the flour dusting her leggings and her greasy ponytail as we sat at a small table.

  “Why aren’t you at dance?” I decided to bring it up, knowing it was a sacrifice for her to be here.

  “Couldn’t go today. Fred, the guy who was doing the baking, got a full-time gig over at Eataly he couldn’t say no to. So I’m covering baking my mom’s recipes and the counter. We have an ad up for a counter person and a part-time baker. My mom wants to come back, but I still think she needs to get her strength and cleared.”

  “I hate that you had to miss dance.”

  As she shrugged and leaned against the counter, I thought she looked tired. This was too much for a young woman like Bev. She should be falling in love, going to bars, dancing, having fun.

  “Well, I have other news. I moved in with Price.”

  “What?” Her head popped up, and she shrieked.

  “It’s a long story, but here’s the abbreviated version. He convinced me to go home, make up with my dad, and of course, he wanted to go with me. So we did, and, yeah, my dad fell for him.”