No Pants Required

by Kim Karr

  I’m uncertain of when Maggie plans on going out, and my stomach rumbling tells me I should get up and get something to eat in the meantime. There is some hummus and carrots in the refrigerator, and I think I saw some all-natural cheese there, but there are no crackers in cupboards. Maggie’s on a minimalist health kick and shops accordingly.

  Tomorrow I’m so hitting up the grocery store.

  The thought of the rather unappetizing food isn’t enough to motivate me to get me to move from this spot, so I decide to wait a bit.

  The sound of the waves and feel of the warm breeze makes me feel more relaxed than I have in ages.

  “Hey. I thought you might be out here.” Maggie stands at the end of the pathway along the side of the house that leads from the driveway to the patio, wearing a red baseball hat, tight jeans rolled up to the ankles, leopard pumps, and a white sleeveless silky top with a black sequin blazer.

  “Hi.” I shade my eyes to look at her. “I didn’t know you even left. Here I was creeping around the house because I thought you were still sleeping.”

  She laughs. “I ran out to get food for dinner.”

  “You’re cooking?” I ask in utter shock, and possibly with a hint of concern about what she could be cooking.

  She laughs again. “No, Derek is going to grill some fish.”

  “He cooks?” I make an impressed face.

  Shrugging out of her jacket, she tosses it on one of the chairs at the outdoor table for four and walks toward the house, but pauses to turn around. “Not exactly. He grills. The rest of the meal is from the Whole Foods salad bar.”

  That sounds more like Maggie. Setting my drink down, I swing my legs onto the ground. “Let me put my sandals on and I’ll help you unload the car.”

  “No, it’s all set.”

  “You should have told me you were going; I would have come.”

  Maggie opens the barn-like door to the kitchen. “Don’t be silly—you were tired and needed to sleep.”

  Once I’ve slipped my sandals on, I begin to walk toward her. It’s not until I’m a step away that I hear the loud male voices inside.

  Male voices.

  As in two men.

  They must have come in the front while she came around back.

  My eyes bug out of my head. “Maggie?”

  She turns toward me and squints. Still, I can see the mixture of guilt and mischievousness in her eyes. “Yes, Makayla?”

  “Who’s inside?”

  Her smile is as bright as the setting sun. “Remember, I told you Derek and his partner wanted to talk to you about selling your designs in their surf shop?”

  I’m going to kill her!

  “Yes; however, you never told me that was what we were doing tonight. You told me you wanted me to meet Derek, and that we were having dinner with him.”

  Before I can say another word, a very good-looking blond man with his hair pulled back in a slight ponytail, pressed white shirt, and black pants appears in the open doorway. A suit. Just like I thought. Albeit a hot-looking suit. He’s a very tanned, very tall, and very well-built man.

  God, he must work out night and day.

  Maggie smiles at him and his arms go around her small waist. “Hey, babe, should I start the grill?”

  Babe?

  He calls her babe.

  Okay, personally, I think when that word is used, it means the relationship status has passed the no-label phase.

  Allowing a moment of tenderness to pass between them, she soon pushes off his big, broad chest and grabs his hand to turn him in my direction. “Derek Helmsley, I want you to meet my very best friend in the whole, wide world, Makayla Alexander.”

  His smile is genuine, and I get the idea right away that he is, too.

  I hold out my hand, but he surprises me with a kiss to the cheek. “So you’re the infamous Makayla. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Crushing my irritation with Maggie, I manage a courteous smile. “Not all bad, I hope.”

  His arm swings around to pull Maggie closer. “No, nothing but good. This one right here thinks you walk on water.”

  Okay, so he’s pushing it a little, I’m sure, but scoring brownie points never hurts. “You’re going to make me blush,” I tease.

  Just then a man dressed in a gray button-down and black slacks with a black leather necklace of some kind around his neck appears in the doorway. He has a bottle of wine in one hand and four stemmed glasses woven between his fingers in the other. How he managed that is a feat in itself.

  This guy might even be taller than Derek, but he isn’t as wide. Whereas Derek is football player material, he is more the soccer player type. His dark, slicked-back hair borders on black. I’m guessing Italian or Latin. He’s attractive in the boy-next-door kind of way. Just not the boy next door that I, for some reason, want to see. “Hey, am I missing the introductions?” He smiles. He has a really great smile and really white teeth.

  Maggie and Derek rush to take the open wine and glasses from him. Without preamble, Derek nods toward his business partner. “Makayla, this is Andre Randle. We own the surf shop in the village here in Laguna. He also owns other surf shops up and down the Pacific coast.”

  Andre shakes my hand and his eyes rake over me. “Very nice to meet you, Makayla.”

  His hand is warm in mine and his grip tighter than I’m normally accustomed to when I meet men. “Nice to meet you.” I smile.

  Clasping my other hand with his other, he practically makes us hold hands. Like I said, he’s attractive; I just don’t know if I’m attracted to him.

  “Wine, anyone?” Maggie asks, looking at me specifically with puppy dog–like eyes that are screaming, “please don’t be mad at me.”

  My glare tells her I’m going to kill her.

  “Let me get you a glass,” Andre offers.

  With a sweet smile, I answer, “Yes, sure. That would be great,” even though I could walk the four feet to the table to get it myself.

  After the wine is poured, Maggie announces, “I’m going to get the food ready.”

  “I’ll help you,” I answer, trying not to grit my teeth.

  “No, really, Derek and I can do it. You sit down and relax. The sun is just about to set. Tomorrow your Cinderella duties can start,” she teases.

  My laugh is forced, but that joke always gets me and a real chuckle eventually ghosts out of my mouth. She knows I love cleaning. It’s my thing. And since she hates it, when we lived together in the past, she would do anything to get out of cooking and cleaning.

  With a glass in each hand, Andre hands me one. “What do you say we sit on the beach and take in that sunset?”

  Sunsets are beautiful and especially at the beach. With that, I can’t say no. “Sounds great.”

  Andre offers his arm and I loop mine through his. Okay, he’s handsome and charming.

  How bad can the night be?

  Sitting on the sand outside the breaker wall, we fall into easy conversation. “So, Maggie tells me you worked for a fashion house in New York. What did you do there?” he asks.

  My gaze lands on the setting sun. “I was a designer in the accessories department at Kate von Frantzenberg.”

  “Did you like working in New York with all that traffic and all those people?”

  I dig my toes into the sand and look over at him. “It’s the only place I’ve ever worked. I don’t know any other way.”

  Andre sips his wine. “So,” he says, “what made you quit and move out here?”

  The wind blows and my hair tangles in front of my face. I push it away. “I was ready for a change.”

  He doesn’t look away from me. “Lucky for us. By the way, I saw your work. I think it is fantastic stuff.”

  Feeling proud of what I’ve created, I smile at him. “Thank you.”

  “What if I could sell your designs in all my stores, not just here? Would you be interested?”

  My heart thumps in excitement. “Yes, of course I am, but there are some things to
discuss.”

  “What are you concerned about?”

  I take a sip of wine. “I’m not concerned per se, but I think it comes down to how much you can sell them for, and what your cut will be?”

  He shakes his head with a small laugh and swallows a sip of wine. “Something tells me I may be more willing to negotiate my terms with you than I am with most of my vendors.”

  With excitement in his voice, he goes on to tell me about his shops. What he sells, where he finds the goods, and how each item is unique and some of the products are even custom made for him. He’s young and seems to have done extremely well for himself.

  Looking out toward the fading yellow glow, I push myself up. “We should get back; they’ll be waiting for us.”

  Andre stands and takes my empty wineglass. “I hope I’m not coming across as being pushy. I just really think we have a win/win here.”

  “No, not all. I just want to make sure it’s a deal that can work for both of us.”

  “It will be,” he assures me. “We need to figure out a way to mass-produce your pieces.”

  The wind blows my hair in my face and I push it away. “That’s just it. They’re handcrafted, which it what makes them unique.”

  Andre turns to me with a grin. “Maggie told me you’d be a hard sell. I just want you to keep an open mind. How about we agree to discuss it another time?”

  Seagulls above squawk and I look up and then over at him. “Sounds like a plan.”

  We walk side by side, and my eyes wander to the house on the right and then the one on the left. Cam lives in one of those houses. Which one? Is he home? Does he see me out here? What will he do when he finds out who I am? How will I react when I see him? Only time will tell.

  “Here, take these,” Andre says, handing me the glasses.

  Once the trade-off is complete, he opens the gate from the beach to Maggie’s private outdoor living space. As I pass by, he stops me and whispers in my ear, “No more business talk tonight, I promise.”

  I smile at him and think he really is charming.

  “Oh, good, everything is ready. Sit down,” Maggie says excitedly.

  No longer able to stay mad at her, I give her a grin and look around.

  Andre sets the glasses on the table near my lemonade and rushes to pull my chair out before sitting beside me.

  The rumble of tires on gravel has my ears perking up. There has been no activity at either house to the right or left of us all day. The one to the right had lights on when we walked back from the beach, but I saw no one outside.

  This is the first sign of life, and I know the car just pulled in to the house on the right because the one to the left has a paved driveway, not stones.

  After trying to crane my head, I give up and decide I can’t see anything from here.

  As soon as I can, I’ll excuse myself and run upstairs to take a look.

  “Food is ready,” Derek says, taking the fish off the grill.

  Looks like it will be a while.

  I sigh and decide to put my mind to rest. It probably isn’t Cam anyway, and even if it is, he’s no one I need to be dwelling over. I was more than likely just another almost notch in his belt. With that stark, cold reality, I vow to enjoy the night.

  After all, Maggie worked hard on this. Soft rock is playing in the background; the table is set with real dishes, not paper; more wine has been poured, and candles are flickering all around us.

  It’s almost romantic.

  Too bad the man beside me isn’t the one I want to get romantic with.

  But then I think about the list. About the ten items on it and how Andre could help me check off number two or number three.

  Wear a bikini

  Have sex with someone you don’t know—Andre?

  Fuck on the beach—Andre?

  Join the Mile High Club

  Get drunk and let someone else worry how you’re going to get home

  Give a guy the best blow job of his life and make sure he knows

  Get a vibrator

  Don’t plan your day for the next thirty days

  Take a nude selfie

  Read an erotic romance novel in public

  Just looking at him, I can tell he’s a player, so it’s not like either of us will get hurt when this goes nowhere.

  And besides, what is it they say—take what you can get?

  I look over at Andre, who is grinning at me.

  Maybe I just will.

  CAM

  LIVING WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND’S famous little brother isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

  In fact, sometimes it fucking sucks.

  After pulling a double to try to earn some extra cash to pay my sister back for the plane ticket, I walk into the house and want to cover my ears immediately.

  “Oh, God, faster, faster¸ that’s it, faster!” It’s the shout of another unknown chick and she’s just like the last one, and the one before her.

  Seriously, all I can do is laugh. Again. Because he’s fucking another girl. Again. And again she’s screaming about it from the rooftop—not literally, but I’m willing to guess she would if she could.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a cock-blocker, but fuck me, every girl Brooklyn ends up with thinks she’s up for a starring role in his next series. And he has no intention of ever doing another, so they put on a show without knowing it’s for nothing.

  There are times I actually feel sorry for the dude. Good-looking young guy gets a role on an MTV reality series about teenage surfers and even though the show has ended, every girl still remembers him from Chasing the Sun. They all want to be his leading lady on whatever he’s certain to star in next.

  It’s not like he lures them in with that. He doesn’t lie. He tells them there isn’t going to be a next. I’ve heard him; they just don’t listen. The irony of it all is that it’s me who ends up listening.

  With my head still on the girl from the plane—the smoking-hot sex we were about to have, the sudden derailment, and then her more-than-uptight response to getting caught—I just can’t handle it tonight.

  Needing to get the fuck out of here, I quickly hop in the shower, run my hands through my hair, throw on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and pause for a moment to shake my head.

  “Oh God, oh God, that’s it, that’s it, don’t stop.” The lines are all the same. I’m starting to wonder seriously if someone hasn’t posted a script somewhere on the Internet for how to play the role of Brooklyn James’s fucking partner.

  Shoving my feet in my boots, I make a mental note to do a search on that and then head over to Maggie’s to catch a beer with her.

  The path down the side of Maggie’s house to the kitchen door is wetter than usual and my boots slosh over the stepping-stones. Slowing my pace, I’m surprised to hear music playing. When I look ahead, the patio has a dim glow coming from it.

  Can’t remember the last time I saw Maggie outside on the patio at night; she’s normally either inside on the couch or out at the beach.

  “Hey, Maggie,” I call out as I round the corner, “how about a beer?” Just as I’m about to hustle for the kitchen door and put the twelve-pack in my hand in the refrigerator, I stop dead in my tracks.

  No fucking way.

  I can’t move.

  How did she get here?

  Maybe the sun got to me today and I’m seeing things. I blink a couple of times to be certain. Nothing changes, though. The image in front of me is still that of her. The woman from the plane, the one I thought I’d never see again, the very same one I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

  In an instant, our gazes lock. Her eyes are wide, not quite as startled as mine but almost, and her mouth falls open. There are words to be spoken. Introductions to be made. Right now, though, I can’t seem to do anything but stare at her.

  From the minute I first laid eyes on her, there was something refreshing about her. Sure, she’s a natural beauty with all that shiny light-brown hair and that killer bod
y, her softly upturned nose, and those stunning hazel eyes. Oh, and I can’t forget those long, long legs or pink lips, either. Yet, it wasn’t just her looks that attracted me to her.

  It was her sharp wit, her ability to laugh at herself with the fucking sexiest laugh I’d ever heard, and that quirky guard that she had up and then let down so easily. Which was dangerous as well, and I damn well knew it. Hence why I didn’t try harder to go after her. I wasn’t anything she needed, and I knew she wasn’t anything I needed in my fucked-up life right now.

  Everyone at the table is already turned in my direction. When my gaze circles the seating arrangement, the wine, the candles, the empty dinner plates, and the guest list, I feel an odd sense of outrage. The girl from the plane dumped me like I was nothing, and now she’s getting cozy with that douchebag Andre Randle.

  Randle.

  Fucking douchebag Randle.

  Shitty businessman with a bad rep for fucking every girl that works for him, and a little roughly, I might add. Word is that his fraternization policy is strictly enforced in a way that comes across as fuck me or be fucked.

  What is Maggie thinking, bringing him around her best friend?

  Then again, she might not know. I do only because I’ve heard about how unethical his business dealings are.

  “Cam,” Maggie answers in surprise, her eyes darting to the girl from the plane that must be her best friend.

  Does Maggie know about her friend and me?

  If so, how?

  No invitation is given to join them. So, I have two options here. One, I can be cordial and say “sorry, I didn’t know you had company” and leave. Or two, I can sit the fuck down and officially meet the girl Maggie has been gushing about since I moved next door six months ago. The same one I already had my mouth and hands all over.

  The first is unacceptable. The second is bold. I go for it. “Hey,” I raise my arm with the beer in it, “mind if I join you? I have enough to go around.”

  How can she say no to that? Right?