No Pants Required

by Kim Karr

  Maggie jumps to her feet, her eyes still on her friend. “No, not all. We have leftovers if you’re hungry. Let me grab you a plate.”

  Like I said, she wouldn’t say no.

  Fidgeting in her seat, the girl from the plane looks like she might pass out at any minute.

  This is going to be very interesting.

  Stepping closer to the table, I shake my head. “Thanks, but I grabbed something at the beach.”

  Derek gets to his feet and holds out his hand. “Hey, man, how are you?”

  I plop the twelve-pack of Corona in the center of the table, closer to my almost fuck buddy than any of the other three, and then I grasp his hand. “Living the dream, man, living the dream.”

  Clearing space for me on the table, he and Maggie begin to stack some of the dirty dishes. “Cam, you know my business partner, Andre Randle, don’t you?” he says.

  The douchebag stands and the girl from the plane follows.

  Oh, good, we’re all standing around the table now. Perfect. Fucking fantastic. Maybe we can join hands and say a little prayer.

  “Yeah, we’ve met.” I offer the douchebag my hand and we shake.

  “Camden Waters,” Maggie says, sounding more cheerful than she had at first, “this is my best friend, Makayla Alexander from New York.”

  Makayla.

  I like it.

  It sounds good on my tongue.

  Being a dick isn’t something I make a habit out of, but there is no pretending we hadn’t almost fucked less than twenty-four hours ago. Determined to make sure she hasn’t forgotten, I step around Maggie and Derek and dive right in to kiss her cheek, my hands grasping her arms maybe just a little too hard while I do. “Makayla,” I growl into her ear and then pull back. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” Considering the way you bolted on me, I don’t bother adding.

  She shivers under my touch and this close to her, I can see the rise and fall of her shoulders as her breath catches. “Maggie told me you were her neighbor,” she admits.

  “You two know each other?” Derek asks, refilling wineglasses all around the table.

  “Yeah, small world, right? They met on the plane,” Maggie tells Derek.

  I throw Maggie a confused look.

  She shrugs. “Makayla saw you talking to me at the airport, and asked if I knew you.” Maggie seems a little uncomfortable talking about it.

  She knows.

  She definitely knows.

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

  “No, I got it,” Derek tells her and heads toward the house.

  “Hey, man, I’m good with beer,” I call to him.

  “Then let me grab another chair from inside.”

  “Thanks, babe,” Maggie tells him, sitting down.

  It was either going to be a chair from the kitchen or I’d be pulling a lounge up to their cozy table for four and stretching myself out on it. Maybe not a bad idea after all.

  Andre looks toward Makayla and with his chin, indicates she should sit too. Blood boils in my veins when she starts to do so because of his silent request. Do they know each other? They can’t. She’s new and must be unaware of his reputation, in business and with women.

  Unable to control myself, I move to push her chair in. “Here, let me help you,” I offer, invading her space.

  Makayla looks like she’s still having trouble breathing. I’m available for mouth-to-mouth if she needs it. I am certified, after all. “Thank you, but I’m good,” she responds, her voice catching on the words.

  Happy with the reaction I elicited, I let go of the chair, grab a beer, and offer it to Maggie. “They’re cold.”

  She nods, reaching out her hand. “Sure, I’ll have one.”

  The gentleman that I am, I pop the top before handing it to her. Hoisting another bottle, I offer it to Andre even though I’d rather not. Couldn’t stand the dude before, really can’t now. He raises a hand in refusal. “I’m good with wine.”

  Thumbing the top off, I tip the bottle back for a long swig. I need it.

  Makayla’s eyes are on me, watching me, and that breathing of hers seems to be growing a little more excited with every swallow I make.

  Time to find out what her deal is.

  Figuring why the hell not, I take Derek’s seat.

  “Did you want a beer, Makayla?” Andre asks, glaring at me as if I’m the asshole he thinks I am.

  “She doesn’t drink beer,” I bite out. “It bothers her stomach.” And I glare back, knowing he is the asshole I think he is.

  That shuts him up.

  “Here you go.” Derek is standing close to the table, with one of Maggie’s white leather kitchen chairs in his hands. When he sees I’m already sitting, he sets it between Maggie and Andre. “I’ll take it.”

  I should offer to switch, but at this point, it’s done, and besides, I’m right where I want to be.

  Andre stares at Makayla and me as if trying to figure us out. “So tell me about how you two met.”

  She seems to have recovered from the shock of seeing me and sits up a little straighter, squaring her shoulders. This isn’t the time to be drooling over a chick, but she looks sexy as fuck in that white dress, which hugs her small tits tightly and keeps them in the perfect place. I doubt she’s wearing a bra, and the thought of sliding my hand inside the fabric gives me cause to sit up straighter myself.

  She glares at me with what looks like a frown. When she turns and sweetly smiles at Andre, it twists my gut. What the fuck? “We sat next to each on the plane, that’s all,” she tells him, not sounding the least bit convincing.

  His dark eyes shift between the two of us in suspicion and then land on her hazel ones. “So let me get this straight: the two of you were seatmates for the long plane trip from New York to California and the entire time you never discovered you’d soon be neighbors?”

  “No, we didn’t.” She laughs. “Crazy, right?”

  Laughs. Like it’s fucking funny. There’s some insane madness circling my brain right now and I can’t help but scowl. It’s anything but funny. If she’d spoken to me after the bathroom, we might have.

  The douche leans closer toward her and I tighten my grip on my bottle. “Guess you didn’t talk much,” he says smugly.

  Fucking hell. Now that simply isn’t true. Finishing another swig of my beer, I lean my elbows on the table. “Sure we did, didn’t we, Makayla?” I say to her—or maybe I hiss it, I’m not certain. Everything is a little red right now in my haze of anger. “In fact, our mouths never stopped moving,” I toss out there because I can. Because it’s true. My tongue moved inside her mouth, hers moved inside mine, we explored each other like we were searching for food and hadn’t eaten in days.

  Okay, so maybe everything is a little green, not red. Still, I’m not jealous. Just pissed. Fucking pissed as hell, actually.

  There’s this part of me that wants to go on and tell him that we got to know each other so well in fact that we almost fucked in the bathroom, but when I see her body stiffen, I stop myself.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Maggie nudge Derek. Seconds later, he clears his throat. “Hey, Andre, what do you think about calling that supplier from Mexico to see if they have any contacts to get the materials Makayla needs for her necklaces? I’d love to start selling them.”

  Andre swings his gaze toward Derek. “Yeah, that’s a great idea. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “I have a supplier in Brazil that offers the best quality stones. I think I’ll stick with him, but thank you,” says Makayla.

  Smart girl.

  The smirk on my face isn’t for any reason. “So, you’re thinking about selling those gemstone necklaces locally?” I ask her.

  Makayla switches her gaze back to mine and her eyes are small slits of fiery anger. Whoa, she is pissed. “Yes, I am. Andre and Derek have already offered to help me out,” she answers tersely. “And how do you know about them?”

  Maggie puts her hand up. “That would be me. I told
him about your necklaces and how I thought you should sell them. Oh, and I gave him one to give to his sister, too.”

  Andre breezes right over this small exchange. “Listen, Makayla, I know I said no more business tonight, but you really should consider the supplier I have. His prices can’t be beat.”

  Andre is an insistent bastard. A little pushy, if you ask me. “That’s because his product is shit,” I blurt out before Makayla can even answer him.

  Everyone around the table swings their heads in my direction.

  Okay, I could have been a little more tactful.

  The hot-headed Latino is a sight. He looks like he might lose his shit, and on me. Come on, bring it. I’m so ready to take him on. But when Makayla hisses, “How would you even know anything about it? You’re a lifeguard,” I feel like she just slapped me.

  Defenses up, I tell it like it is. “I know that because he’s selling surfboards made of the poorest quality resin and they’re busting while dudes are surfing. Five guys have had to go to the hospital in the past six weeks.”

  Andre points his finger at me. “You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.”

  I push up from the table, ready to lunge across it. “Yeah, I do.”

  Makayla grabs my arm and glares at me. “Stop it.”

  I glare back. “I will if you talk to me. Alone. Right now.”

  Two choices. Ignore me and learn how badly this douchebag runs his business or talk to me and I’ll stand down. She looks at me with those hazel eyes filled with anger. “Yes, talking is probably a good idea.”

  I give her a nod. It’s about fucking time she tells me what happened on that plane. Makayla turns to Andre and whispers something. My fists ball at my sides, ready to take him on. He nods and then glares at me. “We aren’t done here, Waters.”

  Plucking the beer from the table if only to stop myself from punching him right this second, I glare right back. “No, we’re not, but our beef is meant for another place, Randle.”

  I look toward Maggie. “Sorry about this.”

  She glares at me, too.

  This mood of mine has put me in a ton of shit.

  “Come find me, anytime. You know where I am,” Andre barks out.

  “I will,” I tell him, and then stalk for the privacy doors that lead to the beach with Makayla hot on my heels.

  The door slams closed behind her and I keep walking all the way down to the water. When I reach the shoreline, I drop the beer to the sand and turn around.

  Within moments she catches up to me. The moon and stars above are our only light, and the beach is quiet except for the sounds of the waves lapping against the shore. We’re alone. All alone.

  Makayla points her finger at me. “Why are you being such an asshole?”

  Tired of this game, or whatever it is, I step toward her and the words slip off my tongue without thought. “Why are you being such an uptight bitch?”

  The look on her face is as if I’d stabbed her. Rather than responding to me, she starts running down the beach.

  “Makayla, wait,” I call out.

  “Go to hell.”

  Baby, I’m already there.

  MAKAYLA

  NO TREES, NO SHRUBBERY, NO brick walls, or buses or cars, nothing for miles and miles. The beach is a beautiful thing, but right now it’s my ruin. There’s no place to run. No place to hide.

  “Why are you being such an uptight bitch?” The words he spoke are still echoing in my ears.

  Ringing.

  Stinging.

  Causing way too much pain.

  The only eight words in the world that could destroy me and he managed to find them. Just keep moving, I tell myself. You ran track. He’ll give up. One sandal, then the other, gets lost in the sand. I don’t care. I just keep going. My heart is beating so fast that it’s catching in my throat and causing my body to tremble.

  “Makayla, wait.” His voice is close.

  I run faster. Arms moving. Legs lunging. My dress blowing in the wind, sand swirling in my wake, the water splashing me as I move along the shore.

  “Makayla, stop.” He’s catching up with me.

  I ignore him and his manwhore, slutting, gigolo ways.

  A hand grabs for me.

  Furious that he caught up with me, maybe more so that he struck a nerve I wanted to keep buried, I lose my footing and stumble. Before I can catch myself, I’m on the ground. Facedown in the sand, and he’s on top of me. Again. “Get off me!” I scream, pressing my arms into the sand and trying to push myself up.

  Gently, he grabs my wrists, and even more gently, he whispers in my ear, “I’m not going to hurt you; I just want to talk. That’s all.”

  The scent of him, no longer lavender, but so extremely man, is intoxicating. Yet it’s the feel of him on top of me that makes me freeze. My muscles clench and by body goes stiff. Strange thing is, it’s not fear doing this to me, it’s arousal. For heaven’s sake, my body needs to get a life. I twist my neck toward the sky. “Okay,” I concede. “You have five minutes.”

  With that, he rises from his prone position and plops down next to me.

  Pushing myself up from the sand, I sit beside him and wipe the granules from my face and hands with as much dignity as I can muster. Once I feel like I can face him, I turn my head his way.

  His palms are behind him in the sand, legs stretched in front of him, that body of his long and lean. “You’re fast,” he says, drawing in a breath.

  Ignoring the flutters in my belly from just catching sight of him, I swallow my attraction and resume my angry stance before I glower at him. “I ran track in high school.”

  Those gray eyes of his are looking out into the ocean. “I can tell.”

  Enough small talk. Time is ticking. “What do you want to talk about?”

  His head whips in my direction. “What do I want to talk about?” His tone is laced with bitterness.

  Matching his tone is easy. “Yes, that’s what I asked.”

  There’s a slight grunt-like noise of disbelief escaping his throat. “How about we start with the way you shut down on the plane after we got caught. I didn’t peg you to be such—” he stops there, not finishing his sentence.

  I do it for him. “An uptight bitch, right? That’s what you want to say. After all, it’s what you called me.”

  He briefly closes his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t have called me an asshole, either.”

  Anger curls in my gut. “You’re right; there’s a whole other category of names I should have used.”

  Totally off topic here.

  Cam lifts his head, eyes heated. “What the hell are you talking you about?”

  My mouth trembles with emotion. I’m uncertain why I care about the way he treated Megan with a B, but deep down I know why. Is that the way he treats all women after he gets what he wants? Unwilling to let this pass, I put it out there without much thought as to the very unpretty light it casts upon me. “Two nights ago you were at Bar On.”

  His jaw clenches and the tension is thick between us. “Yeah, I was. How do you know that?”

  Okay, so any remaining dignity I have is about to be washed out to sea. I suck in a breath and decide to make my confession as quick and painless as possible. “I was there. I’d ducked into a private room to rest my feet and check my messages. I dropped my phone and had to reach under the table to get it. That’s when you came in with a woman.”

  Those gray eyes swirl like storm clouds in a hurricane. “You were in that room?”

  The night is warm, but my legs are wet and the wind blowing against them causes me to shiver. “Yes. I’m not proud that I didn’t say anything, but it all happened so fast. Anyway, I can’t undo that. Still, I saw you with that woman. Well, kind of. I never saw your face. Like I said, I was under the table. But I did see her open your shirt and, and,” I stumble on my words and gulp down the memory, “I saw your tattoo. It’s very distinctive.”

  More than likel
y struck speechless, because I’m certain I would be in his position, he just stares at me.

  Nothing else to do but continue to drown in his gaze, I go on. “Then, when we were in the bathroom last night, I saw that same tattoo. Up until then, I had no idea you were the same guy from Chinatown. And after seeing it, I freaked out because I felt like I was just another notch in your belt.”

  “A what?” he growls.

  “You know, another conquest, another love-them-and-leave-them encounter, another girl to do whatever it is you do with.”

  That stare of his could be deadly. “I know what you meant.”

  Feeling slightly bad at the way my angry little tirade came across, I go on. “I mean, obviously I know you didn’t screw that girl even though she wanted you to, so I guess that means something.”

  Hauling himself to his feet, he looks down at me. “You don’t know shit about what was going on.” He stalks off, leaving me feeling guilty.

  Getting to my feet, I chase him, wondering if I pushed too far. “Cam, wait—you’re the one who wanted to talk, so talk to me.”

  Waves lap up over his boots and onto the denim of his pants, but he doesn’t seem to care. I follow in his footprints, my toes sinking in the wet sand with every step, collecting my shoes along the way. When we reach the spot where we started, he takes a beer, opens it, and sits right down in the surf.

  Following suit, I do the same, beer and all. The first sip is hard to get down, but the second is a little easier, and by the third, I don’t taste the carbonation any longer.

  “I thought you couldn’t drink beer?” His voice is rough, and it reminds me of that night when I thought he was broken.

  I look over at him painted in the shadow of the moon. “I can’t, but I think right now is the perfect time to risk the consequences.”

  Shrugging, he takes a long pull of his beer. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but Vanessa and I were together for over five years. We met our sophomore year in college and then went to Columbia Business School together.”

  Okay, so she isn’t B.

  Surprised by his candor, I feel my own guard slipping. I know what’s coming next has to be bad. Not only from his tone, but also because of his demeanor with her that night. “Do you want to talk about it?”