The Summer of Us: A Romance Anthology

by AJ Matthews

  Thea

  “Bowling? You expect me to bowl in a dress.” My gut was right on the wardrobe change idea. The guy behind the counter hands the shoes to Shay. “I am not putting my bare feet in those!”

  “Ta-da!” He pulls something off a rack on the counter. An unopened pair of socks.

  My protests fall on deaf ears. My skirt is below knee-length, which will cover everything even when I bend over, and I have socks.

  Bowling it is.

  He rubs his hands together, tosses the socks at me, and grabs our shoes from the glass-top counter.

  “Let’s rock ‘n bowl!” Shay jokes, riffing on the alley’s theme night we’ve stumbled into. Big-screen televisions line the wall above the lanes, and videos play as music blasts from the speakers overhead, clashing with the echo of balls shattering pins.

  “Lane twenty, lane twenty,” he mutters as we walk the blue and red carpeted lobby. “And here we are.”

  I set my purse on the floor underneath the scoring table and type his name. He leans in, his shaving cream and soap distracting me. “Oh no, ladies first.”

  “No way. Your idea, you go.”

  He quirks his mouth like he’s considering his options, but gives in. “Fine, but next round, you’re first.”

  I think he won’t want round two after I kick his ass in this one.

  Two balls and eight pins later, he puffs out his chest and flashes his bright white smile.

  Not for long.

  I check the ball return, biting my lip and picking over the balls to give him the impression I’m clueless. I find the fuchsia seven-pound ball, approach the line, take a couple steps, close my eyes, and release.

  The ball clatters against the pins, and I smile as Shay whoops behind me. “What the . . . a strike? Lucky.”

  “No luck, Seamus.” I grin mischievously when he flinches at the sound of his full name from my lips. “This girl’s got mad ball skills.”

  His eyes darken as he lowers his head closer. “Yes you do.”

  I slap his hard chest and push away. “Bowling balls, sicko.”

  “It’s easy to get a rise out of you,” he chides.

  I move back closer, taking his words as a dare. In the darkened bowling alley at nine o’clock at night, no one is paying attention to us, so I wrap my arms around his slim waist and wiggle against him.

  “I love getting a rise out of you too.” I slap his toned ass harder than intended, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

  Until he retrieves his ball from the return and walks stiffly to the line, his arms shielding the front of his pants.

  Ha. Gotcha.

  He stumbles and knocks over four pins on the first throw. A gutter ball on the second.

  He’s still trying to hide his erection as he slides into his seat.

  “You play dirty, McBride,” he leans in and whispers.

  I feign indignation, a gasp of shock escaping my rounded lips. “I would never . . .”

  His wet tongue caresses the sensitive shell of my ear. I gasp when a jolt of electricity rushes through me.

  “Me either.” His voice rumbles in my ear.

  Although the impact his actions have on me is less obvious, my thoughts are scattered, my aim off-kilter. I still drop seven pins, though, and I’m confident I’ll win.

  He steps to the line for his next turn, takes a deep breath, pulls his impressive shoulders back, and throws the ball.

  Nine down.

  I whistle, but he ignores me.

  He throws again, then throws his arms in the air.

  “Spare, baby!” He turns around, pointing his fingers at me. “How ya like that?”

  I laugh and hold my hand in his face. “Please. I got this.”

  And I do. I roll another strike and feel bad as the corners of his full lips fall. I rub his shoulders in consolation. “I like you fine, baby, but I’m still gonna beat you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Shay

  I hold the door open as we exit the bowling alley, leaving behind the odor of stale feet and fresh popcorn as we walk into the cool night air.

  I hang my head in defeat, pride in my pocket.

  My heart in her hands.

  She’s everything I want.

  Funny.

  She shoots me a sideways glance that says, “Told ya so.”

  Dang, she can make me laugh.

  Competitive. She likes a challenge.

  But not quite a good sport, considering the way she rubbed my face in her “mad ball skills.”

  Gorgeous. Her hair and those eyes and her high, round breasts.

  I can’t stop thinking about putting my hands on her.

  She’s honest too.

  Aside from the white lie about her job interview today, I don’t think she’s said an untruthful word.

  Which makes me smile even bigger, thinking about what she said when we parted ways in Florida.

  I think I . . .

  Love you.

  The first day together outside of vacation-land confirmed I’m head-over-flipping-heels for this girl. I’m confident she reciprocates.

  I won’t tell her yet, in case she’s still not all in. You can bet I’ll do everything in my power to convince her, or die trying.

  Which might happen, given everything else I’ve got going on.

  Losing sleep may be the price I pay, but I don’t care.

  She’s worth losing hours of sleep.

  I open the door for her, holding her hand. She doesn’t need help to get into the compact hybrid, but I’ll use any excuse to touch her.

  I close the door and can still smell her. Her raspberry and baby powder scent is clinging to my clothes from our contact on the lane and in the seats.

  The bulge in my pants reappears.

  Patience, man.

  Time to take her home and then go back to my place.

  Despite the growing want, no, need, to hold her in my arms and not let her go.

  Our time together in Key West was like a countdown timer. Every minute meant one less to spend together, and we had to make the most of those precious moments.

  Since we’re both here in the same place, time is unlimited. We can savor each moment to its fullest.

  I touch her leg as I drive, my fingers slipping through the opening in the skirt to caress the tender skin at her knee.

  She sighs, her breath whooshing out in a sweet invitation for me to do more.

  I grit my teeth, hungry for all of her, but I want to prove I’m not out for a fling or a “friends with benefits” situation.

  I want to be much more than friends.

  She whimpers when I put my hand back on the wheel and drive to her apartment. She lives in a guest house attached to the back of one of the gingerbread Victorian homes lining Douglas Street.

  The gravel on the drive crackles under my tires. I put the car in park and cut the engine.

  We walk to her door hand in hand, the current between us running the length of my arm.

  She bites her lip and stares at me from under her long eyelashes.

  I gulp.

  “Wanna come in?” She taps on the door with her knuckles, so I understand what she means.

  I clear my throat. “I want to. But I think we should go slow.”

  Her shoulders slump and her smile fades.

  I explain, “I want—”

  I lean into her and grip her hips in my hands.

  “—this.” I slide one hand to her side, grazing the side of her breast with my fingertips before cradling her head, the once-neat style unraveling in between my fingers.

  “I need this,” I whisper as I lay my other hand flat on her chest, her heartbeat strong and erratic under my palm.

  I shift my arm and pull her in tight.

  Her curves mold against me like she was made for me.

  My own heartbeat accelerates.

  I ache to taste her, so I give in.

  The faint hint of bitter bowling alley beer does nothing to taint the sweetness of
her kiss. Her tongue, hot and wet, strokes my lip, making promises of what’s in store should I come in, tonight or later.

  Soon.

  I press her back into the door, bracing my arms on both sides of her shoulder as I plunder her mouth, exploring the dark recesses with my tongue. My head says, “slow,” but my hands, mouth, and heavy erection shout “go.”

  I’m close to giving in, picking her up and kicking in her door and taking her on her living room floor.

  She rubs against me, whimpering and tapping her fists against my back like she wouldn’t object to this plan.

  I’m about to execute said plan when the door opens and Thea topples inside, pulling me with her.

  I look up, squinting in the dark, and a high-pitched voice exclaims, “Holy shit, Thea, it’s your vacation fuck buddy!”

  Bennie, Thea’s friend from Key West, is standing over us gaping.

  Mood. Killed.

  Thea

  Shay rolls off me and offers an arm to help me up from the floor. I accept and whisper loudly, “Bennie, first, be quiet. Mrs. Kemp is hard of hearing, but your voice could wake the dead.”

  I straighten my dress, which had been pushed askew by either Shay’s hands or our fall through the door—or both. “Second, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you were headed to the beach with Enrique this weekend.”

  Both she and Leesh have spare keys to be used in emergencies. Only emergencies. I didn’t see her car out front. She must have parked the bright blue convertible around the corner.

  I flip the switch to the overhead light, and we all blink, adjusting from the darkness.

  “We were until I grabbed his laptop to pull up our reservations while he was in the shower and found this . . .” She pulls her phone out, unlocks the screen, and holds the evidence under my nose. On the display is an e-mail she forwarded from Enrique’s account to her own, a message from another woman propositioning Bennie’s boyfriend. Not good.

  I shake my head, hand the phone back to her, and turn to Shay, mortified. He tucks his shirt back into his pants. Did I pull it out earlier? I mouth “Sorry” at him.

  “Shay, you remember Bennie.”

  He extends his hand and nods sharply.

  “Hey.” Bennie casts her gaze to the floor. “Sorry. I heard something at the door . . .”

  Yes, us rubbing against it.

  “I thought you couldn’t find your key. I would never have opened the door if I’d known. Honest. I’m sorry.”

  Shay hitches his thumb at the door. “I’m going to go.”

  I put my hand on his chest, hoping to hold him at bay while I figure out what to do with Bennie.

  He shakes his head and presses his warm lips to my cheek. “You should be with her. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I close the door behind me, my eyes shooting daggers at Bennie again, who barely contains her mirth.

  Her flippy black hair is bobbing against her face as she shakes her head. “Oh my God, I am sorry. My timing sucks in a major way, huh? And where the hell did the Key West cutie come from? Did you answer his phone calls? Tell him where you were? What did I tell you about vacation-sex friends?”

  “Never fall for them,” I say.

  “Never fall for them,” she says at the same time.

  “Jinx!” I call out.

  We dissolve into laughter, and she follows me into the kitchen, where I pull two beers from the fridge and twist off the caps, handing her one.

  “Yeah, the whole ‘never fall for them’ thing was shot the first night I met him.”

  She sips and swallows, tipping her bottle in my direction. “When he took you out on the boat and showed you the stars and shit?” She gags, pretending she hates those types of romantic gestures. I think she’s never dated the kind of guy inclined to do such things.

  I shove at her shoulder and push her to the couch, kicking off my shoes and falling on the other end.

  “Yes, when he took me out for an incredibly romantic night on the water. Stars and stories and sweet, innocent touching,” I say to incite her, and she faux-gags so violently I’m afraid she’ll vomit.

  “I can’t believe it took a few more nights to get into his pants. You never did spill. How big is his . . .”

  “I am not telling you. You forget I am a proper Southern lady. We never kiss and tell.” I grin. This is driving her mad.

  “Proper. Ha.” She snorts. “Proper, like dry-humping a hot guy on your stoop?”

  My face heats up. The neighbors could have seen everything. Oh God!

  “We were trying to bring the action inside, but as you know, we were rudely interrupted.”

  Bennie stares silently at her beer bottle before taking another swig.

  “Are you going to break it off with Enrique this time?”

  She shakes her head and mumbles, “I don’t know.”

  “What’s going on, Bennie? This is the second time you’ve caught Enrique doing something. Why are you sticking around?”

  “Good sex? The man’s tongue is masterful.”

  I give her another dose of the stink-eye.

  “I don’t know, okay?” She jumps off the couch and paces, wearing a path in the carpet. “Nothing better going on, I guess.”

  I get up and hug her, stopping her in her tracks. “You deserve more.”

  “I can change him. If he loves me, he’ll change for me. Right?”

  “Oh sweetie.” I squeeze her tighter as she sobs into my hair.

  I’m sad for her because I know she’ll take him back, and he’ll hurt her again and again until she gets fed up.

  I let her cry it out on my shoulder, retrieve a pillow and blanket for her, and she falls asleep in no time.

  Her beautiful face is softened by sleep, and I brush her thick hair out of her eyes before I turn off the light.

  I will pray for her to find real love with someone who will never break her heart.

  Someone like Shay.

  I remember I harbor a gigantic secret that might break his heart.

  And mine when he walks away forever.

  Shay

  I’ve never been in so many embarrassing sexual situations until I met Thea.

  The stupid smile plastered on my face says I don’t care.

  What a freaking unbelievable night.

  I haven’t laughed this much in a long time even if she kicked my butt bowling.

  I’ll find something I can beat her at, or at least have fun trying to beat her.

  It’s best Bennie interrupted us. I intend to give the whole “taking things slow” a shot, and the closeness of her, all soft hair and sweet skin and delicious lips, spins me out of control.

  Control is the one thing I craved the most throughout my life. Now I’d relinquish control to wake up next to Thea every day.

  I turn on the shower, running tepid water, hoping it will ice my raging ardor. Merely thinking about touching her gets me going, and if I don’t get rid of this erection, sleep will elude me.

  I step in and let the frigid water cascade over my body. A swim would be calming. I’d love to go running like Liam does. He waxes poetic about the runner’s high, the rush of endorphins churning after logging so many miles. I tried jogging, but the pain in my knee, caused by the built-up scar tissue from multiple post-accident surgeries, prevents me from trying again, so I swim.

  I enjoy the solitude when I hit the pool at six o’clock in the morning.

  A swim tomorrow morning will help burn this restless energy.

  I shut down the shower, dry off, and get dressed in my gym shorts and tee shirt. I still need to study. My phone vibrates, buzzing across the dresser.

  I pick it up, expecting Mom or even Mac, who’s struggling with the death of his long-time therapist. I’m the crutch trying to get him through as he navigates through this major disruption.

  It’s not either of them though. Instead, it’s a text from Thea.

  Thea: So sorry abt earlier. Thx for understanding. Bennie’s sound asleep.


  Me: No problem. She needs you.

  Thea: You’re the best. Can I make it up to you tomorrow?

  Tomorrow? I’m glad we’re texting because I bet I look like an idiot with a stupid grin plastered on my face.

  Me: Sure. Dinner and a movie?

  Thea: Sounds good. How about that raunchy “bro” movie?

  I hope she wants to see it and is not suggesting the film because she thinks I, as a “dude,” like low-brow films.

  Me: You sure?

  Thea: I love those! Don’t you? Pick something else.

  Me: No, they’re funny.

  Thea: If you’re sure. How bout I pick you up? Need your addy.

  I’ve never done the dating thing, but whatever rules Thea wants to go by are cool with me. I send her my address, and we say good night.

  My head is swimming with the possibilities of things to come. I want to run, jump, and shout from the balcony how excited I am. My neighbors would prefer I didn’t..

  I feel phenomenal.

  The one thing I don’t feel like doing, however?

  Studying, which I can do in the morning after I go for my swim.

  I grab my tablet, open the latest e-issue of a psychology journal, and slide into the crisp, clean sheets on my bed. I drift to sleep and wake up hours later to turn the light off. When I go back to sleep, I dream of Thea tangled in these sheets with me.

  The dream will be a reality soon enough.

  I won’t be able to help myself, no matter my best intentions.

  Thea

  I’m giddy I get to see Shay again, the “once and done” proclamation shredded by my lack of will power.

  He’s hard to resist.

  I’m wired, not ready to sleep yet, and another beer might settle my nerves, so I grab one and my laptop before sliding under the covers.

  My appointment with the plastic surgeon to discuss reconstruction options is next week, so I do more research. Bennie and Leesh ask why I keep torturing myself with these images. Not torture, I tell them.

  Reality.

  Soon, the scars and pain will be mine. I’ll never be the same, physically or emotionally.

  I tilt my head at a thumbnail in my search engine’s image results. A smiling young woman, no more than thirty years old, sits on a couch shirtless. The rosary beads around her neck emphasize her pale skin and puckered, pink scars. Behind her sits her husband—they’re both wearing wedding bands—and he’s shirtless too, kissing her hair while she holds his hand.