The Summer of Us: A Romance Anthology

by AJ Matthews

  Cami slowed Heavenly to a walk then halted by the car, not for long, not with Heavenly’s neck foaming from work. B had pushed a button to lower her window. Air conditioner blasting, she’d called, “Hey, I like that mare. I want to ride with you. Do you have room for another boarder?”

  “Sure,” Cami told her, wiping her brow. “Board’s seven-fifty a month, though. I’m expensive, but I give the best care.”

  “I’ve got three horses,” Bianca answered. “My pony is good for lessons, though. Kids love him. My Dad said he’ll pay five hundred a month per horse, tops, plus instructor and show fees. The rest I’m supposed to work off. Do you need help?”

  Interest piqued, Cami had given the cute, sporty girl with pixie-cut brown hair a once over. The kid had a smile that didn’t quit. She was obviously serious about riding, too. And instructor fees were always good.

  “How old are you?” Cami asked.

  “Sixteen,” Bianca had answered, flashing that white-toothed grin.

  “Let’s schedule a lesson, and take it from there. I can put you up on a boarder’s horse tomorrow, if you can be here by four?”

  “Four’s perfect. See you then.”

  B had been at the barn almost every day since.

  It didn’t take long for Cami to realize that Bianca, sixteen-going-on-forty, quite obviously had more smarts than she did; their regard for one another had rapidly grown to something that resembled mutual awe.

  Regularly, Bianca offered Cami man advice, which Cami did not take. B freely offered advice on managing difficult boarders, which Cami had to admit was usually spot on. B blithely attributed her business development and fiscal management advice to her very wise and successful father and Cami, who needed it desperately, hung onto every word. On riding, schooling, showing and caring for horses, Bianca absolutely deferred to Cami. Which Cami appreciated, since she’d been doing her best to fill the role of Bianca’s coach, boss and mentor. In fact, Bianca’s regard for Cami’s equine acumen boosted Cami’s spirits considerably. B was not only a thoughtful, skilled rider, she also possessed the easy-going, affectionate, and efficient dedication of a true horsewoman.

  Then there was Bianca persistence, a trait Cami admired but did not particularly appreciate: after Heavenly’s injury, B had insisted on setting up a Spindr account for Cami, slyly assuring her it would be fun.

  “Look, a first date won’t even last three hours,” Bianca now prattled. “You’ll dress here, then drive to wherever the goofy dude you snag wants to buy drinks and dinner. Afterwards, you’ll have the excuse that you need to cut out early to get back here to Heavenly. But then again, if he’s hot and your animal instincts kick in, you might decide to get. . laid up.” Here, Bianca smirked. “You can just text me, Cam. I’ll be happy to run cover with Heavenly.”

  On the topic of Cami’s dateless life, Bianca was going to be relentless, Cami could tell. She was worse than Liah was, about Marcus. And unlike Liah, Bianca was difficult to refuse. Until she said, “Take him back to your place, though. It’ll be safer. And watch out for date rape. They have nail polish for that drug now, you know.”

  “Gee, B, you’re really making internet dating sound so tempting. Kind of you, sending me out to the front lines to do the nasty with a total stranger. Rape, murder, lots to look forward to,” Cami offered. “Why not use Spindr yourself?”

  “Be-ca-use . .” Bianca replied slowly, as if she were addressing one of the six year olds who would soon arrive with a nanny, or more rarely, clutching the french manicured fingertips of a yummy mummy far too slim and sleek to appear to have ever actually given birth. “As you know, Jeremy is away at geek camp, becoming further irreversibly geekified. And though I’m alone this summer, holding down the fort, I’m not trading him in. I’m not stupid. I may be flying solo, but I like my geek and I’m going to keep him. He’s surprisingly good in the sack.”

  “B! TMI?” Cami exclaimed, trying hard to sound offended, amused enough not to be.

  Cami knew all about geek camp. Her older brother Samuel had attended geek camp beginning in his early teens. Sam’s geek camp involvement had become so profitable that he still attended daily, most recently at the newest skyscraper in downtown San Francisco, the one that had been named for the company he’d first pitched to a bunch of investors his second year at Stanford. Money, fame and success plus a Fortune magazine cover didn’t make Sam any less of a geek though.

  Cami had last seen Sam at Christmas, accompanied by the iPad he seemed to be dating. Computers had been Sam’s constant companions, as long as Cami could remember. He had not taken his nose from it, even bringing iPad to the dinner table, texting through Christmas dinner.

  Cami had asked Sam to put the iPad away, stating that artificial intelligence sounded about as exciting as artificial sex.

  Their conversation had devolved from there.

  Her mother had been crushed.

  So no, Cami wasn’t about to ask Samuel for a loan. He’d refuse, telling her that horses were ridiculous and impractical, and she should get a real job.

  Which Cami might finally agree with.

  In addition to being the bearers of great heartbreak, horses were impractical.

  They were far too amazing to ever be ridiculous, though.

  Unlike that fling with Marcus.

  When Cami’d been a pastry and dessert student at Greystone, she’d lusted for the six foot tall, lean, and incredibly hot French vitner with the slow smile, penetrating blue eyes and tousled dark curls.

  Marcus had been so obviously inconquerable.

  But then, she’d been chosen, had become one of his. . conquests, and that was another thing entirely. It had felt like a miracle, being with Marcus. He’d been so beautiful. So charming, knowledgeable, fascinating, so courteous. . .

  And then it turned to a disaster.

  Marcus was supposed to have been teaching them wines. Which he had done, admirably. It was just the other samplings he’d done. . . Under her shirt. Between her legs. She still caught herself thinking about their fling, just six months before his marriage to the richest, most elegant woman in wine country, and squirmed with. . Shame? Lust? Embarrassment?

  All of the above?

  She’d felt an utter fool when Marcus had drifted. Then the engagement announcement had been made; she’d felt so demeaned, so exposed. Even now, memories of how they’d been together reduced her to quaking at her own incredible gullibility.

  More than anything, Cami hated that she’d been one in what must be a long line of Marcus Ribauld’s conquests.

  She wasn’t that girl anymore.

  Not by a long shot.

  Those days were over.

  Thankfully, she’d never again be the smitten, doting, adoring innocent who’d been absolutely sucker punched by news of Marcus and Therese’s engagement.

  There’d been no escaping that.

  Cami felt that scalded milk feeling even now.

  After the announcement, photographs of the couple had quickly taken over every society column in California. The events of Marcus and Therese’s wedding had been the news of the year, every detail discussed publicly, tidbits Cami couldn’t help overhearing in the grocery store, her coffee bar, even at her barn. The wedding of a celebrated French wine connoisseur to California’s third-generation female vineyard owner had even made People magazine, with a photo inset on the front cover. Cami still felt the rush of panic, the paralyzing shame and dread that had frozen her insides for months.

  Cami was pretty sure she hated Marcus, especially after that unforgivable slip up three months before. . .

  When I’d let him put his nose back where it didn’t belong.

  Cami blushed at the memory.

  He likely takes a different woman up to that sexy beast man’s den over the restaurant every night of the week!

  Don’t even think about it, Cami!

  “I’m pretty sure there was an insult in there, B-rat. Did you just flat out state that I was stupid? Implying, perha
ps, that I am also desperate, thus, stupid AND desperate?”

  Shaking her head emphatically, B said,“No, Cam, you’re not stupid, not at all. And I don’t know if you are desperate, that’s for you to decide. I do know that you are worried. So,” Bianca shrugged. “Hot muscles, anonymous sex! What better way to take your mind off things? You need a hookup, Cami. Best thing for you.”

  And what would your mother say to that advice, miss?” Cami asked, raising an eyebrow, growing peevish in the face of Bianca’s wicked fun. “You, a minor, are advising a woman ten years your senior that she needs to get laid? Your mother would be mortified!”

  “Don’t count on it,” Bianca shot back with a grin. “Dad’s where I get my business know-how, but Mom’s the source of my naughty. Mom’s been married three times, and is once again looking. It drives Dad nuts; he can’t stand that she’s still such a hussy. Dad could actually really use some lightening up. Hey, you should date my dad! He’s way easy going. I mean, as long as you leave him alone. Except for sex. He’s got that tense look, all the time, so I think he’d appreciate some. And then, there’s the cash. . He’s rolling in the cash, and really generous with it, as long as you show appreciation and manage wisely.”

  Rolling her eyes, Cami couldn’t help breaking a smile. She’d never met either of Bianca’s parents, but if she were ever going to be a step-mom, B would be an awesome stepdaughter. They were already two peas in a pod; both wore their dark hair in bangs; Cami’s long and curly, B’s short, in a pixie cut. They were two green-eyed, mischievous, trash talking horse lovers. Their fights were even good-natured, contentious exchanges over unimportant things like men and lip gloss colors.

  Cami and B’s arguments didn’t really end. They’d reach an impasse, then erupt again, usually with lots of teasing and laughter.

  It felt like they were sisters.

  Cami would never whine to Bianca about her problems, because big sisters just didn’t do that. She did take B’s free advice, though.

  Some things, the important ones, B just seemed to understand.

  Somewhere, Cami’s phone was bleeping. Grasping for the darn thing, Cami’s damp hands ran down between bales of sticky hay. Hay prickled, itching her back, which was wet with perspiration.

  Oh, golly, how long have I been sleeping?

  It was late, and too hot, the evening sun hitting the west windows of the haymow full on.

  “H’lo?” she mumbled.

  “Cam? It’s Liah. Where are you?”

  Cami swallowed, her tongue swollen in her dry mouth. “Still at the barn.”

  “You fell asleep?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, honey. I was going to bring you dinner, but we’re slammed here. Have you eaten?”

  That roast beef sandwich on sourdough, granola bar and apple had disappeared hours before. Mostly, she was thirsty.

  “Don’t worry, Liah, I’ll just hose Heavenly now, and grab takeout.”

  “Cam. . I’m. . Come over to the restaurant. I’ll meet you in the kitchen. Let us feed you.”

  “I’m okay, Liah, really. The vet was by. Heavenly’s swelling is down. Two more weeks of therapy, then six month’s stall rest.”

  “After that, you can ride her again?” Liah’s voice lilted.

  “No, after that, we can see,” Cami answered.

  “Oh.”

  Spindr-iffic

  “You’re hot! I like your muscles!” “You’re hot! I like your muscles!”

  Friday after lessons, Cami saw a new message icon appear on her Spindr app. Brow furrowed, she opened the app, saw the profile. . .What? Burnt out surfer slacker, zero IQ? . . . Nice muscled torso, though.

  Then she scrolled to the messages.“Hi, What r u up to?”

  Cami was shocked to see her apparent answer: “5-6”, just like my profile says.”

  “Har. U like wine?”

  “Oh, yeah! As much as you like women!”

  “So. . A lot. U r funny.”

  “Ya think? Cool!”

  “Wanna get wine w me Sat? I’ll pick you up.”

  “I could meet for a glass of wine Saturday at 7, sure!”

  “Nice. On the square. I drive a red Porsche. You see my pics?”

  “You’re hot! I like your muscles!”

  “Thanx. U too.”

  What the- ?

  The exchange had taken place earlier in the week, with someone other than Cami pretending to be Cami!

  The new message said: C U 2 morro. Park and meet at 1st n napa at 7. Look for the Porsche.

  C U 2 morro?

  What the. . . What!?

  Apparently, this spaced-out slacker numbnut thought he had a date with Cami.

  There was no way Cami was going on a date with this. . this aberrant beast . .

  No. Way. In. Hell. . !

  “Bi-anca! Bi-YAN-ca!”

  B peeked from the grooming stall, where she was tacking Wanderlust. “Yes?”

  “What have you done?” Cami demanded.

  “What do you mean, what have I done?” But the look on her face said it all.

  “This!” Cami gestured wildly. “On my phone? Spindr? What did you do to me, here, pretending to be me?”

  “Oh. . ” Making her face a careful blank, B got busy adjusting the saddle pad, then tightened her girth. “You. . um, well, I guess you have a date tomorrow night.”

  “The hell I do! The guy you picked is a bad rendition of Owen Wilson, B. He’s straight out of Zoolander. What am I supposed to do with him, infiltrate the world of high fashion?”

  Underneath the fake smile, B looked nervous. “C’mon, Cami, it’ll be good for you. You’ll get out.”

  “You really hacked my Spindr account?” Cami demanded, astounded.

  “Well. . . Maybe?”

  “The guy you set me up with has shaggy blonde hair and wears amber love beads, B!” Cami could hear her own voice rising.

  “He also has a six-pack and drives a Porsche,” B countered, trying to look tough and composed, failing utterly.

  “Has has a fake tan, and wears a speedo!” “He probably borrowed the Porsche, for the picture, B.” Cami was shouting now. “He’s the epitome of a surfer slacker, and that does not work for me!”

  B winced, but Cami didn’t care.

  Cami was feeling real rage boil her blood.

  Which was a change from panic, anyway.

  Looking down at the messages on her phone, Cami wailed, “B, he says ‘U r’ for ‘you are’!”

  “I know. I was the one texting him,” B admitted, stammering a little. “And I didn’t imagine you’d be this upset. I saw the speedo. I thought he looked like somebody good to. . you know. . maybe unwind with.”

  “Unwind with. . ?” Cami squeaked.

  “Uh-huh!” B answered brightly. “You told him he was hot. You told him you liked his muscles! He thinks your fun-ny! He’ll probably have pot, Cam. You could smoke a joint with him, and relax! ”

  “I am not fun-ny, B. I am a bitch,” Cami hissed, eyes blazing. “A bitch who does not smoke pot.”

  Bianca looked shocked, then hurt, but she recovered quickly, saying sweetly, “I know that, but he doesn’t. Not yet. Why not let him discover your inner bitch over a glass of wine, Cam?”

  “You will pay for this, B-rat.”

  “Pay for what? You’ll thank me afterward, you’ll see! You might get laid!” B’s words came in a courageous rush, but she didn’t look so convinced.

  She looked worried.

  B had obviously expected Cami to be happy to be swindled into a date with a slacker stoner. And that dazed, hurt, slightly worried look she now wore tugged at Cami’s guilt strings.

  A lot.

  Last Saturday, B had gone so far as to suggest Cami date her father for his money, for crying out loud. Which meant she was willing to be Cami’s step-daughter. . In her well-intended teenaged way, B really cared; she’d sacrifice for Cami. Underneath all the joking, B was worried about her, and didn’t know what else to do.
>
  Cami supposed she should suck it up, if only for B’s sake.

  So all she said in response was, “Bite your tongue. And don’t ever do this again.”

  “You’ll go on the date?” B asked excitedly.

  “We’ll see.”

  Saturday morning, Aliah trailed after Cami, holding a fancy suit bag containing Cami’s best dress; Cami hadn’t worn the new silk halter wrap yet, because she didn’t have the right shoes. Nor had she had anyplace to go in it.

  Stilletto slingbacks dangled from one of Liah’s elegantly manicured fingertips.

  Liah’d found the right shoes, Cami had to admit.

  Aliah still modeled sometimes, for extra money. She was a dead ringer for Lauryn Hill, her sumptuous, glam but uniquely personal look so effortless. Cami knew her pale skin, green eyes, and long dark hair were nothing to complain about, but lots of times she felt like a tomboy klutz around Aliah, who knew all about makeup and fashion, besides being the best sommelier in Sonoma County.

  “This is ridiculous!” Cami told her best friend, opening her car door.

  “It’s just a date!” Liah fired back, setting the makeup and perfume bag she’d assembled onto the backseat.

  “I’ve been press-ganged,” Cami grumbled, whistling to Stumpy, who jumped in.

  “I think it’s sweet,” Liah countered, reaching through to hang the dress on the hook above Cami’s back seat. “B loves you. She’s worried about you.”

  “What B loves is to torment me,” Cami scoffed. “B’s worried for me like a wily fox worries over blindsided little chicks!”

  “I don’t know, she offered you her Dad, right?” Liah soothed. “Anton Valdezzi’s a pretty hot guy, as dads go. Great upper body, if you like big guys. And that butt! He plays squash at my gym. Have you seen him lately? ”

  Cami’s stomach, which she’d just filled with a cucumber- raspberry smoothie with just a shot of alfalfa grass, Aliah had insisted, and just a tablespoon of flax seeds, c’mon, they’re good for you, took a downward pitch into spasms of conflicted dismay as the realization of what Liah had just said hit her. Her eyes narrowed. “Have I seen. . Anton Valdezzi?”