The New Rule: (The Casual Rule 2)

by AC Netzel

  A victorious smirk curls from the side of my mouth. It feels great… until I look back at Cam-eel. Her shoulders slumped, her expression dark and defeated.

  I should feel good about this victory, but I don’t. It feels cruel—and I’m not cruel. I know what it feels like to be desperately in love with Ben. And I know what it’s like when that love isn’t returned. I know that sense of loss, emptiness, desperation. I know the pain. And I don’t wish it on anyone… even her.

  “Camille, I’m sorry about what I…,” I apologize, but she cuts me off holding a hand up in front of my face.

  “Mark my words, the day will come when he comes back begging for me. You will be nothing to me or him but an unpleasant memory,” she says, her tone icy. She straightens her posture in a futile attempt to display confidence in her words, but I see right through her façade. She’s burning inside, a slow torturous burn.

  I open my mouth to counter her venomous words as anger fills me again but think better of it and close it. I could say something, quickly dissolve what little self-respect she’s holding on to, but I stay silent.

  I have Ben. I have his love.

  That’s my victory.

  I won’t stoop to her level anymore. I don’t need to belittle her and strip away all her dignity just to make myself feel better. She knows I have him, all of him. That’s why she’s so hurt and bitter. I have something she never will, no matter how hard she tries.

  I let her have the last word as she storms out of the cabana.

  With two beers in hand, I walk back to our lounge chairs and join Ben, never revealing a word about our exchange.

  ~o0o~

  Feather-light kisses tickle behind my ear. “Wake up,” he murmurs.

  I swat him away like a pesky mosquito buzzing in my ear. “Go away.”

  “Julia, we have to get moving. I want to get a jump on traffic. If we wait too long, it’s going to be a nightmare getting from Amagansett to New Jersey.”

  “I don’t care. I want to sleep,” I grumble, pulling a pillow over my head.

  “Okay, that means you’ll have to spend another day with my family.”

  “I’m up. I’m up.” I was in such a deep sleep I forgot we stayed at his parents place last night. The last thing I want is a repeat of yesterday. I need to be in friendly territory. My territory.

  Ben crawls over my body, lightly kissing his way down my stomach, inch by torturous inch. He pulls the T-Shirt I wore to bed up to my waist, sliding his hands down my panties.

  “Ben, no.” I swat his roaming hands away.

  “Come on, Julia. I was up half the night thinking of you in that bikini. I can’t last another day looking at you like that without some kind of… relief.”

  “But we’re in your parents’ house.”

  “So?”

  “So… what if they hear us?”

  “They’re not listening at the door. No one is going to hear us.”

  “You don’t care if we have sex in your parents’ house? With them home?”

  He laughs. “I think it’s a safe bet that they’ve already figured out we’ve had sex before. I doubt this will come as a shock to anyone.” He lays on top of me, grinding his pelvis into me, his rock hard erection rubbing against me. “Come on, Julia, you know you want it.” He looks up at me and grins.

  He looks delicious… his mussed up hair and those damn dimples. He knows what those dimples do to me. It’s his secret weapon.

  “Okay, but we can’t do it on the bed.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to leave any sexidence behind?”

  “Sexidence?”

  “Evidence of Sex on the bed sheets.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “If you want me, it’s in the shower. Do you have an issue with shower sex?” This is definitely a perk to having a private bathroom.

  He laughs. “No, no issue at all. Let’s go, I need to fuck you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Ben… you really know how to romance a girl.”

  “Get in the shower and I’ll show you romance,” he says as he rolls my panties down my legs.

  Chapter 8

  “Wake up, sleepyhead. We’re here.”

  “I’m up. I’m up,” I say, straightening my seat out of the reclining position. I squint at the clock on the dashboard. “It’s after eleven. Everyone is probably on the beach already. My parents have a ton of beach chairs in their backyard shed. Let’s grab two and go straight to the beach. We’ll bring the rest of our stuff in the house later.”

  I grab my beach bag out of the backseat of Ben’s SUV while he grabs two chairs from the shed. With all our beach essentials in hand, we head out to find my family. We stroll up the wooden planked walkway and stop at the end by the dunes overlooking the beach. It’s breathtaking every time I see it. I inhale deeply and savor the familiar scents of salty sea air and cocoa-butter suntan lotion. I’ve missed the beach. It always feels like home, the one place I’m safe and protected.

  Glancing over at Ben carrying our two chairs, I smile. He’s my other home. I had no idea I could feel this way about someone. I had no idea these feelings existed.

  We spot my family immediately. You’d have to be deaf and blind to miss them. My three brothers, one of my sisters, and their families are sprawled out with beach chairs, umbrellas, and blankets across the sand. My mom and dad are holding court in the middle of the chaos.

  When I was a teenager, my family mortified me. We were embarrassingly loud. My mother talked to us as if we were alone in our kitchen, announcing personal things, humiliatingly uncomfortable things, as if no one else could hear her. I think the entire Jersey Shore heard about my first period courtesy of my mother broadcasting that information to my aunt on this beach. It was probably in this same spot. There were no such things as secrets in the Conti household, especially in the summer months. And my brothers were so obnoxious. They’re still obnoxious; I’ve just grown immune to it.

  “It’s hard to walk in the sand with sandals. Don’t you want to kick yours off?” I ask.

  “No, the sand is hot. It’s been in the nineties all week. The sun’s strong. I’d leave them on if I were you.”

  “Oh please. I’m a seasoned beach veteran, not a sand wuss like you. Besides, it’s late May. No matter how high the temperature has been, the sand is never that hot in May. A little warm sand is no match against my asbestos feet.”

  I kick off my flip-flops and sink my feet in, wiggling my toes in the golden sand. I’ve missed the feel of warm sand between my toes, like infinite toasty grains massaging my feet. Ben and I walk toward my family at a leisurely pace. After about ten steps, I realize this sand is hot. Scratch that, it’s not hot, it’s holy-crap sizzling—walking barefoot on fire kind of hot.

  All winter long, I couldn’t wait to feel the blazing summer heat. Until now, when I’m painfully reminded just how fucking hot that heat is on my feet.

  “Shit! Ouch!” I cry out, jumping like I’m walking on a bed of hot coals.

  “Asbestos feet?” Ben smirks.

  I stick my tongue at him and make a mad dash for a blanket a few feet ahead of us. I curse under my breath at the sizzling sand, the fire blasting sun, and my hot smug boyfriend strolling casually toward my family with an “I told you so” smirk.

  “Hi everyone,” I say, kissing my parents and waving to everyone else around me. There’s no way I’m touching that sand again.

  Ben saunters over, setting up our chairs. Once he makes his way through my brothers, sister-in-laws, my sister Sophie and her husband with handshakes and kisses, he strolls over to my parents. My mother stands from her beach chair and hugs Ben tightly, rocking him back and forth.

  Here we go with the motherly love-fest.

  “Ben, it’s so good to see you again.” She releases him from her death grip and squeezes his cheeks between her index finger and thumb. “Still so handsome. You’ll have beautiful wedding pictures someday.”

  I hide my face behind
my hands, shaking my head. Nice hint, Mom. The guy is just getting used to the “boyfriend” title. Now she’s marrying her daughter off to him. Why don’t you scare him back to the Hamptons?

  Luckily my father halts her not-so-subtle “Marry my daughter, please” proposal and shakes his hand. My dad and Ben bonded over a baseball game we attended in late April. It was Ben’s Christmas gift to my parents. They didn’t waste a minute picking a date.

  After our hellos, we sit back and settle into our beach chairs.

  My mother goes straight into Italian mother-mode. She throws two huge wrapped over-stuffed sandwiches from one of the three coolers they dragged down to the beach at us.

  “Thank you, Rose,” Ben says politely, placing the sandwich on his lap. Leaning back in his beach chair, he watches the waves roll in.

  “Something wrong with your sandwich?” my mom asks, frowning.

  “I was going to save it until a little later.”

  I elbow him, subtly covering my mouth with my fingers and whisper, “Take a bite or she’ll never leave you alone.”

  He nods discreetly. “You know what—I am a little hungry,” he says, unwrapping the aluminum foil around the sandwich then taking a big bite.

  A satisfied smile crosses my mother’s lips as she nods approvingly and moves on to her next victim.

  We’re finally relaxing once Ben has eaten enough of his sandwich to get my mother’s occasional glare off him when my sister Isabelle and her family finally arrive.

  “Sorry we’re late. Traffic was an absolute nightmare. The Parkway is a mess, the bridge was a parking lot, and we hit every red light on Route 35,” she grumbles, turning her head toward her husband. “Bruce, just put that crap down there.” She points to an empty space of sand, right next to us. Bruce drops everything in his arms and it spills onto the sand. Countless sand toys, every possible SPF number lotion ever made, towels, and pool noodles are sprawled out on the sand, my feet, and Ben’s feet.

  My five-year-old niece Emma spots Ben and a sly smile curls from the corner of her mouth. There’s no doubt she remembers him from their first meeting at my parents’ house on Christmas Eve before Ben and I were an actual “couple”. This little one crawled up on his lap and shamelessly flirted with him, making him painfully uncomfortable.

  “Hi Ben,” she says coyly, twirling a few strands of hair around her tiny finger, fluttering her eyelashes. Geez, for a five-year-old, this little girl sure has a natural talent for flirting. She’ll be a nightmare for her parents when she’s a teenager… probably sooner.

  “Hello, Emma,” he says, smiling.

  “Is Aunt Julia your girlfriend now?”

  “Yes, she is,” he says proudly, reaching across our chairs, taking my hand, and squeezing it gently.

  “Can I be your girlfriend too?” she asks.

  “I suppose that’s up to your Aunt Julia.” He turns to me, grinning. “Will you share me with Emma?”

  I purse my lips and furrow my brow, tapping my finger against my temple, pretending I’m seriously contemplating this arrangement. “Emma is the only girl I will share you with.” I lean in close to his ear. “And I mean that,” I whisper.

  He chuckles; lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. “That’s something you will never have to worry about. I’m only yours.” He looks back at Emma, who’s now pouting. “And Emma’s, of course.”

  “Of course.” I smirk.

  Satisfied, Emma smiles and sits down in the sand next to Ben’s beach chair. She grabs a plastic shovel and sings to herself as she shovels sand into her bucket.

  Ben grabs the Daily News out of my beach bag, leans back in his chair and reads. I dip my hand in to grab one of the gossip rags hidden in a wrapped beach towel when I remember I never told Ben about my slightly out-of-control gossip magazine obsession. I’ve kept this little nugget of information about myself from him for months. I know I’m his girlfriend, and it shouldn’t matter, but I’m also his editor. I should maintain some shred of dignity when it comes to my reading list. At least in front of Ben.

  I take The Wall Street Journal out of the bag, lean back and open it with my lips pursed.

  Dullsville.

  Ben glances at me and smirks. “We can sit here and pretend you want to read that news journal you’re holding, or you can take out the gossip magazine we both know you packed.” My eyes widen. He laughs. “Yes, Julia, I know all about your dirty little secret. You’re a gossip slut.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If... and that’s a big if… there is a gossip magazine in there; it belongs to Allie.”

  “Is that your story?” he asks sarcastically.

  “That’s my story.” I nod, pretending I’m offended.

  “Fine.” He leans in close to my ear. “If you don’t want Vivian to get wind of ‘your story’; it’ll cost you,” he whispers.

  “Are you blackmailing me?” I feign shock.

  “I am,” he says, lowering his voice. “And your payment won’t be in cash.”

  “You’re incorrigible. You have no morals.”

  “Those are my terms. Are you in?” he asks menacingly.

  “Fine.” I can’t argue with that. Ben can be the sweetest man on earth to the outside world, but once we’re alone… he’s a dirty, dirty boy.

  How’d I get so lucky?

  After twenty minutes of playing in the sand, Emma turns to Ben. “Will you go in the water with me?”

  “Emma, don’t you want to swim with your cousins? They’re already in the water.” I ask.

  She purses her lips and shakes her head, turning her attention back to Ben. “Will you?”

  “Sure. Julia, do you want to join us?” I glance at Emma. She’s got the whole ‘I’ll cut you if you come near my man’ scowl going on. This little girl wants him all to herself and she’s not afraid to show it.

  “Maybe later,” I lie. There are three reasons why I’m not touching that water. First, I have no intention of getting my hair wet. Second, it’s late May… that means the water is ice cold. Third, Emma scares me.

  Ben pulls off his T-shirt and walks to the water, hand-in-hand with Emma. She twists her head back and smirks victoriously over her shoulder. I’m not sure if I should find it funny or frightening.

  As they reach the shoreline, Sophie and Isabelle walk over to me.

  “Sweet Jesus, Julia. You have sex with that body?” Isabelle asks, admiring Ben’s athletic physique.

  I shrug a shoulder and smile.

  “What the hell are you doing on the beach with your family when you can have… that? What does he do? Ten thousand sit-ups a night to get those abs?” Sophie asks.

  “Jealous?” I smirk.

  “Ridiculously. Look at what I wake up next to,” she grumbles, as we look back toward our family. Her husband, Jim, is amusing the men by balancing two cans of soda on his beer gut.

  We laugh, then divert our attention back to Ben and Emma chatting away while they stand at the shoreline, right where the waves break. It’s clear that Emma is doing most of the talking with Ben smiling politely and nodding along to her stories. My insides flutter as I watch him with Emma. He’s just so perfect.

  “Good Lord, my ovaries are going to burst watching this,” Sophie says.

  “Emma doesn’t want me near them.”

  “Can you blame her?”

  I chuckle and shake my head.

  As they’re talking, an orange-tinted spray-tan girl in a barely-there neon pink bikini wades her way through the water. She stands near Ben, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder. Seriously? That bikini is not fit for a family beach; it looks like dental floss riding up her ass. She bends down, exposing her toned butt to the sunbathers, cups some ocean water and splashes it over her chest/flotation devices.

  Did we enter a time warp? It’s like I’m watching one of those half-naked girls in the old 80’s hair-band music videos. All this chick needs is a car hood to roll around on.

  It’s obviou
s she’s trying to get Ben’s attention. Ben continues goofing around with a giggling Emma, lifting her up in the air and throwing her into the ocean. He’s completely oblivious to the Beach Bimbo standing next to him.

  The Bimbo takes a step to her side, pretending she lost her balance and bumps into Ben. She grabs on to his arm. He looks at her and smiles, her blinding white teeth beaming back at him, fluttering her lashes. He turns his attention back to Emma while this girl continues to hold on to his arm.

  Get your fucking mitts off my man, you tangerine hussy.

  I’m about to walk into the water and commit murder when my sister Isabelle grabs my arm.

  “No, wait,” she says.

  “Wait for what? That bitch is trying to pick up my boyfriend,” I growl.

  “Just wait one more minute.”

  We watch as Ben looks down at her hand on his arm then back at her, raising his brow. He says something to her. She releases her grip immediately, saying something back to him then turns around and walks away. She looks majorly pissed off.

  “Well, well, well… look at that… he didn’t even give Miss Tits a second look. Congratulations Julia, your boy’s in love.”

  ~o0o~

  I walk back to my beach chair, satisfied with the scene just played out in front of me. How the hell I ever doubted him when he was in Cleveland is beyond me.

  After a while, Ben and Emma rejoin our group.

  “Was the water cold?” I ask.

  “Freezing,” he answers as he sits down and dries himself off with a towel. “We saw a small pod of dolphins swim by. Did you see them?”

  “No, I missed the dolphins. I did happen to catch the piranha,” I say matter-of-factly.

  “There are no piranhas here.”

  “This one walks on land.” I lift a brow.

  He frowns.

  “The blonde attaching herself to you,” I clarify. “I was about to walk over and drown little Miss Tits, but you took care of things before I got there.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “Not my type.”

  “What exactly is your type?”

  “Italian/American, sparkling green eyes, long black hair, goes by the name Julia Conti.”