by Cruise, Anna
No more charity events.
No more kids camps.
Anything he said he was going to set up, I turned down. And he'd been patient, never showing me any anger, never getting on me, just calling the next day with the newest opportunity.
“Kellen,” he said one day after two weeks of banging his head against a wall. It was late afternoon and he was sitting on my couch, a manila folder spread out on the coffee table. His brown hair was buzzed short; it looked like he'd just gone in to the barber that morning. “What's it gonna take to get you to work with me?”
“The same thing I've been telling you for the past two weeks,” I said. “I want to talk to Gina. In person. Get me a conversation with her. Just one, in person. After that, I'll jump through any fucking hoop you hold out there.”
“She can't...”
“You asked what it was gonna take.” I stood up and made my way to the patio, leaving him in the living room. “That's it. That's what it's gonna take. Until then?” I shrugged. “We're just gonna keep repeating what we've been doing for two weeks, bro.”
I left him then and headed out to the water, spending the next two hours taking out my frustration on the four foot swells just outside of my house.
Trevor wasn't waiting for me when I finally got out of the water.
But Gina was.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she asked, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses.
I felt my stomach jump but stayed calm as I unstrapped the velcro leash from my ankle.
She was there. Two fucking weeks later and she was there. Back on the beach, just a few steps from where we'd stood that night. And she was pissed.
“Don't you mean good morning?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“It's the middle of the afternoon.”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” I said, staring at her. “I thought we were picking up where we left off.”
She stared at me for a long moment, a muscle in her jaw twitching. Finally, she said, “Fair enough.”
“Is it?” I asked, running a hand over my face, shaking the water out of my hair. “Because I've got a few more if that one wasn't fair.”
She spread her arms out wide. “Here I am. Take all the shots you want at me.”
“No thanks,” I said, walking past her.
“Then what the hell am I doing here, Kellen?”
“Great fucking question, Gina. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Trevor said the only way you would agree to do anything is if you could talk to me,” she said. “So here I am. Talk away.”
I threw my board on the ground and spun back around toward her. “Why the fuck did you leave me? I woke up and there was nothing there but sheets. Then you won't call me back. Then I get Trevor. What the fuck is going on, Gina?”
She started to say something, but I kept going.
“You don't even give me the courtesy of a phone call. A note. Nothing. Wanna know something, sweetheart? I never stooped that low. Not ever.”
She opened her mouth again but I wasn't finished.
“And I don't for a minute believe any of this bullshit about you being assigned to another project. I know that's horseshit. So what is this? Some sort of fucked up attempt to give me a taste of my own medicine from back in the day?” I threw my hands up. “Explain it to me because I really don't get it.”
She pushed her glasses up on her head. “You need to get on board with Trevor. He's got some—”
“Fuck off,” I said, picking up my board and walking toward my house.
“Kellen!”
I ignored her and kept going, my feet hitting the sand so hard it hurt. I heard her huffing and puffing behind me as she tried to jog in the sand, but I didn't stop.
“Listen to me,” she called.
“Why?” I asked, still walking. “Did you have something to say? You haven't said shit for two weeks.”
I reached my patio, stepped over the wall and set the board in the corner.
“Stop,” she said, stepping over the wall and trying to catch her breath. “Just stop and listen.”
I stood there, still wet from the ocean, staring at her.
She took a deep breath. “I'm sorry.”
“Well, that makes it all better. Thanks a lot.”
She frowned. “Let me talk.” She waited, like she was trying to think of what to say. “I'm sorry. For leaving. And for not calling. I...I didn't know what to do.”
I didn't know what I wanted to hear from her, but she wasn't making me feel any better.
“I freaked out a little bit,” she said, sitting down on the wall. “Had nothing to do with you. It was me.”
“That's original.”
“That's the truth,” she said, glancing at me. “We were working together. Sleeping with you was wrong.”
I bit my tongue.
“Not wrong in that it wasn't great,” she said, her voice faltering a bit. “Because it was.” She paused, cleared her throat. “But wrong because it was unprofessional. I made a really, really bad decision and I couldn't take it back. There's no going back from something like that.”
“Who said we had to go back?”
She shook her head. “There's nowhere else for us to go, Kellen.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I took a deep breath. “Look, if we can't work together, we can't work together. I'll work with Trevor. No questions asked. I'll do whatever the hell he wants.”
“Good.” She forced a smile. “I'm glad.”
“But only if that means this silent treatment shit is over.” I stared hard at her. “Only if you tell me there's somewhere for this to go.”
“What?”
I swallowed. “I...I wanted you there when I woke up.”
Her cheeks flushed. She didn't say anything.
“And if you think I've ever said that to anyone before, you're wrong,” I said. “Not once have I ever wanted to wake up with someone next to me. But you were gone.” I chewed on my lip for a minute. It was harder than I thought it would be to tell her, to admit out loud that I'd wanted her there. And how disappointed I was when she was wasn't. “And then you just stonewalled me for two straight weeks. With no explanation.”
She folded and unfolded her arms, trying to get comfortable. “I thought a clean break was best. Just step away and stay out of your way.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, really,” she said, irritated. “Look, I don't care if you believe me. I didn't think you'd listen. I knew you wouldn't listen. And our feelings were all screwed up. Working together wasn't possible after we slept together.”
“Fine. You're fired.”
“What??”
I nodded. “You heard me. Fired. Now you don't work for me. Problem solved.”
She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
“Now will you talk to me?” I took a step toward her. “Because you still owe me a conversation.”
“What?”
I nodded. She was close enough to touch, close enough so I could smell that shampoo that drove me insane. “Uh-huh. That night? The night you want to forget? You never told me your story, Gina. And I want to know it.”
She paled. “I...”
“Fair is fair,” I said. “And you've kept me waiting for two weeks.”
She took a step back and reached for her glasses, lowering them over her eyes. But she didn't do it quick enough because I saw what she was trying to hide.
“I don't work for you anymore,” she said, her voice tight with tears. “And I don't owe you anything, Kellen Handler.”
THIRTY FOUR
I closed the door to my car and exhaled. My hands were still shaking and tears streamed down my face. I wiped at them angrily, my fingers chafing against my skin.
I hadn't wanted to go see him, but when Trevor called me for about the twentieth time, I'd finally caved.
Big mistake.
I'd stood on the beach for twenty
minutes, watching him carve up the waves. The wild abandon and intense concentration as he maneuvered the board, the way his body morphed into an extension of the piece of fiberglass beneath his feet, moving in one fluid motion up and over the waves. He looked beautiful. Perfect.
He looked like Luke. Exactly like Luke.
I didn't have a plan when I'd arrived at his house. I'd gone through a dozen different scenarios in my head, thinking about how the conversation with Kellen might go. But after seeing him in the water, I knew what I had to do. Cut the cord for good and get the hell out of there.
Because I couldn't do it again. I couldn't love someone—and lose them—again. And I was dangerously close.
I took a few deep breaths, trying to get myself under control. I needed to get the hell out of his driveway. I didn't think he'd come running after me; he'd been too pissed. I swallowed hard. More than pissed. I saw the hurt in his eyes, the disbelief. I'd been a heartless bitch and I hated myself for doing it.
But I had to.
It was a matter of self-preservation.
THIRTY FIVE
I downed my fifth shot of tequila.
“Yo.”
I looked up with glazed eyes. Carl stood behind the bar, drying a glass.
“You need to slow down, man.” He glanced at the clock. “Night's early.”
I turned my head toward the clock mounted on the wall and it was like I was moving in slow-motion. The numbers on the face were fuzzy and I squinted so I could read them. It was just past seven. Two hours since Gina had left. Two hours since she'd basically told me to go fuck myself.
So I did.
I threw on a shirt, shoved my feet into my flips and walked three blocks to The Night Owl, the local dive bar. And started fucking myself.
“I'm fine,” I told Carl. I pointed to the empty beer bottle next to me. “Gimme another one of those.”
Carl frowned at me, his bushy brows drawing together so they looked like one long, furry caterpillar. “Slow it down, man,” he said, but he pushed another bottle in my direction.
I reached for it and took a long swig.
Fuck Gina Bellori.
I didn't know what had gone on or why. And I didn't care anymore. I'd been a job to her. Nothing else. She'd gotten her orders. Fix me. Make me likeable, turn my rep around. And she'd done it. Didn't mean she had to like me, didn't mean she had any feelings for me. And just because I was some fucked up guy looking for direction didn't mean she was gonna be the one to help me find it.
It didn't matter that we'd hit it off, that there'd been a connection. Not just physical. We'd talked, joked around. I'd felt comfortable with her. And I'd really thought she believed in me.
I grabbed the beer and guzzled it. She was a great fucking actress. She'd known exactly how to get me to do what she wanted. She needed to make me look good and she'd known exactly what buttons to push to get me to perform. I'd just been too stupid, too fucking vulnerable, to realize what she was doing.
I let my thoughts drift back to the night on the beach. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the images but they came anyway. Her hands. Her mouth. What her body felt like beneath me, on top of me. The sounds she made, what she tasted like. I was hard just thinking about it.
My eyes flew open and I drowned the rest of my beer. Fuck that. I couldn't explain that away, couldn't figure out why she'd kissed me and come on to me and done all the things she did to me. But I didn't want to think about it anymore. I wasn't going to think about her or that night ever again.
I scanned the bar. Another guy sat to my left, four stools down. A local guy, not someone I hung out with. I turned to the right. A petite brunette sat alone, nursing a beer. I stared at her for a minute. And then I made a decision.
I picked up my half-empty bottle and made my way towards her, trying to steady myself as I walked.
She glanced up at me as I approached. There was no flicker of recognition, just a wary smile.
“Hey,” I said, sitting down next to her.
“Hey yourself.” She had brown eyes. Like Gina.
I brought the bottle to my lips. “You come here often?”
She laughed. “Wow, that's original.”
I smiled at her. “The package is better than the delivery. Promise.”
She reached for her own bottle and brought it to her lips. “Oh really?”
I nodded. “Really.”
“What makes you think I'm looking to hook up?”
I glanced around the bar. “Week night. Local dive. It's early.” I brought my eyes back to her. “And you're alone.”
She shook her head. “What if I just wanted a drink?”
“Bet you don't.” I downed the rest of my beer and signaled to Carl for another.
She didn't answer, just shook her head and took another drink. But she didn't tell me to fuck off and she didn't get up and move.
I shifted a little closer to her. “You live around here?”
She hesitated for a minute before answering. “I do now.”
“Yeah?” I picked up the fresh beer in front of me. “Just moved here?”
The girl nodded.
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
I chuckled. “Wow. Not wasting any time finding a watering hole, huh?”
“Something like that.” She smiled but there was something off in her voice, in her expression. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You?”
“Yeah, I live here. Been here for a while.” I waved my hand in the direction of the door. “Three blocks west. Right on the beach.”
She raised her eyebrows. “On the beach?”
I knew what she was thinking. Prime real estate. Which meant I was rich. She had no fucking idea.
I nodded. “Yep. Walk right out on the sand.” I leaned toward her and I could feel my dick swelling in my shorts. “You wanna come check it out?”
She looked at me for a minute, then looked away. I drummed my fingers on the counter, waiting.
“Yeah,” she said finally. “I want to check it out.”
THIRTY SIX
Her tongue was down my throat ten minutes later.
The girl from the bar was in my lap, sitting on the couch, her legs wrapped around me, her mouth fastened to mine. I lifted her shirt and cupped her breast through her bra and she moaned. I thrust my hips into her, grinding against her. I just wanted to get inside of her. Fuck her. Make the pain go away.
“Fuck me,” she said, tearing her mouth from mine. Her tongue found the inside of my ear and she plunged it inside, sending shivers down my spine. “Fuck me, Kellen. Now.”
I yanked on her shorts and she lifted her ass so I could pull them off. She wore a hot pink thong and I ripped that off, hearing the fragile fabric tear as I wrenched it off her legs. She unzipped my shorts and grabbed hold of my dick, pumping furiously. I lifted my ass off the couch and shimmied out of my shorts and boxers, my cock pushing against her thigh.
I needed her. I needed this. And she wanted me.
I froze.
“What did you just say?”
The girl moved against me, wiggling her ass, trying to get my dick inside of her.
“I said fuck me,” she whispered.
“No.” I set my hands on her hips and lifted her off of me.
She glared at me. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You said my name.”
Her eyes widened a little but she answered quickly. “No I didn't.”
“The fuck you did.” I stood up and grabbed my shorts.
“Wait.” She reached for me. “Come back.”
“Look,” I said, my voice even as I raked her naked body with my eyes. “You wanna get fucked by Kellen Handler, just come out and say it. But don't pretend. Don't try to be something you're not.”
“I—”
I didn't let her finish. “I've had plenty of chicks just like you. And I'd do you. No problem, man, if that's what you wanna offer. But don't fucking try to play m
e.”
“I wasn't.”
The buzz wasn't completely gone but I was solid on my feet while I stood in front of her.
“I'm not what you think I am.” My voice was raw.
She reached for her shirt. “You don't know what you're missing.”
I studied her for a long minute. What the hell had I been thinking? Why did I think a drunken fuck session was going to make things better? It never had. In the six months since Jay had died, nothing had made me feel better. Not drinking, not sex. The only thing that had even come close was surfing but even that was bittersweet, the ocean a stark reminder of just what I'd lost.
But then I realized something, a little light bulb that suddenly morphed into a fucking flood lamp. There was one thing that had made me feel good about myself, had made me think I just might be better than the person I'd turned out to be.
I looked at the half-naked girl in my living room, another girl whose name I didn't know, who I didn't give a shit about. And I smiled at her, a genuine smile.
“Actually, you're wrong,” I told her. “I know exactly what I'm missing. And I'm going to get it back.”
THIRTY SEVEN
I called Trevor the next morning. He sounded a little surprised to hear from me but he kept his cool, agreeing to meet me for dinner that night.
Despite the amount of alcohol I'd kicked back the night before, I'd gotten up early. The girl from the bar had left pretty quickly, tossing her clothes back on while she glowered at me, half-pissed and half-embarrassed. I'd just stood in the living room, arms folded, watching her while she dressed. I locked the door behind her and made my way to my bedroom, collapsing on my bed, Rip jumping up to join me.
And I'd slept. Because I knew what I needed to do.
I met Trevor at a seafood restaurant in downtown Encinitas. He sat at a two-top table by the bank of glass windows that faced west, framing a postcard view of the Pacific. He smiled and stood, shook my hand and motioned to the empty chair across from him.
To his credit, he didn't ask about my abrupt about-face. We ordered dinner and he talked about some upcoming events, throwing ideas out there, gauging my interest. And, to my credit, I didn't dismiss anything. I wasn't an asshole. I listened, asked questions, and made decisions.
