Pleasure Point: The Complete Series

by Evans, Jennifer

  I popped the movie into the player, sat back into my easy chair, and unzipped my jeans. I thought of Holly. She was sexy as all get out. I wondered what she would’ve done had I turned to her and slowly lifted that top of hers over her head, unclasped her bra, stared into her eyes, kissed her breasts then buried my head in her neck where I could inhale her scent and then nibble on her ear. Then I would hungrily undress her and arrange her naked body spread eagle on my bed, where I could work my sexual magic. I envisioned my mouth moving over her creamy skin, my hands roaming the curves and delights of her body, my fingers and mouth stimulating her to a shuddering orgasm, and then penetrating her with long, smooth strokes while gazing into her eyes as we moved together slowly. Then I’d flip her over on all fours, enter her from behind, and fuck her like an animal. After a few minutes, I exploded, feeling the warmth spread all over my body starting at my groin and ending in my head. I sank back into the easy chair with a happy sigh.

  The ocean breeze trickled through an open window as I thought of Holly and how I could seduce her. I’d left a message asking her on a date, but it would have to be an inexpensive date. Money was in short supply lately. I had a small amount coming in every month from my sponsorships, and of course, there were the surf lessons. I was going to need more money if I planned on wooing somebody like Holly.

  And I planned on doing exactly that.

  Holly

  As I laced up my running shoes, my best friend Stan pulled into the parking lot at Crystal Cove State Park. I liked staying in shape and always said, if you wanted to make a social date with me, it had better be something physical.

  “Hey buddy,” Stan said as he got out of his truck and gave me a hug.

  The park is a network of rugged trails in Laguna Beach that starts at the coast and offers spectacular views of the ocean. We started up the trail, the scent of sage heavy in the air, the breeze from the ocean tickling our faces. Stan and I had been training together for years. Surfing, running, hiking, mountain biking, and even working out in the gym together. Not only was it our fun, as the years went by, it was a way to ward off the aging process.

  “So, what happened with Jax?” Stan asked.

  “Nothing yet, but I’m hoping. I’ll call him back after our hike.”

  “He called?”

  “Yep. He wants to get together.”

  Stan stopped me and held me by the shoulders. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  I shrugged. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Do I have to run down the list of things that are wrong?” He started up the incline of the trail again, barely out of breath. “Let’s start with his age. How old do you think he is? Maybe thirty if he’s a day? You, my friend are pushing forty-five.”

  “I like that he’s young. Have you seen what most forty-five year olds look like?”

  He put up his hands. “Not all older guys are worn out. I’m in good shape.”

  “I know that. But most guys our age are thirty pounds overweight from eating fast food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Not only that, most of them need Viagra to get it up.”

  Stan shook his head. “Doesn’t mean you’ve got to date a kid.”

  “And most guys my age have so much baggage, they might as well rent storage facilities. Who needs the ex-wives and kids?”

  “And you think Jax doesn’t have baggage?” He peered at me over his shoulder, his eyes laser beams. “Let’s talk about what’s really going on here. Of all the people you could date, why Jax?” It was my turn for happiness. It wasn’t my fault things didn’t work out so well with psycho bitch. “He’s going to find out who your friends are and I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said.

  “Did you listen to me when I told you not to get involved with that crazy Ukrainian?”

  He stopped. “Cool it, Holly.”

  “So, it’s okay for you to marry that woman, but it’s not okay for me to date someone who’s younger?”

  “Stop it! I can’t believe this. Are you forgetting who he is? He’s Tyler Priest’s brother,” he snapped.

  I knew it was wrong of me to lose my temper, Stan had been through so much, but the words flowed right out of my mouth. “Oh, come off it. Since when are you Mr. Let’s-Do-Everything-By-The-Book? Haven’t you made enough mistakes for the both of us?”

  “Jesus Christ, Holly. I thought this would be a chance for us to work off some steam from the day. I thought you and I had rehashed that whole thing about Tatyana after the incident. Why are you deliberately bringing up Tatyana and thinking about getting involved with Jax?”

  We started up the trail again. I knew I had to tread carefully. After Tatyana was committed to the asylum, Stan and I had had many tearful conversations. Stan had made a horrible mistake and I felt for him. I still couldn’t believe he’d fallen for Tatyana’s manipulative ways, but he’d paid dearly. I wondered if he would ever allow his heart to fully open again. Poor Tyler. No one deserved what had happened to him.

  Could I help it that I had met and was attracted to Tyler’s brother? Yes, I was coming up on my forty-fifth birthday, but so what? It was a huge turn on to think of being with a young stud like Jax.

  Jax.

  Thinking of him I felt giddy and effervescent, like I was walking on air.

  I touched Stan on the shoulder. “I promise to be careful. Let’s enjoy our hike.”

  I looked Stan in the eye and saw that he was starting to tear up. We had made it to the crest of the trail and stood overlooking the sparkling blue ocean. The waves lapped gently on the shore, and a few seagulls flew through the sky. I felt sorry for Stan, I really did. Poor guy had put his heart out there only to have it tragically broken.

  “Hey,” I said, tugging at his sleeve. “Maybe Jax has some young friends he can introduce you to.”

  That got the tiniest smile out of him.

  “You’d better be careful, okay?” he said. My friend Stan. Suddenly he was the one trying to watch out for me.

  Jax

  I parked my truck at the rear entrance to the Mysto Spot Surf Shop and made my way through the back room past the latest shipment of clothing from Mystic Seaweed and Butch’s quiver of legs, which he liked to store on racks in the stockroom. The man had more legs than surfboards.

  “Yo, Jax. Surf lessons lined up,” Butch said, waving when he saw me.

  I liked giving surf lessons. I felt extremely lucky to have a job that allowed me to be in the ocean in any way. I made my way to the sales counter and scanned the list of surf lessons for the day.

  Sandy Farnsworth and her son Daniel would be there in thirty minutes. I bustled around the shop, getting the soft-top surfboards we’d need for the lesson and stacking them into the bed of my truck.

  And then Sandy arrived. She sashayed into the surf shop, with a kid of about ten years old scampering at her side, and wound her way through the racks of surf gear to where I stood at the counter. Sandy was gorgeous. Straight dark hair, a perfect body that looked like she had spent plenty of time in a Pilates studio, and startling green eyes.

  “I’m Sandy,” she said. “And this is Daniel.” Her son looked up at me and smiled through braces. She extended her hand and a shimmery display of bracelets twinkled at me, diamonds and rubies that probably cost her husband a year’s salary. Her perfectly manicured, soft hand shook my calloused hand. I glanced at her left hand, which was decorated with a wedding ring that had a rock about the size of a grapefruit on it.

  Sandy and Daniel followed me in her silver Mercedes to Cardiff Reef, a beach that was perfect for a beginner. As Daniel hopped from foot to foot attempting to squeeze into the wetsuit, I caught Sandy checking me out. Her gaze roamed over my body, up and down, brazenly settling on my eyes. Her green eyes glistened.

  “So, Butch tells me you surf big waves,” Sandy said.

  “I do.”

  “That must be quite an adrenaline rush. Do you get to surf that famous place in Hawaii?”

  “You mean Jaws? Yeah, I surf Jaws.”
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  “Did you hear that, Danny? Jax surfs those big waves over in Hawaii. Remember when we went to Maui?”

  Daniel was busily tugging at his wetsuit and not paying much attention to his mom.

  “Maybe we can come watch next time you compete,” she said.

  This was a woman, I could tell, who was used to the finer things in life and had probably gone to one of those fancy finishing schools where they taught you which kind of spoon to use when dessert was served at a swanky resort. This was a woman who was used to champagne and caviar.

  Sandy took every opportunity to brush her body up against mine when she pretended to lean over and learn how to wax a surfboard. Her warm breasts grazed my arm and I felt aroused. Control yourself, Jax. Sandy was too rich for my blood and she was married. Besides, I was still thinking about Holly.

  * * *

  When we were finally done with the lesson, I waved goodbye to Sandy and Daniel from my truck. I picked up my phone and saw that Holly had left me a voice mail. “Got your message. I would love to see you again.”

  I called her back right away.

  “Hey there,” I said.

  “Well, hello yourself.”

  “So, about getting together …” I said. Hearing her voice, I involuntarily inhaled deeply, hoping for a whiff of her deliciousness.

  “How about if you come over to my house? I’ll whip up something in the kitchen.”

  “That sounds great. A bachelor certainly appreciates a home cooked meal. What’s your address?” She gave me her address and said it was right at the staircase to Brooks Street beach. I let out a low whistle. “Lucky. That’s one of the best surf spots in Laguna.”

  “Yeah, well, I do what I can.”

  We made small talk for a couple of minutes, ordinary stuff like how the waves were, how her work day was. It was nice to feel part of something so domestic for a change. Finally, I said, “See you tomorrow. And Holly … it’s really sweet of you to cook for me.”

  As I drifted off to sleep that night, listening to the waves crash below my picture window, a text alert sounded on my iPhone. It was from Sandy Farnsworth.

  Give me a call. I have a business proposition for you.

  Business proposition? Maybe it meant a little extra money.

  * * *

  The morning of my first date with Holly, I woke up at five, rolled out of bed and looked out the window. I had checked the tide chart app on my phone the day before, which also gave me an hour by hour prediction of the wind conditions as well as a prediction on the size of the waves for the day. The conditions were exactly as I’d hoped for: glassy, still, and no swell.

  The palm tree outside my house was always a good indicator of the wind, and sure enough, the palm fronds were still. I would’ve done what I planned no matter what, but the weather Gods had delivered perfection for stand up paddling the thirty-nine miles from Encinitas to Holly’s place in Laguna Beach.

  After Rosalyn left me, I had become, I suppose you could say, a romance specialist. It was one of the few things I was good at. I was amped to see Holly again and had bought her a bouquet of flowers, which I would secure at the base of my board with a baggie filled with water so they wouldn’t wilt while I paddled north. Holly was so lovely and deserved to be romanced and treated like a princess.

  “Hey, little guy,” I said to Blue-ee as I turned on the light in the kitchen and adjusted the dimmer switch so the little fish wouldn’t be startled by the early wake up call. He swam to the surface of his fish bowl when he saw me reach for the fish food, and I swear, it looked like he smiled.

  I whistled softly to myself as I prepared my pack for the day: almond butter and honey on sprouted-grain bread, bananas, and mixed nuts with raisins. I filled my Camelbak with water. It would take around twelve hours to make the paddle to Holly’s, so I figured I’d be there around six.

  As I launched my stand-up paddle board off the beach, the sun peeked over the horizon. My skin rippled with happy goosebumps at the thought of another day in the ocean. I felt peaceful and centered, like this was where I was born to be. I dug in with the paddle, the board responding like a lover. A flock of seagulls wheeled overhead, and a large pelican dove into the water right next to my board to snatch up his breakfast. I couldn’t think of a better way to start my day, unless it was waking up next to Holly with her hand on my hard-on.

  I mostly paddled hard, and every now and then, I’d sit down on the board, letting it drift while I ate my sandwiches, my legs dangling in the ocean, the sea kelp forest swaying below.

  It had been a while since I’d been on a real date because the first six months of grief over Tyler’s death had made it difficult to do anything other than survive day to day, let alone give attention to anyone else. Then, one day, I’d brushed myself off and did what I always did to feel better besides surf—romance and seduce the parade of beautiful women I had the extreme pleasure to spend time with. I’m not especially proud of what some would call my womanizing ways because some were really cool ladies who wanted to have relationships. “Sorry sweetheart, it’s not you, it’s me,” became my common refrain. My style was to walk away from everyone before they had a chance to walk away from me.

  After I finished eating my sandwich, I stood on my paddle board and made a strong push north. After I’d been paddling about twenty minutes, my arms pleasantly burning from the workout, I saw what looked like a person treading water. Adrenaline shot through my system. What’s he doing this far out in the ocean? I quickly paddled toward him. He wore—you’ve got to be kidding me—a tuxedo.

  “Hey man, you okay?” He looked like he was coming out of a trance at the sound of my voice.

  He stared at me with wide eyes. “What the hell … who are you? Where am I?” His head lolled back in the water, and he looked like he was about to sink. Then he popped his head back up, coughing up seawater. I quickly went into lifeguard mode and assessed him, kneeling down on my paddle board next to him. My mind rapidly ticked through the checklist: Was he breathing? Was he injured? Was he cut? Could he speak coherently?

  I reached out my hand. “What’s your name? I’m Jax.” When saving a person in the ocean, the important thing was not to panic and to make the person feel safe. “Hey buddy, grab ahold of my hand,” I said.

  He tried to swim away with ineffectual dog paddles. “I don’t want to see her. Ever again.”

  “I hear ya. Sometimes I feel the same way. Now, grab ahold of my hand.” He looked at me as though seeing me for the first time and gingerly held his hand out to mine. His hand was cold, his teeth chattering. “What’s your name?”

  “Mike.”

  “Pleased to meet you Mike. Now, how about you lie on the back of my board, and I’ll take you to shore.”

  “Just so long as she’s not waiting.”

  I helped Mike up onto the back of my board where he sat unsteadily, legs dangling over the side. It was a still, warm day, and it looked like Mike was none the worse for wear, so I remained calm. We were less than a mile from the Oceanside pier, and I was sure he’d be fine. He didn’t have any obvious signs of trauma or injury.

  “That’s some getup you got there, Mike. Since when do you wear a tuxedo to go swimming?”

  That netted me a small grin. “The girls made us dress up last night for dinner.”

  Mike told me he’d been one of four passengers on a private yacht headed from Newport Beach to San Diego. “That bitch didn’t think I saw her cozying up to the cook. ‘Don’t call me a cook’ is what he said. ‘I’m the chef.’ Fucking guy didn’t think I knew he was hot for my girlfriend.”

  Mike had had way too much to drink during dinner and gotten into a heated argument with his girlfriend. Then, after everybody was asleep, he’d stood on the deck of the boat, and seeing the city lights in the distance, thought it would be a good idea to make for the shore. Alcohol and bravado do not mix well with the ocean.

  “Used to be a pretty damn good competitive swimmer when I was in high school, ya know,
” he slurred.

  The wind whipped my face, and I could smell ocean air mixed with Mike’s alcohol-laden breath as we made our trek. “Promise me that next time you have a few, you call me first, buddy. I’ll be there with my paddle board, okay? Or better yet, break up with Ms. Flirty Girl when you’re on shore.”

  When we made it to shore, I waved to the lifeguard who dove into the ocean, racing toward us.

  “You guys okay?” the lifeguard said, quickly appraising the situation. “Shit, this is the dude they told us to be on the lookout for.”

  Between the lifeguard and me, we got Mike onto dry ground where he stumbled around, a few strands of seaweed hanging off the front of his ruffled tuxedo shirt.

  “You got this?” I said to the lifeguard.

  “Yeah, man. Hey … thanks. What’s your name?”

  “It’s Jax. Jax Priest. I gotta get going. You take care of my friend, okay?”

  And with that I was gone, leaving the lifeguard and Mike standing under the California sun and watching me paddle into the ocean.

  After I’d paddled a few more hours, my iPhone alerted me that I’d received a text. I took a break, unzipped my pack, and checked my phone. Another message from Sandy Farnsworth.

  Hey there. Give me a call.

  It could wait. I was almost to Laguna Beach, and I made a strong push with the paddle board. As a final cool down, I knelt on the board and paddled my way to shore. As I thought of seeing Holly’s smiling face a memory of Rosalyn intruded. I brushed the thought aside. It was Holly I wanted to get to know better.

  Holly

  I got home from work early the day Jax came over so I could tidy up my house and prepare dinner. On my way home, I’d stopped at Trader Joe’s to purchase roasted artichoke dip for a starter; a linguine dish that came with a decadent clam sauce; a spinach salad with gorgonzola cheese, dried cranberries, and walnuts; and a bottle of organic Cabernet.

  The adorable cottage I rented was nestled right on the beach. My place was cozy; I had filled it with comfortable down-filled furniture, plants, candles, and tons of photos of the trips I’d been lucky enough to take to warm, exotic places for vacation. Some of the photos featured Stan and me hiking, or biking, and there was even one from when we’d gone to Vail on a ski trip I had won in a sales contest. I took those pictures and hid them in a drawer. The last thing I needed that night was for Jax to be reminded of what had happened to his brother.