by Ronica Black
Cam felt the shock and betrayal wash over her face before she regained control of herself and put on a mask of indifference.
Blake gave a short, overly satisfied laugh, however, seemingly to let Cam know that she was wasting her time in her attempt to mask her feelings. Cam’s agitation grew, this time with herself for being so mercurial and so easily discernible. But what soon became more unsettling to her was the way she’d felt when Blake’s body had been mere inches from hers. There was something there. Something powerful. Blake had felt it too, Cam was sure of it. The tough girl act she was continuing to put on couldn’t mask her feelings any more than Cam’s did hers. Nevertheless, Cam continued with her act, too angry and spiteful now to give in.
“Okay then,” Cam said, forcibly calm with a hint of sounding blasé. “Show me how you’re going to use that to light the grill.”
“What?”
She pointed to the trophy Blake was holding ceremoniously in her hand. “Go on, show me.”
Blake opened the lid to the grill as if she were demonstrating the most obvious procedure in the universe. She aimed the lighter between the grates. “In here.”
“Wrong.”
Blake reddened beyond the pink tinge of her sunburn. “What do you mean wrong?”
Cam took the lighter from her and knelt. “You have to slide it into this hole near the base and then pull the trigger.” She showed her, as if Blake wouldn’t be able to figure out how to insert the lighter into a hole, and stood. “If you do it your way, you’ll get burned.”
“Fine. Thank you. I think I got it.”
Cam raised an eyebrow, feeling a little better now that she’d turned the tables a little. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure you don’t want me to do it?”
Blake narrowed her eyes. “I’m sure.”
Cam extended her hand and opened her palm. Blake retrieved her trophy like it was highly valued property. Property that Cam had intentionally stolen.
“Then have a good night, Blake. Don’t…blow yourself up.”
She stepped off the patio into the sand, leaving Blake standing there with the stick lighter in hand, held like Lady Liberty’s torch.
Chapter Seven
Cam slid a bottle of wine from the cooler next to her refrigerator without even checking to see what kind it was. She was unconcerned with the things she usually, and sometimes obsessively, paid mind to, like labels and flavors and aromas. She was currently seeking out the comfort the wine never failed to deliver rather than the ambiance. She was finally home for good for the evening, leaving Blake behind at Sloane’s. She may have left her behind in the physical sense, but it was the emotional sense she was now concerned with. The wine, hopefully, would help with that.
After opening the bottle effortlessly, she carried it, along with a glass, into the living room. She set them on the end table, sat lotus style on the couch, and then poured herself a full glass.
The first sip tasted like the remainder of the radiant sunset she could see just outside her picture windows. She could taste each individual color as they exploded to paint her mouth just like they were painting the sky. Red, orange, and pink on her tongue. Purple on her throat, a strong finish that lingered after she swallowed. The wine was well on its way to becoming the best fucking piece of art ever created.
Painting her from head to toe.
Yes. This was what she needed.
The sips she took were too big and the time between them too short. But the warmth and wooziness that came very soon thereafter, was…bliss. She stared endlessly out at the surface of the ocean, watching as the colors of the sunset changed like a kaleidoscope. She was usually entranced by the restlessness of the water and its impressive rendering of the evening sky. But tonight the beautiful brilliance created by nature could not hold her attention. It was the beautiful woman next door who still had hold of that, whether she wanted it or not. Cam was sure it was the latter, because that was how she felt as well. But neither of them seemed to have a choice in the matter. They were under each other’s skin.
Cam closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She had to think Blake away, but the task seemed impossible, despite the effects of the wine. She kept replaying their face-off on Sloane’s patio and what it had felt like being that close to her. She recalled Blake’s impassioned stare and the silent battle of wills it had evoked. It had caused a noticeable heaviness to the air as the unintentional chemistry between them intensified. Cam could almost imagine the tiny sparks that had been firing off all around them. Cam didn’t think anything could surpass the power of that moment until Blake took the lighter from her. The way the contours of her body felt as they’d pressed against hers was something she knew she wouldn’t be able to forget. Blake had unknowingly done something to her. Opened a door Cam long thought closed. It wasn’t all Blake’s fault. Cam had done well in shielding herself with Blake. But that stare. The longer she’d looked into her eyes, the weaker her resolve had become, eventually giving way to what Cam could only call a failure.
She blamed it on loneliness and lack of adequate time spent around beautiful, single women. Which, she had to confess, had been her own doing. And that, it seemed, had helped to keep her in that deep, dark hibernation for four years. Now that Blake had flung open the door and forced her to awaken, she was stirring back to life and stumbling some as she took her first steps back into the bright, blinding sun.
Yeah, so don’t be so hard on yourself.
I just…slipped up.
Let my guard down.
Got caught up in her exquisiteness as a woman.
And, for a second, imagined she was just as exquisite on the inside as well.
And her lips, beseeching as they were, made that all too easy to do.
She refilled her glass and toasted the end of the day as the sun dipped into the sea. Night was on the prowl now, chasing away any remaining light. Bruising the sky with black and blue, allowing for only the tiniest and sharpest of diamonds to begin to wink through. It was the same process every evening and she usually watched it from start to finish. Watched as the night tried to control the relentless arrival of the stars. Only to ultimately give in in the end, too many of those damned determined diamonds to contend with. It was just easier to let them keep coming and coming, piercing their way through until the dark sky was awash in glitter.
No one has control.
Not even the night.
Something always gets through.
Good. Bad.
Doesn’t matter.
Something will always find a way.
She swallowed more wine, depressed at having to forge through, what she was sure would be, another restless evening. Sleep was unlikely to come knocking. It had been bypassing her door, thumbing its nose at her off and on for a long while now. She never knew when it would choose to pay her a visit, so there was no predicting or planning of her nights. There was just acceptance and the kind assistance of the costly liquid that came in a bottle.
The wine soothed and sedated, but it did not make her sleep. She knew it had the ability, but she never drank enough to give it a chance. Drinking herself into a temporary oblivion was acceptable, necessary even. But drinking herself into a drooling coma was not. If she was going to go that route, she would’ve done so four years ago after—
She set the glass on the table, grabbed the remote and thumbed on the sound system. She found some music she could tolerate and traded the remote for her pen and leather bound journal. This was her daily routine, or should she say nightly ritual?
First, sunset.
Then wine.
And then, the journal.
One. Two. Three.
The only things that varied were the length of time she spent scribbling in the journal and what happened after she finally decided to give up. Those two things were as unpredictable as the taunting S.O.B. everyone else referred to as sleep.
She massaged her brow with her pen in hand, the
white pages staring up at her. Oftentimes they seemed to be mocking her, daring her to tear through the cobwebs of her creative mind and rummage through tattered, dusty, unlabeled boxes and yank something, anything, old or new, out and hold it up into the light and believe in it enough to actually write it down.
But the dozens of blank pages attested to the rarity of her finding anything worth putting to paper. The endless rummaging was too exhausting. It often turned her mind to mush. So even if she did happen to find something, chances are, she might not even have the wherewithal to accurately relay it from her mind to her pen.
She took a deep breath, knowing she had to try. Before the nightly ritual with the wine, before she lost…everything, this was how she coped. This was how she got through. Thinking. Dreaming. Creating.
Writing.
She cleared her head, let the music penetrate.
An image came.
Blake.
Her instinct was to fight it, but her defenses were drunk on the wine. Finally, her faithful elixir was working.
So, she went with it.
Allowed Blake to stay.
Allowed her to speak.
Allowed herself to listen, even though she didn’t like it.
She scribbled down the words. The ones Blake said and then the ones that came from her in response. Those words led to feelings. And suddenly she couldn’t write fast enough. She filled one page and moved on to the next, the words flowing like a raging river. She had so much to say, so much to describe when it came to Blake.
She wrote until her hand cramped and continued through that, until the stream of words trickled to a stop.
She closed the book, feeling breathless, like she’d just flat out sprinted until her body gave out. In a way, that’s what she’d done. Her mind had flat out sprinted until it gave out. And just like an unconditioned body, it hadn’t been able to take her very far.
But it was a start.
It was something.
And now her blood was thrumming, her synapses were firing, and she was ready for another sprint. She left the wine and took the journal. She walked into her den, switched on the soft light of her desk lamp, and sat. Then she unzipped her computer case and pulled out her laptop. She had to plug it in to get it going, but once she opened it up and saw the stark white screen come to life, there was a rush of adrenaline and she could almost feel her pupils dilate as if she’d just injected a hit of something highly powerful and addictive into her veins.
Her hands hovered above the illuminated keyboard.
Blake materialized in her mind again and she began typing, pecking away madly at the keys. She realized she didn’t have to reread what she’d written in the journal. There were just words there. Adjectives. Short, straightforward descriptions and depictions. Reactions and ruminations. But those words had opened the gates to the meatier goods. And now that she had access once again she was running wild, gathering all that she could like a crazed holiday shopper on Black Friday.
She kept the hurried pace up for a while, worried her access might once again be denied. Eventually though, she began to relax, growing more and more confident that the key she’d been given would continue to work from this point on. She fell into a comfortable rhythm as she created a new world. A world inspired by the woman next door. A world unlike anything she’d ever created before.
As she continued to write well into the night, the woman who’d inspired her was probably sleeping peacefully in the house next door, having no idea what she’d done.
Having no idea she’d shaken Cam back to life.
Shaken her back into existence.
Chapter Eight
The muted gray of dawn was shattered by the golden light of the rising sun as Blake slowed from her early morning run on the quiet beach. The salty air cooled her moist skin as it blew in off the sea. Her surroundings were serene, almost like a dream. A dream she couldn’t yet seem to fully appreciate.
She’d pushed herself on her run, challenging herself to maintain a stride that was beyond her usual limit. Now, as she struggled to steady her breathing and calm a body that was beginning to ache, she searched for a reason for this newfound determination.
Why today of all days? The first day of her so-called relaxing vacation?
She rested her hands on her head to open her lungs and inhaled deeply as she walked along the firm, wet sand. The stabbing stitch in her chest subsided and her muscles went from burning to twitching. Those were the telltale signs she was going to be sore, and she knew she was lucky she hadn’t hurt herself.
So, why did I force myself to run like the devil himself was chasing me?
A dog barked from the perimeter of the houses, slicing through the serene silence. Then another dog joined the first, and their volume increased and she realized they might be alerting to her approach. She shaded her brow and scanned the homes. She was nearing Sloane’s, which was only three houses away. A tiny thought pricked her brain. Cam’s house was just ahead. She had to pass it to get to Sloane’s. She’d ignored its presence altogether when she’d set out on her run earlier. She hadn’t given Cam or her home a second thought, or a second glance.
Two dogs appeared in the soft sand ahead. Their tails swished back and forth in excitement. She headed up the slight incline, warming at the prospect of petting them. She hadn’t had the chance to interact with a dog in months, and she couldn’t help but feel as excited as they seemed to be as she approached. Her own dog, Rascal, had been taken by her former girlfriend, Felicia, when she’d up and left. They’d adopted Rascal, an adorable brown terrier mix, together and she’d honestly been more heartbroken at the loss of him than she was over Felicia.
Guess that says it all.
The dogs standing in front of her looked to be border collie mixes. One was black and tan, the other a red and white. They remained where they were, waiting for her to come to them, something she found unusual. Most dogs would’ve already bounded up to her.
“Hey, guys,” she said as she reached them. She held her hand out for them to sniff. They licked her enthusiastically but they didn’t jump up on her and they didn’t overwhelm her. They just bounced in place. “You’re very polite,” she said, noticing their leather collars and dangling ID charms. “Extremely polite. Someone has taught you manners.” She knelt and massaged their fur. They were both clean and smelled as if they’d recently been shampooed. “Yes, someone loves you very much. Where are they, huh? Where’s your owner?”
She’d yet to see another soul on the beach thus far that morning, and she hoped the dogs weren’t wandering around unsupervised.
“Boys, come,” a smooth voice said.
Blake perked, along with the dogs. She stood and the dogs took off, racing through the sand to join another similar looking black and tan dog whom they greeted affectionately. Then the three of them turned and trotted to the one who’d called for them.
Blake felt her smile fall.
Cam.
At once, the reason she had been searching for, the one spurring her newborn need to test her limits, became clear.
It wasn’t the devil she’d been running from.
It was Cam.
After all, she was the one who’d kept her up all night, tossing and turning, unable to settle enough to sleep. She was the one relentlessly infiltrating her mind, with her caustic but well-composed and calmly delivered words. Along with her enigmatic stare and her dangerously enticing looks.
“I hope they didn’t bother you,” Cam said in that same infuriating easy manner of hers. It quickly and effectively smothered Blake’s rising temper though, as well as the fury she’d felt as soon as she’d realized that it had done so.
Blake’s bite was disabled and it had been done so effortlessly by the woman standing barefoot in front of her, wearing an unassuming outfit of gray, frayed cotton capris and a white, soft-looking shirt that showed off her forearms thanks to her having pushed the sleeves up. The wind tousled her hair, but it couldn’t seem to cau
se the chaos it was intending. Because when it finally gave up and stopped, she looked the same. Casual. Natural. As if she’d just stepped out of bed, slipped on some clothes she had strewn over a chair, ran her fingers through her hair, and walked outside looking infallibly perfect. As if she never gave her appearance a second thought.
Blake wanted to be envious. Jealous even.
But she was too enraptured by her unintentional perfection. Too moved by her mere existence.
She didn’t know a woman like that walked the face of the earth. A woman who not only didn’t seem to care about her looks but had absolutely no need or reason to.
“They’re not used to someone being on the beach so early,” Cam said.
She sounded clueless to Blake’s analysis of her.
She just stood there, hands in her pockets, looking so relaxed and carefree, almost like she had no bones to rigid her body, and Blake wondered if she might just suddenly ooze down into the sand. The dogs sat at her feet, tongues out, tails sweeping the sand, gazing up at her, as if they, too, were mesmerized by her tranquility.
“They didn’t bother me,” Blake finally said, walking once again toward Sloane’s, which also meant she was headed for Cam. “They’re cute and very well-mannered.”
“They didn’t scare you, then?”
“Oh, no. They were perfect gentlemen. And besides, I’m not afraid of dogs. I—love them, actually.” She was contemplative as she smiled.
Cam studied her and Blake thought she saw something different in her eyes. A surfacing curiosity perhaps, like she wanted to ask her something. But the return of the breeze seemed to have blown it away.
“They know better than to leave the patio without permission. So, rest assured, I’ll make sure they don’t disturb you again.”
“No,” Blake said. “There’s no need to—they didn’t bother me.”
“Even so I can’t have them running after people, barking like that.” She whistled and the dogs followed on her heels as she climbed the few steps to her patio.
