by Kenya Wright
“Really? Mr. Fucking Sunshine to the rescue again.” She sighed. “Nude modeling?”
“Very nude. Yes.” I signed a cross in front of me. “And I would be the perfect gentleman. I’ll even give you the painting when I’m done.”
“That would be so cool, but I can’t pose.” She shook her head and that cute blush returned. “I’m too shy.”
“Everyone is scared at first.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You’re a big-time author. I’ll be framing the icon of our century.”
“An icon that’s very nude. I don’t think so.”
I had looked Yaz up. Her first book was an erotic story with an island setting—one similar to Key West. In fact, she had seven books in that series and people appeared to love it. She penned several more about a group of spies that fell in love with the women involved in their missions. Lots of women raved about her online. I read their blogs and tweets, laughing at their obsessive shouts of glee, demanding book number eight be written soon. The public loved her. She’d hit the New York Times in her debut and continued to top the list with later releases.
“How did you know I wrote?” she asked.
“I looked you up.”
“I feel bad. I didn’t look you up.”
“Good. It means that you’re not nosy.”
“I actually am. I was just tired. I’ll look you up tonight.”
“I don’t want you to look me up.”
“Why not? You’ve always been a freaking boy scout. I doubt you did time in jail for mass murder or global terrorism.”
I forced a smile. “Yeah...it’s not that bad.”
I guess.
She checked her watch. “Dang it. I was already supposed to be up there.” She frowned at me. “Next time, come out earlier. I want to hang out with you.”
“Then let me paint you tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t. I’m too much of a punk.”
“I understand.” I got up from her towel and helped her dust off the sand, fold it, and handed it to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Maybe on the beach,” she said.
“But not in my studio?”
“No. That’s not happening.”
“Damn it. Then, I think I need a spell.”
“Why?”
I covered my face. “Because you’ve just broke my heart!”
“Oh, stop it.” She left in the most delicious way, twisting those hips and laughing. And I watched those beautiful globes of her ass bounce and jiggle.
I came damn close to racing after her and taking her away.
We’re not fucking Yaz. Calm down.
Chapter 3
Yasmine
It felt weird being back at Heartbreak Hotel. I scanned the space and couldn’t believe I’d returned. For the past five years, I was certain Greg would be the man I’d love forever.
Now here I am again.
And so many memories rushed to my mind—happy and sad. Bumping into Hawk hadn’t helped the weird sensations, either. Last night, I kept waking up to the oddest dreams of him and me as kids—skinny-dipping trick or treating, and that one winter’s mistletoe disaster where he kissed my closed eyelids instead of my mouth.
My head wouldn’t let me out of the past. It was like the universe was forcing me to look at Hawk and his presence in my younger days. By morning, I woke with barely any sleep. I ended up being exhausted all day, feeling like I’d just fought a time machine and the damn thing won.
Later, I sat in front of my laptop and couldn’t even muster the energy to write. I was sure my publisher would be sending me a hateful email soon. I’d signed a three-book deal to write whatever I wanted and nothing had come since my breakup with Greg.
I hated this feeling, writing in the face of uncertainty. There was all this fear inside of me; fear that my fate lay in only my weakened hands. Fear that my damaged brain couldn’t complete the unwritten stories in my head. Fear that I had nothing worthwhile for anyone to read.
Fear lay behind and ahead.
Half the time, the process of becoming a writer dealt with learning how to accept myself. After this Greg debacle, I’d lost me.
Dinner was hectic. I’m just going to unpack and then pass out in bed.
The attic had been converted into my apartment. After helping my sister with dinner and poker night, I spent the rest of the evening getting comfortable, which pretty much meant hooking up the TV and unloading all my junk. Wind chimes and sage. Chakra posters and statues of my favorite elephant-headed god—Ganesha. Then I moved my bed around and got everything to follow the rules of Feng Shui.
Cindy is going to freak out.
My phone buzzed, stopping me from decorating. I checked the screen and frowned. It was several messages from my ex.
What the hell do you want?
I read the texts.
Greg: Yasmine, I swear. I’m innocent.
He’d been texting those lines since I’d left him.
Me: How can U be innocent when I walked in on a woman giving you a blow job?
Greg: Answer the phone. Let me explain.
Me: No.
Greg: Then, fine. We’re done.
I put the phone down and sighed. The damn thing buzzed again. I picked it up and checked.
Greg: When U left, U took all my books?
Brother, please. Are you kidding me?
Me: Really? Ur books?
Greg: Yes. All the leather-bound ones.
Me: I bought those books and U never read them.
Greg: Doesn’t matter. I want them back.
Me: Ur so full of crap. If U can freaking even name one book’s title, I may consider shipping them back to u!
Greg: The Jane Austin ones and those ones by the sisters.
Me: U don’t even know the titles!
He didn’t respond. Feeling nice and petty, I delivered a long line of laughing-to-tears emojis. I wished there was a go-fuck-yourself emoji.
I didn’t know why, but Greg liked to bother me. It wasn’t enough that he’d cheated and broken my heart. Now he texted me about trivial things as if trying to get me back for something. What did he expect me to do when I’d walked in on him and another girl? Did he think I would stay after that? Did he think it would all be the same, that I needed to marry him?
He’d been a spoiled brat our whole relationship. His parents had money and took care of him. Once we got together, I took over their job. I cleaned, I cooked, I washed his dirty drawers and picked up his dishes. He’d go out and party at night. I’d stay in our apartment and write. The more I thought back to our relationship, the more I knew we really hadn’t been a match.
Just as I was about to put my phone back down, it buzzed again.
Greg: Those books are mine.
Me: So...Ur freaking serious? U cheat on me and demand I give you back books that I bought u that u didn’t read?
Greg: I want my books back.
Sighing, I cracked my fingers and prepared to give him a text-lashing.
Me: Well, I want those 5 years back! I’m sorry, but I won’t give the books back. You know nothing about great words. You don’t appreciate beauty, you just throw good things away. And the books were good! And I was good! And so, we’re leaving together!
I shut the phone off and returned to my room. Sadly, part of me was glad that Greg was still thinking of me, even though it was just to be an asshole. After all these years together, there were parts of me that still yearned for him.
I hadn’t fled LA because I hated him. I’d rushed off because the more days I loved him, the more I continued to hate myself.
I stared back at the phone and considered turning it back on to see if Greg replied.
Ignore him.
These past days had been mentally exhausting. So many exertions ran through my mind. I recalled past conversations, reevaluating every word. Greg’s silent moments and odd behavior began to make sense. The late nights, th
e lack of intimacy between us. After analyzing clue after clue, I began beating myself up, wondering why I hadn’t noticed the signs.
Forget about it. You can’t change the past.
I turned to a shelf of my old dolls that I’d made when I was ten, little velvet ones of many shades with beads for eyes, yarn for hair, and cowrie shells for lips. They stared at me.
“Don’t ever get engaged to a douche bag,” I told them and returned to organizing my stuff. “You’ll end up walking in on him getting a blow job in your bed.”
Get your mind off Greg. He doesn’t deserve the attention.
When I finished unpacking, I shut off the lights and decided to go to sleep.
A huge window lay next to my bed. I rested my head on the pillow and watched moonlit waves crash into each other. There was nothing else to see. With the night here, the great white herons didn’t linger in backyards or on the beach, hunting for food. They were now asleep in their lofty stick nests atop the mangroves of remote rookery keys.
Hawk’s house lay directly in my view. All the rooms were pitch black, except the one on the second floor. I wondered if it was his.
Don’t think about Greg. If anything, think about Hawk.
I didn’t know if I was imagining things, but Hawk was flirting on the beach this afternoon. Lust glazed in his eyes. Or it could’ve just been me, projecting my own feelings of horniness.
I can’t believe he asked me to nude model for him. Should I have said yes? If I can do a spell on the beach in a formal gown, surely taking off my clothes and being painted wouldn’t be crazy.
Our conversation on the beach had been interesting, acquiring a sense of carefulness. Boundaries were tested, tricky territory. Something had happened to him and it didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it. I wasn’t going to make him either. We all had our problems in life, just getting by anyway we could. I wouldn’t even look it up on google. If he wanted to tell me what happened one day, I would listen and let him unload his demons.
For now, we would just participate in a little harmless flirting.
Is it harmless? And are we just flirting?
Hawk had a way of focusing on me that flattered my bruised ego. So gorgeous and charming, a few days with that man and I could drown in a false sense of security. He didn’t even try to hide it. It was like he kept warning me to never think he was an option for love, but still heating me up. I thought about that cheesy warning he would give to other women.
“I would be your death wish. You should guard your heart when you’re around me.”
All lies. It had to be. I had many memories with Hawk and he’d never hurt me. He’d always been there holding and protecting me.
“Who pushed you down?” Hawkins towered over me. “Parker or Terry?”
I got up from the sand and wiped myself off. “Terry, but I’m going to kick Parker’s butt too.”
“Yeah,” Hawkins had said. “Me too.”
On the beach, Parker and Terry were now far off in the distance closer to their house.
We ran their way.
The evil boys had taken our boat and paddles and were now dragging it toward the ocean.
“We have to stop them.” I zipped past Hawkins who could barely keep up. His belly jiggled as he waddled forward, huffing and puffing with each step.
Parker and Terry turned our way, stopped what they were doing, and fell on the ground laughing at us.
Hawkins and I must’ve been a ridiculous sight—a big chubby white boy and a bony black girl with an afro that was bigger than her head.
Granted, I’d been singing the adventure song too, pumping us up.
“To the rescue! To the res-cue, my friend!” I sang with a roar. “We’re going to whip your butts. We’re going to make you scream! To the res-cue.”
Parker and Terry were now rolling over in laughter, unable to get control of themselves. Our boat washed away with a wave. But it didn’t matter. We would swim out to get it after we kicked some villain behind.
“To the res-cue, my friend!”
Hawkins didn’t sing because he was barely keeping up and catching his breath. And he thought the song was stupid. Regardless, I sang loud enough for the both of us.
“To the rescue! To the res-cue, my friend!” I jumped on Terry, punching him in the face just like Victor had taught me.
“Ah!” Terry screamed.
My fingers cracked. I figured I broke them, but it didn’t matter.
“We’re going to kick your butt.” I socked him in his gut. “We’re going to make you scream.” I kneed him in the balls. “To the rescue!”
“Get her off me!” Terry cried and pushed me away.
I rolled onto the sand and looked behind me.
Hawkins was a mountain. All he had to do was crash into Parker and it was game over. Parker lay under Hawkins in the sand, begging for his life. “Please, I’ll give it back. Just get off me! I’ll do anything!”
I roared in victory. “To the rescue, my—”
“Cherry Bomb, enough,” Hawkins said. “Get the paddles.”
“Good idea. I can hit Terry with them.” I rose.
“No!” Terry raced to his house screaming. “You both are crazy!”
I laughed. “You better run!”
“Cherry Bomb.” Hawkins kept a crying Parker to the ground. “Get the paddles and run away before he goes and gets his mom.”
“That’s right.” I nodded.
We got into so much trouble that day.
No one ever understood our super hero adventures.
Back in the attic, I laughed until tears spilled from my eyes. For one minute, I considered getting up and going over to Hawk and telling him about that moment. He would’ve probably thought I was crazy and forgot about it all.
These memories had come back for a reason. The universe was always saying something. Every day there were signs, if one chose to see them.
Maybe the universe is saying that Hawk’s friendship is just what I need to heal.
He damn sure had healed me long ago. I wouldn’t have gotten through mourning my parents without him. I didn’t know why the universe had brought him back into my life or what purpose he would hold, but I was willing to listen and experience it all.
Hawk would be a fun distraction for this week or however long he decided to stay. But nothing more. Just friends. Relationship wise, Hawk was probably the type of guy who would run me in circles, and then move on to the next woman without a glance over his shoulder. He was a Barron boy after all.
Nothing more. Just a fun distraction. A renewal of a wonderful friendship. Nothing else.
As a chilly breeze came in, I gazed out the window and lay within my warm blankets.
A couple walked on the beach in the moonlight—a blonde woman and a tall, dark-haired man. The woman wore a little black dress that fit her model-thin body like a second skin. She didn’t look happy, a frown on her face as she gazed away from the guy walking next to her. Every time he tried to grab her hand, she smacked it away. He said something to her and she shook her head and wiped her eyes.
I wonder what he did.
I rolled over in the bed, not caring to look at another woman’s heartbreak.
Been there and done that.
In that moment, I realized that the best part of being alone was no more crying myself to sleep at night.
Chapter 4
Hawk
My ex-wife, Lisa had never given me any indication that she was psychotic. She was always happy—always joking about this or that, always giving me gifts and leaving me notes on how she loved me. For God’s sake, when she wrote the letter O, she put a smiley face in the center.
Lisa, the Black Widow, had been the first woman I dated in college. I’d met her through Brett. They’d been part of a private club—odd pre-law students that met on the weekends and tried to break down gory unsolved true crimes. At the time, I didn’t think she’d started killing. My investigators had never discovered any victims i
n her past although there’d been some unexplained instances with her pets dying. Nonetheless, the college years were when she elevated her interest in murder.
We started dating. Two years later, we graduated and moved in together. Another year and I proposed with my grandmother’s wedding ring. I believed that I was lucky to have found her. Not one time we argued. There was never a heated moment. My friends envied the ease of our relationship.
It had been too easy. Too fake. And I would’ve noticed, if I’d really paid attention.
And then men started dying around me.
And I never knew it was all due to her until the end.
Who would? How many people would assume that their lover was a psychopath? Who would ever think that the person they kissed at night had just been stabbing their friend to death?
Stop thinking about it.
Breathing, I returned my mind back to my bedroom.
If you’re going to think about something, think about Yaz.
Several days had passed since talking to Yaz.
There was only this one morning where I’d gone outside to find inspiration. I held my camera and snapped images of the dawning sun and the chocolate brown pelicans, diving twenty feet above the waters and scoring the area of fresh fish. I’d even caught a white pelican with its ten-foot wingspan and long yellow beak herding fish into an ever-narrowing circle.
I’d marveled at those winged-hunters, but then I’d caught sight of my own prey.
Yaz.
Cindy, Yaz, and other female guests had strolled outside, right as the sun hit the sky. They all wore yoga clothes, but Yaz’s pants fit her the best. It made me want to pull the thin fabric away and fuck her hard right on the sand.
I held my camera mid-air, unable to focus on anything but her.
Yaz waved at me and I forced myself to nod back.
And then Cindy started her yoga class and my erection came as Yaz got on all fours, sticking that fat ass up into the air.
Damn it.
She’d had me hot for her, so fucking hot I could barely think or snap a damn picture. And as Yaz shifted in and out of lovely flexible positions, all I could think about was her being naked under me.
My skin warmed.
Look away. Damn it.
