Could Be the One: (Lucas and Becca) (A Back to Jetty Beach Romance Book 2)

by Claire Kingsley

  I rake the towel over my hair a few times and wrap it around my waist. I wander over to the front window and glance outside. Becca is struggling to close her trunk with her arms full of grocery bags. I haven’t seen much of her since she locked her keys in her car a few days ago. I’m not avoiding her, exactly. But I haven’t gone out of my way to see her, either. She’s a little too attractive. Too tempting. I should have known better when Juliet said her best friend needed a place to live. Juliet’s hot—not that I’d say that in front of Finn—so I shouldn’t be surprised her friend is too. I could have told Jules the apartment was already rented. Having a woman like Becca living next door is an invitation to trouble.

  She slams the trunk shut and looks at her car with a self-satisfied smile. Honestly, could she be any cuter? She’s like this sweet little cherub, with her bouncy blond ponytail and perky tits. And that ass. Damn, she has a great ass, and she’s wearing a pair of shorts that show off every curve.

  Welp, looks like jerking off is suddenly on the agenda.

  It takes no time at all to get off. I start thinking about Becca, wondering if she’s hiding a naughty side under that good girl exterior. Maybe she isn’t hiding it. Maybe it’s repressed. Fuck, that’s even better. I imagine doing all sorts of dirty things to her, and I come so hard it makes my vision go dark for a second.

  Shit.

  Well, I guess if I’m going to live next door to a hot girl, at least she makes a fucking awesome jack-off fantasy.

  I call my dad back and he wants me to come down to his store. He owns the local hardware store—it’s been in the family for two generations. Unfortunately, he’s always wanted me to take over for him when he retires. I worked in his store up until I went to college. I knew how to work the cash register from the time I was about ten. He pushed me hard to get a business degree, so I’d be prepared to take over for him someday. He was pissed as fuck when I switched to finance. Even more pissed when I stayed in New York and didn’t move home after I graduated.

  When I did eventually move home, he figured I’d step right back into his plans for me. That was the reason I almost didn’t come. But my life crashed and burned pretty hard in New York, and I was ready for the slower pace of small town living. I could have moved somewhere random where I don’t know anyone—and believe me, I almost did. But at the end of the day, Jetty Beach is home. It’s like a completely different world from other places I’ve lived, and that’s a lot of its appeal. I still work on East Coast time, so I’m up early—but I’m done early too. I can spend my afternoons surfing, or meeting up with friends, or even just hanging out by myself at my place. Jetty Beach is full of tourists for a lot of the year, so it’s easy to meet women. So for the most part, I’m glad I moved home. Although dealing with my dad can be a pain in the ass.

  I head over to his store and find him in the back. He’s dressed in his usual weathered jeans and Murphy’s Hardware t-shirt.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Here, help me with these.” He gestures to a stack of brown cardboard boxes.

  I let out a breath to suppress my annoyance, and help him without complaining. He always makes me do something when I come by, under the guise of helping, like I’m still his employee. We move the stack of boxes from one place to another—I guess there’s a point to it, but I don’t know what it is.

  “So, what’s up, Dad?” I ask when we finish. “Did you call me down here because you needed an extra set of hands, or was there something else?”

  “I heard from your mother the other day.”

  That gets my attention. My parents divorced when I was in college, after my dad found out my mother had been having a long-running affair. She moved to northern California and married the prick. I didn’t go to the wedding. Since then, Mom and I patched things up, for the most part. I see her a couple times a year, and do my best not to punch the asshole she’s married to in the teeth. But I know she and my dad don’t talk very often.

  “What’s up with her?”

  “She wanted to talk about you.”

  “Why did she call you to talk about me?” I ask. “She has my number.”

  “Don’t ask me why that woman does anything,” Dad says. “I guess she’s worried about you, and she doesn’t think you’ll tell her if something is wrong.”

  Oh, great. Here we go. “And obviously you told her I’m fine.”

  “I’d be happy to tell her you’re fine if that were true,” he says.

  “Except that it is true,” I say. “There’s literally nothing wrong with me. I think that meets the definition of fine.”

  Dad presses his lips in a thin line and turns away.

  “Oh, no,” I say. “We’re not doing that thing where you look at me all disdainfully, but won’t tell me what the fuck is wrong.”

  “Watch your mouth,” he says.

  “Fuck, Dad. Fuck.”

  He glares at me. “This is what I mean. You’re too old to keep acting like a child.”

  “I’m sorry, I won’t swear in front of you. But I don’t think a couple f-bombs make me a child.”

  “You move back here, but you refuse to work for me,” he says. “And even worse, you won’t get a real job.”

  “I have a real job.”

  “What you do isn’t a real job,” he says. “Who do you work for? Who’s your boss? Do you have benefits? You’re basically gambling, Lucas. That’s not a career.”

  “I work for myself, and I prefer it that way,” I say. “We’ve been over this. I’m good at what I do. I’m not just good—I’m amazing at it. And it’s hardly gambling. Yeah, it’s risky, but I’m not risk averse. And I’m smarter with my money than you give me credit for.”

  I also make a lot more money than he realizes. I think he’d get off my back if I showed him what I have in my bank account. Multiple bank accounts. But I never go there. I’m worried it would hurt his pride too much. My dad is a hard-working man, but he’s never had much. Most years, his store is in the black, and we always had what we needed, if not a lot more. But he’s going to have to keep working hard until the day he retires to eke out that meager living, and if it weren’t for the money I’ve been putting aside for him, he’d be lucky to retire when he’s eighty. I’d like him to understand how successful I am, but I’m afraid it will hurt him more than it will ease his concerns about me.

  “It isn’t just your so-called job,” he says. “You act like you’re still an eighteen-year-old kid. The surfing, the girls. Don’t think I’m not aware of your reputation around town when it comes to women.”

  “I don’t have a reputation.”

  He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Even your mother heard.”

  “Heard what?”

  “It’s all this social media crap,” he says. “Your mother has friends on, what is it, Facebook? She’s friends with some people from town, one of them being Diane Miller.”

  Oh, great. “Angela Miller’s mother?”

  “That’s the one,” he says.

  Angela Miller is the reason I no longer eat at the Porthole Inn. She’s a waitress there, and I’m pretty sure she wants to murder me.

  “I don’t know what Diane Miller told Mom, but it’s none of their business,” I say.

  “Why can’t you just date a girl, like most men your age?” he asks. “Haven’t you sowed enough wild oats?”

  “I’m not sowing anything, and that’s such a weird expression,” I say. “I had a thing with Angela. I was honest with her from the beginning, but we wanted different things. End of story.”

  “I still don’t understand why you didn’t stay with that girl in New York,” he says. “What was her name?”

  “Valerie,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Right, Valerie,” he says.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. Valerie is not my favorite subject. “You were pissed when I stayed in New York with her. Now you’re pissed that I’m not with her?”

  “At least you were settled.”

  “I thoug
ht so too, but she had other ideas about what settled meant,” I say. “I don’t want to talk about Valerie, Dad.”

  “You’re going to wind up getting some girl pregnant,” he says. “I thought once you were done with high school, I wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore.”

  I groan. “Dad, I’m a grown man. I haven’t been a stupid teenager for a very long time. You really don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. My job is good. I’m making a good living, and I take care of myself.” And I’m going to take care of you when you’re too old to work, so shut it, Dad. “As far as dating, or whatever, I know Mom wants me to find the one and settle down. I have no idea why she’s suddenly so obsessed with that idea. But I’m sorry to tell you, that’s not me. If she’s looking for a big wedding and a bunch of grandchildren, she’s going to be disappointed.”

  My dad takes a deep breath. “All right. If she calls again, I’ll tell her to quit fretting. I don’t know why she’s suddenly so worried about you settling down, but she is.”

  “My life is awesome, Dad,” I say. “Seriously. I don’t want to change a thing.”

  He raises one eyebrow at me, like he’s skeptical.

  “And speaking of my awesome life…” I back away, hoping he’s not going to rope me into something else. “I have to go.”

  “All right. Bye, son.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief as I get in my car. You’d think my parents would have quit trying to meddle with my life by now.

  Becca’s car isn’t there when I get home. Before I can wonder what she’s up to, she pulls up behind me and parks in her spot.

  I get out of the car and grin at her. “Hey, neighbor.”

  She looks down at the keys in her hand before shutting her door, and I suppress a chuckle.

  “Hey. How’s it going?” she asks.

  “Can’t complain,” I say. “Are you all unpacked?”

  She walks around to the front of her car, holding a small shopping bag from my dad’s store. That’s funny. I wonder if we were just there at the same time.

  “Yeah, pretty much.” She holds up the bag. “I just needed a few things to hang some pictures. Although, maybe I should have asked if it’s okay first?”

  “Sure,” I say. “Nail holes are no big deal to patch later. Need any help?”

  She glances toward her front door, then back at me. “Um, no, I think I can handle it.”

  “You sure? I don’t mind.”

  I have no idea why I’m pushing this, or why the smile that crosses her face makes me glad I did.

  “Okay, I guess so,” she says. “Come on in.”

  All right, part of why is that I’m curious what her apartment looks like.

  She unlocks the door and we head inside. Her place is everything I thought it would be. No, it’s more than I thought it would be. She has a light gray couch with pink throw pillows in the corners, and a cream-colored coffee table. Her little round dining table has two chairs painted white with turquoise legs, and there’s a Mickey Mouse clock already hanging on one wall. Everything looks expensive—not a piece of Ikea furniture in sight—and it’s right on the edge of being too girly for a grown woman. But not quite.

  “Cute place,” I say.

  “Thanks,” she says. “Just no going upstairs. Down here looks pretty put together, but upstairs is still a disaster.”

  “No worries,” I say, although of course my curiosity extends to what her bedroom looks like. “So, what are you hanging?”

  “This.” She grabs a large framed picture that’s leaning against the wall and turns it so I can see.

  It’s a watercolor, almost abstract, but the shape is the silhouette of a man, and a woman in a dress, facing each other.

  “That’s pretty.”

  “Thanks,” she says with a big smile. “It’s Sleeping Beauty, from the Disney movie. It’s one of my favorites. I figure this is subtle enough that it doesn’t look like I have little kid art on my wall.”

  She gets out the box of picture hardware from the plastic bag and eyes it for a few seconds.

  “Do you have a hammer?” I ask.

  “Right,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”

  She runs upstairs and comes back holding a pink plastic box with a small handle. She opens it and her eyebrows draw together. Inside are a few tools—hammer, screwdriver, crescent wrench. All with pink handles.

  Of course her tools are pink.

  “These look really stupid,” she says. “My dad bought this for me so I’d have some tools. He tends to go a little overboard on the girly stuff.”

  I shrug and grab the hammer. “Hey, if it works, it works.”

  I help her hang the picture above the couch. She steps back and eyes it for a moment, then smiles at me. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “Anytime,” I say. “So, dropped any more fuck bombs lately?”

  Her face gets a little pink—and I get a little hard.

  “I don’t think so,” she says.

  “Need to?” I ask. “Or is everything great in Becca-land, so profanity isn’t necessary.”

  “I think I’m good. The Brandon thing…” She waves a hand, like she’s dismissing the issue. “I’m getting over it. Anyone who could do that doesn’t deserve me. So…”

  She trails off, but I know she’s on the brink of saying it. I raise my eyebrows and smile at her.

  “So, fuck him,” she says.

  “Yes!” I hold out my fist and she bumps it with hers. “Good girl.”

  I hesitate for a second. I kind of want to stay and hang out with her, but I don’t want it to get weird. She glances at me like she’s not sure what to do next either.

  “All right, cool. Let me know if you need help with anything else.” I jerk my thumb in the direction of my place. “You know where to find me.”

  “Thanks,” she says, and her blush deepens. “I will.”

  We say goodbye. I head straight upstairs when I get into my apartment. That thing she does where she gets all flushed and warm-looking is killing me. I need to jerk off again.

  5

  Becca

  Juliet’s text comes at just the right time.

  Meet me at the pub? I don’t have a lot of time, but I want to see you!

  I text back. I’d love to! Be there soon.

  It’s been a busy week, and I haven’t seen Juliet at all. I’ve been unpacking and trying to get settled, which is taking forever. But I love being able to put things where I want without worrying about what my roommate or boyfriend thinks. It’s very freeing.

  Sleeping alone is getting easier too. I’m ashamed to admit, I was nervous about sleeping in my apartment by myself. I wondered if every little noise was going to freak me out. But it’s been fine.

  Knowing Lucas is right on the other side of the wall makes it easier. If something horrible did happen—like a home invasion, or a huge spider—I know I could run over there and he’d help.

  However, I’m going to avoid that if at all possible. I don’t need to go running to someone else every time something intimidating happens. That’s what I’ve always done, and I’m going to stand on my own two feet, even if that means killing a spider.

  Maybe. I might make an exception if the spider is really big.

  I head down to Donal’s Irish Pub and find Juliet sitting at the bar. Her fiancé, Finn, owns the pub, and often works as the bartender. Finn is a total sweetheart, with messy dark hair and nice eyes. The best part about him is the way he looks at Juliet, like the sun rises and sets with her.

  Juliet hops off her stool to hug me. “Hey! How’s the new place?”

  “It’s good,” I say. “I still have some unpacking to do, but it’s getting there.”

  “Awesome,” she says. We both slide up onto a stool and face each other. “I’m excited to see it. I haven’t come by because I didn’t want to overwhelm you before you’re ready for visitors. But if you need help, just ask, okay?”

  “Oh, I know,” I say. “I’m fine, an
d I’ll have you guys over soon.”

  Finn passes me a drink. It’s my favorite, a Dirty Shirley. I never have to order when I’m here. He always guesses what I want, and somehow he’s always right.

  “Have you met Lucas yet?” she asks. “I guess you kind of met him before, but I wasn’t sure if you guys remembered each other.”

  I try not to cringe, thinking about the incident with my keys. At least it seems like Lucas didn’t tell anyone, if Juliet hasn’t heard. “Yeah, I met him a couple times this week.”

  Juliet leans closer and lowers her voice. “I know I gave you the lead on that apartment, but I’m worried that wasn’t a good idea.”

  “Why? The apartment is nice.”

  “Yeah, it’s cute. But you’re living next door to Lucas.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” I ask. “I thought he was Finn’s best friend.”

  “He is, and he’s a totally nice guy,” she says. “But he’s…”

  “He’s what?”

  “Well, he’s something of a man-whore.”

  My cheeks warm, thinking about what I heard through the wall. “Yeah, I think there was something of that nature going on my first night in the apartment.”

  Juliet rolls her eyes. “Of course there was. Seriously, stay far away from him. Be friendly or whatever, obviously. He’s nice, and he’s tons of fun to hang out with. But when it comes to women, he’s trouble. He has a new girl practically every week.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep,” she says. “He doesn’t really date, in the conventional sense. He just meets women, especially women who are in town visiting, sleeps with them, and sends them on their way.”

  “Yikes.” I wonder if this means I’ll be treated to a lot of nights like the first one. Although I haven’t heard anything since. I shift in my seat, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. “Why do guys do that?”

  Juliet shrugs. “Because they can? Who knows. I just don’t want him setting his sights on you.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about that,” I say. “He’s been nice to me, but he didn’t hit on me at all. I doubt he’d even look at someone like me.”