When I Was Yours

by Samantha Towle

  I see Darcy, the girl Max has been banging for the last few days, sidle up beside him. She shoots me a sexy smile.

  “Hey, Adam.” She lifts her hand in greeting, wiggling her fingers at me.

  I lift my chin at her, not bothering to say hi.

  Darcy might be hot, but she’s an idiot.

  And she must think I’m fucking stupid.

  She tried to play it off as an accident when she walked into my bathroom yesterday while I was in there showering. My private bathroom, the one you have to walk through my bedroom to get into. Yeah, sure it was an accident, Darcy.

  Max laughed his ass off when I told him.

  He doesn’t give a fuck. And if Darcy weren’t screwing Max, I probably would have banged her, as I’m guessing that was what she was there for. I’ve never been one to turn down a hot girl, even if she is an idiot. But Max is banging her, and we have one golden rule in our friendship. We never sleep with the same chick.

  Bros before hos, and all that.

  Max is the only real thing I have in this shitty world, and I wouldn’t do anything to risk losing him. He’s the same with me.

  Max’s background is pretty similar to mine, fucked-up parents and all, but sadly, between us, I score the highest on the screwed-up-worst card.

  We look out for each other. We’re brothers in the true sense of the word. Aside from his poor taste in women, he’s the best person I know.

  Thankfully, Darcy will be gone in a few days. That’s Max’s MO. He hooks up with a girl and keeps her around for a few days—longest I’ve seen is a week—and then she’s replaced. Me? I don’t keep them around. I screw them for one night, and they’re gone the next morning.

  No repeats. No relationships.

  That’s exactly how I like it.

  And if I sort my shit out, then Rock Girl can be my next no-repeater.

  Actually, something feels very wrong with that statement. Again, what the hell is wrong with me?

  Maybe that’s why I can’t get off my pussy ass and go introduce myself to her. Sitting up there on that rock, she’s perfect to me. If I go over there, I’ll only end up tainting that perfection, ruining it.

  Spoiling pretty things is a gift of mine. It’s a Gunner family trait.

  “We’re just going to grab some dinner,” Max says. “You wanna come?”

  I turn around, pressing my back against the sun-warmed railing. “Nah, I’ll pass. I’m gonna go for a run.”

  Am I? I guess I could go for a run. I could go for a jog along the beach. Maybe speak to a little hottie seated up on a rock…

  “And would that run take you past a certain blonde over there?” Max jerks his chin in Rock Girl’s direction.

  I lift my shoulders, shrugging at him.

  He shakes his head at me. “What the hell is going on with you, Gunner? Why haven’t you just talked to her already? It’s been a fucking week.”

  I flicker a glance at Darcy, who has this sudden sour look on her face, and now, she’s staring out past me in Rock Girl’s direction.

  Yeah, not going to happen, Darcy.

  I strike a glance at Max. I love the guy like a brother, but I wish he hadn’t said that shit in front of Darcy. She has a big mouth, and I don’t want to get a rep here in Malibu for being a pussy who can’t even talk to a girl.

  “Nothing’s wrong with me. Maybe I just don’t want to talk to her.”

  I really do. I want to talk her straight into my bed.

  “Yeah, sure you don’t want to talk to the super hot girl, Gunner.” Max rolls his eyes at me.

  “How do you know she’s super hot?” The words are out before I can stop them.

  As far as I know, Max hasn’t seen her up close, not that I have actually seen her up close. Just the quick glimpses of her as she’s walked past here. But the glimpses I have gotten, I’ve liked—a lot.

  A shit-eating grin spreads across Max’s face. “Because I talked to her yesterday.”

  “You talked to her?” My voice has suddenly gotten weirdly higher.

  Why the hell did Max talk to Rock Girl? And why is he only just now telling me this?

  He lets out a prolonged deep chuckle. “Yeah, I did. When you went in to shower after your little hour-long hot-girl gazing session, I decided to go for a swim. And your little hottie came back, as she’d left something up on that rock she sits on. A fucking pencil or something. Seemed important to her.” He shrugs. “Anyway, after she found this pencil and was climbing back down off the rock, she dropped her bag, spilling her stuff everywhere. Being the gentleman that I am, I helped her pick things up—tampons, lipstick. You know, girl things.” He grins.

  I lift my eyes to the sky.

  Gentleman, my ass.

  Max wouldn’t know a gentleman if one actually came up and smacked him across the face. Not that I would either, but that’s not the point. The point is, Max talked to my Rock Girl.

  My Rock Girl? When did she become mine?

  “She seems nice. And she’s really hot, bro,” he goes on. “I did consider asking her out myself, but I didn’t want to break your little stalker heart.”

  “Hey!” Darcy screeches, swatting him on the arm.

  “Only kidding, babe.” He gives her that smooth grin of his that all the chicks fall for. “I mean, why would I ask her out when I’ve got you?”

  He pats her on the arm, pacifying her, and the second she looks away, he smirks at me.

  Bastard.

  He’d have asked Rock Girl out even if Darcy was riding cowgirl on his cock at the time.

  Nothing stops Max when it comes to a woman he wants. He’s like me, in that respect—well, apart from Rock Girl. Because, out of the two of us, I’m apparently the one without the balls to go speak to her.

  “You’re a bastard, you know,” I say, fighting a smile.

  “Takes a bastard to know a bastard.” His grin gets bigger.

  “True.” I can’t argue with that.

  Now, I’m feeling really twitchy, and I want to ask him more about his conversation with Rock Girl, but with Darcy standing there, I can’t. That, and it’d only give Max more ammo to torture me with.

  “Anyway, I’m bailing ’cause I’m fucking starving. All the sex works up an appetite, which you would know, if you’d gotten laid lately.”

  I flip him off.

  I got laid a few days ago, and he knows it. Hot lifeguard who works on Zuma Beach. We were down there, surfing, and she was cute. After I finished surfing, I fucked her in her tower in the middle of her shift. Fortunately, no one needed saving at the time.

  “You want me to bring you any food back?” Max asks, taking a step back inside the house.

  “Nah, I’m good. I’ll get something later.”

  “Bye, Adam,” Darcy says in an annoying singsong voice.

  God, I hope he doesn’t bring her back with him.

  “Later.” I lift my chin at her before turning back to Rock Girl.

  She’s still sitting there, sketching away. I watch as she puts her pencil down on the pad and tilts her head back toward the sky, soaking the last of the sun up.

  She looks so peaceful and so damn pretty.

  “Gunner?”

  I turn back to the sound of Max’s voice. “Yeah?”

  “Do me a favor. Just go ask Evie out before you totally lose your man card and quite possibly get arrested for stalking. I really don’t wanna have to come bail your ass out of jail.”

  “Fuck you.” I laugh as I grab an empty beer can from the patio table, left out from our drinking session last night, and throw it at him.

  Max ducks, the can just missing him.

  Then, I realize what he just said. “Evie?”

  His lips lift into a knowing smile. “Yeah. That’s her name, which you would already know if you’d manned the fuck up and talked to her the first time you saw her.” He jerks his chin in her direction. “Just put us both out of our misery and go talk to her.” He raps his knuckles on the doorframe before disappeari
ng.

  Why is he so keen on me talking to Evie?

  Evie.

  I let her name roll around my mind. It’s pretty, really pretty.

  Adam and Evie. Like Adam and Eve. In the Garden of Eden—or the Bed of Adam—fucking like animals.

  Seriously, what is wrong with me? I’m imagining having sex with this girl, and I haven’t even spoken to her.

  I can’t believe Max spoke to her first, and he got her name.

  Fucker.

  Okay, this is just stupid. I need to just go over there and speak to her.

  That’s it. I’m going to do it.

  I’ll go for a run on the beach, and while I’m there, I’ll strike up a conversation with her. If I don’t, Max will only torment me about it. And then, he might possibly ask her out himself.

  She’s just a girl, Gunner. You’ve talked to plenty of pretty girls before.

  But the difference is, I never wanted to know anything about those other girls. Each conversation was for one reason only—the end game.

  But this one, I think I might actually want to get to know her—and not just know the color of her panties.

  I make a quick change into a pair of running shorts and a tank, and then I pull on my running shoes. I tie my hair back, so it’s out of the way while I’m running. Then, I grab my water bottle and fill it up.

  Before leaving, I make a quick check out back to make sure she’s still there.

  Yep, she’s there—and yep, I’m still as lame as ever.

  Heading out the front door, I jog along the path on the highway, so I can come onto the beach via the walkway.

  I don’t want to come out from the back of the house, as it’s not far enough away from where she’s sitting. This way, I’ll be coming toward her for a good period of time, so if I stop to take a break, it won’t look so weird.

  When did I start overthinking things? And just exactly when did I lose my balls?

  Apparently, on the day I saw a pretty blonde girl sitting up on a rock.

  I jog up the street for a few minutes and then take the path off to the walkway to take me to the beach. It brings me out about three hundred yards away from Evie.

  Game time, Gunner.

  Feet hitting the sand, I begin jogging toward her.

  The closer I get, the faster my heart starts to beat. And it has nothing to do with the exercise because I’ve barely even begun running.

  It’s because of her.

  What is it about this girl that has me in all kinds of knots? How can I feel so nervous over a girl I’ve never even spoken to?

  She hasn’t noticed me yet. I keep my eyes on her throughout my approach.

  She has the tip of the pencil pressed to her lower lip as she stares down at her sketchpad, a frown marring her forehead.

  Not that far from her now, I slow my pace, coming to a stop a few feet away from her, under the pretense that I need to stop to catch my breath.

  Facing the ocean, I take a drink of water from my bottle.

  I slide a glance in her direction.

  She still isn’t looking at me.

  And just as I think it, she looks straight at me, her eyes meeting mine. I freeze.

  Holy fuck, she’s stunning.

  Way prettier than I first thought. My initial take on her did not do her justice because, up close, she’s beautiful. And I know beauty. I’ve been surrounded by it my whole life.

  But her face…nothing compares.

  She has the most amazing eyes. Captivating. They’re the color of whiskey, huge and shaped like almonds, and they are set in the most perfect face I have ever seen. Heart-shaped with a cute button nose and full lips.

  In this moment, her face has literally become the center of my universe. I can’t stop staring at her.

  And that’s probably why she says to me, “Um…are you okay?”

  I blink myself free, realizing what a fucking idiot I must look like.

  Way to make a first impression, dickface.

  “Are you an artist?” I point a finger up at her sketchpad.

  Then, I have to stop my own hand from punching me in the face at my lameness. That’s my opener? Wow, I just keep getting better and better.

  Thy name is Adam, and I am a fucking loser.

  A smile tips up her lips, and she pushes her pencil into the top of her ponytail. “Do you think you have to actually sell a drawing to be able to call yourself an artist?”

  “I’m not sure.” I shrug, my eyes going straight back to her face. It’s kind of hard not to stare. She’s that beautiful.

  “Well, if you do, then no, I’m not an artist.”

  “Do you want to be one?”

  She ponders this for a moment, her teeth biting down on that plump lower lip of hers, and I imagine my own teeth doing the exact same thing.

  Her eyes come back to mine with an unexpected and surprising intensity in them. “Yes.”

  For a second there, I feel like she’s saying yes to something else. Maybe she’s agreeing to the movie reel of dirty thoughts going through my mind right now—me and her, naked and sweaty and tangled up in my bedsheets.

  No, that’s just my wishful thinking.

  The thought of sex with her has my confidence finally making his late appearance.

  I don’t know why, but thinking about sex while talking to a girl always lifts my game. I’m weird like that.

  I tip my head to the side, folding my arms over my chest. “Maybe I could buy one of your drawings, and then you could officially call yourself an artist.”

  She arches a perfectly formed brow. “You’d buy a drawing from me when you haven’t even seen any of my work?”

  “I would.”

  “And why would you do that?”

  I give a lazy shrug. “Because I can.”

  That seems to get her attention. She closes her sketchpad, places it on the rock beside her, and moves forward, letting her legs dangle over the side. She curls her fingers around the edge of the rock and stares down at me. “I might be really crappy at drawing, and then you would have wasted your money.”

  Technically, I wouldn’t be wasting my money. It’d be my parents’, but I don’t want to tell her that I’m a rich kid. It might put her off. Evie clearly works for her money. I’m getting that from the logo on her shirt, which I can now see that it says Grady’s Surf Shack. I don’t want her to think that I’m a self-entitled brat.

  “I highly doubt that you’re crappy.”

  “And how would you know that? Aside from assuming, of course.” She gives me a teasing smile.

  “Because you seem far too smart to spend your time on something that you know you’re not any good at.”

  “Oh, so now you know I’m smart as well as good at drawing?” She laughs, the sound so sweet.

  It makes my cock stand to attention.

  “Well, for all you know, as well as being a crappy artist, I could also be as dumb as bricks.”

  That makes me laugh. “Well, are you?” I ask, my hands coming to rest on my hips.

  “What? Dumb as bricks?”

  I nod, smiling.

  “Quite possibly.” She gives me a lasting grin that I feel all the way deep down in my gut. Then, she grabs her sketchpad and shoves it in her bag. “Shit,” she mutters, looking around, running her hand over the surface of the rock.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I’ve lost my pencil. It’s just…it wasn’t cheap—well, for a pencil, and—”

  “It’s in your hair.”

  “Oh.” She touches a hand to the top of her ponytail, her cheeks turning pink. “Thanks.”

  She pulls the pencil from her hair and drops it into her bag. Hooking the bag onto her shoulder, she starts to climb down the rock.

  She’s leaving?

  Her feet hit the sand. “Well, it was nice talking to you,” she says, turning to me.

  She starts to move past me, and I’m just standing here, like a limp fucking noodle. I watch her go, desperately trying to
think of anything to keep her here for just a few minutes longer.

  Aside from blurting out that I want to take her out, I’m at a fucking loss.

  Then, out of nowhere, she stops abruptly and turns back to me. “Did you change your mind?”

  “Change my mind? About what?” My mouth is so dry it’s like I’m talking through cotton wool. I’ve seriously never had this kind of reaction to a girl before. “Do you mean about buying a drawing from you? Because—”

  “No. I meant, did you change your mind about asking me out?”

  My mouth literally drops open. “I-I—” That’s honestly all I’ve got. I can’t seem to get my brain to compute to my mouth, not that it would have much to send.

  “I mean, it doesn’t matter to me if you have. I was just wondering.” Her head tilts to the side, and then a light blush starts to creep over her face as her eyes spark with something that looks an awful lot like realization. “Oh God. Have I gotten the wrong guy?” She presses her palms to her cheeks.

  “The wrong guy?” I feel like I’ve just had a brick dropped on my head.

  Was she supposed to be meeting some other guy here, like a blind date or something? I sincerely fucking hope not.

  “You don’t live at that house there?” She points in the direction of my house. “Standing out on the balcony every day for the last week, watching me sketch?”

  Then, it hits me.

  Max.

  Motherfucker.

  Ask me if I’ve ever been embarrassed.

  Never. Not once in my whole life.

  Not even when the maid at my parents’ house walked in and caught me jacking off to Hentai porn in my bedroom when I was sixteen. Hey, don’t judge. I’d pretty much worn out all other kinds of porn by that point, so it was either cartoon porn or old-lady porn. So, Hentai it was. And the fact that I ended up fucking the maid the next day has nothing to do with it.

  But the fact is, nothing has ever embarrassed me—until now.

  Max told her that I’d been watching her—like a stalker.

  I’m going to kill him.

  I’m actually going to kill him and dump his body in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and I won’t feel an ounce of remorse.

  “Max,” I grunt out, practically choking on the heat burning up my throat. “The guy you met yesterday, the one who helped you when you dropped your bag, did he tell you all of that, about me…watching—” I can’t even finish that sentence.