by Emery Rose
Oh Mom. “Your nose is perfect. You don’t need a nose job.”
“What does she have that I don’t?” She sniffed, and I imagined her sitting in her car, parked outside a boutique in LA, watching my father’s mistress. Why did she torture herself like this?
“Yes, I know. She’s half my age. But you know what’s funny?”
I couldn’t think of one single funny thing about any of this. “What?”
“She looks so much like me when I was her age.”
“Mom, you should stop following her. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. Ask him for a divorce,” I pleaded, knowing that my words would fall on deaf ears. But I still felt the need to say them anyway. “There’s someone out there who will love you for you.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” she whined.
I tossed the rest of my cone in a trash can and wiped my sticky hand on my black leggings. “Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to come over after work?”
“Your father and I are going to the club for dinner with Hank and Trudy.”
I rolled my eyes. Dinner with the mayor and his wife. Oh joy. My mother must be a masochist. Now that she’d unloaded on me, she felt better so we said goodbye and I tucked my phone in my denim jacket pocket.
I needed to sit by the ocean. Dig my toes in the sand. Breathe in the salty air. Clear my head and put everything in perspective. Which I sorely needed.
I was leading a double life. Surf shop employee by day with a side gig as a shameless hussy. It had been six days since the night I’d lured Dylan into the bedroom, like Eve tempting Adam with the poison apple. Come, take a bite, it’s sweet and forbidden. I’d never let anyone go down on me, and I’d been too turned on to be embarrassed. But I couldn’t believe I’d told him I didn’t give blow jobs. One of these days, I’d put a filter on this mouth of mine.
Three days after that night, Dylan had stopped by Firefly Surfboards. I was holed up in the stockroom, going through the inventory, and he’d closed the door, planted my ass on a stack of boxes and proceeded to torture me with kisses and an orgasm, his hand covering my mouth to stop me from screaming and alerting the entire shop.
Since then, we’d been texting, and I’d been fantasizing.
Speaking of the devil.
I stopped and watched Dylan from across the street. He was gesticulating with his hands, arguing with a construction worker outside The Surf Lodge. Whatever the guy was saying clearly didn’t make him happy. He planted his hands on his narrow hips and looked up at the sky as if his patience was being tested and he was about to lose it. The other man held up his hands and backed away.
I watched the guy climb into his truck—AJW Construction painted on the side—and drive away before my gaze returned to Dylan. His phone was pressed to his ear and he was pacing, jaw clenched and shoulders rigid. When he ended his call, he pocketed his phone and carved his hands through his hair, resting them on the back of his neck. Tentatively, I approached him and stopped next to him on the beach path.
“What happened?” I asked, looking at the three-story hotel in front of us. Weathered wood that had once been painted white trimmed in aqua blue. I’d always thought it was a cool hotel and liked to envision it the way it must have looked back in the fifties before time and the elements had worn it down.
Dylan shook a cigarette out of the pack, lit it and took a drag before he answered. “My construction crew quit.”
Before I could respond, a middle-aged woman in Lycra and running shoes shot Dylan a dirty look and hollered, “Smoking kills. We don’t need your secondhand smoke.”
Dylan ignored her and took another drag of his cigarette. She fanned away the smoke with her hand and coughed a few times, power walking past us.
I dragged my attention back to Dylan. “Why did they quit?”
He laughed humorlessly. “Because someone is trying to fuck with me.” I had a sinking suspicion that ‘someone’ was my father.
“Now what?”
“I’ll hire another construction company.”
If my hunch was right and he was going up against my father, it wouldn’t be as simple as hiring another construction crew. My father would use any means to get what he wanted or, rather, prevent Dylan from getting what he wanted. And the one thing my father had that Dylan didn’t was connections.
“Is this about my dad? Is he messing things up for you?”
“He’s giving it his best shot.”
I stared at the black and white checkered Vans on my feet, ashamed that my dad was such an asshole. After all these years, why was he still out to get Dylan? Why did he have to turn everything into a power struggle? “I’m sorry.”
“Why? Did you tell my construction crew to fuck off?”
“No. But I know how he operates. If he wants something, he’ll stop at nothing to get it.”
“Fuck him.” He looked at me more closely, the cigarette clamped between his lips bobbing on his words. “Why’s your tongue blue?”
“Cookie Monster ice cream.”
“Mmm.” He took another drag of his cigarette then tossed it in the sand and crushed it under his foot. I thought he’d leave it there. But he picked it up and lobbed it into a trash can a few feet away from where we stood. “Don’t mention this to Remy or Shane.”
It took me a second to realize he was talking about the hotel, not us. “I won’t.”
He looked out at the ocean and squinted against the sun sparkling on the water, those sexy little lines around his eyes appearing. Seagulls circled over the gray weathered wood pier, and in the distance, a charter boat glided across the crystal blue water. It was a picture-perfect day.
“I learned to surf at this break,” Dylan said.
I smiled. “Me too.” A few guys were out there trying to surf, but it was a dumpy shore break, the waves breaking in the shallows and they were having a hard time catching a decent ride. “I broke my board surfing waves like that when I was sixteen.”
His lip quirked in amusement. “Pulling that Superman maneuver.”
I laughed. “I’ll never live that one down.”
“It’s not the first thing that comes to mind when I think of you.”
“No?”
“No.” His mouth moved close to the shell of my ear and he pushed my hair to the side with his thumb. “I think about that sweet little pussy of yours.” My pulse sped up as his teeth grazed my earlobe. “And the sounds that came out of your mouth when I was eating you out.”
God, he was so dirty. My cheeks flushed with heat and I squeezed my thighs together to ease the ache. “We should—” Stop before it’s too late.
“Mmm. We should.”
Catching me off guard, he grasped my chin, angling my face up to him then kissed me hard, his tongue sliding into my mouth. It felt like my stomach was being invaded by a kaleidoscope of butterflies. I pressed up on my toes, sliding my hands up his chest.
What was I doing?
Coming to my senses, I pulled away, looking around to see if anyone was watching us.
We were getting so careless. “Someone could have seen us.”
He gave me a slow, lazy grin. “Am I your dirty little secret, Scarlett?”
“Um, yes… no…” I let out a breath and closed my eyes, reminded of the time I’d bravely announced that I’d march him right through the front door and seat him next to me at a family dinner. Oh, how naïve I’d been. But that had been an entirely different situation.
“I don’t know what we are,” I admitted, searching his face for a clue. “What are we, Dylan?”
“We’re two wrongs that make a right.”
I laughed. “Not so sure it works that way.”
“Fuck what anyone thinks.” He clasped my hand in his and made lazy circles on my inner wrist with the pad of his thumb, sending delicious shivers up and down my spine. Today, his eyes looked bluer, the specks of gray shimmering silver in the sunlight. “You busy tonight?”
I nodded.
He quirk
ed his dark brows. “Another movie marathon?”
“No. I’m going to Mavericks.”
“Mavericks.” His lip curled in disgust. “Looking to hook up with a jarhead?”
“What? No.” I didn’t even know Marines hung out there. I’d never been inside. “Ollie’s band has a gig there.”
“Huh. Nic going with you?”
“She has to work.”
He stared at me like I had three heads. “You’re going to Mavericks alone?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged one shoulder. “It’s no big deal. I’m sure I’ll find people to talk to.” That was obviously the wrong thing to say.
Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “What time do they play?”
“Ten but—”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“No!” I said quickly, my eyes widened in horror. Now I was cursing myself for telling him the truth. Me and my big fat mouth. “You can’t come tonight. You and Ollie don’t get along. I don’t want another repeat of my birthday."
He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You’re not going to that bar without me.”
“I’ll find someone else to go with me. I can ask Ryan or—”
“I’ll see you tonight.”
“No. You’re not invited.”
That was like waving a red flag at a bull. I could tell by the stubborn set of his jaw that he didn’t care if he was invited or not. “Wasn’t waiting for an invitation. See you later, Starlet,” he said with a wink. A wink. So cocky.
As if the matter was settled, he strode away and climbed into his SUV, slipping on a pair of black Wayfarers to shield his eyes. He watched me through the windshield, a lazy grin on his perfect lips as he drove away.
My stomach plummeted. This was a terrible idea.
15
Scarlett
“You’re just coming as my friend. I don’t want to mess up this gig for Ollie,” I reminded Dylan as we crossed the street to the bar. “No touching or kissing or… just don’t even look at me. In fact, you should stand on the other side of the room and pretend you’re not even with me.”
He stopped outside the bar and crossed his arms over his chest, an accusation in his voice. “Did he know you were planning to come alone?”
“Yes.”
“And he was good with that?”
I lifted my chin, my hands on my hips. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
“Last time I was at Mavericks, a fight broke out because some douche wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“And who started that fight? Let me guess, it was you.” I poked him in the chest.
“You’re missing the fucking point.” His gaze raked over me from head to toe, taking in the black tank painted with a skull in a wreath of thorns under a denim jacket, my snakeskin print mini, black fishnets, and Docs. His hand skimmed over my backside, cupping my butt cheek and pulling me flush against him. “Did you wear this for me?”
“No. I don’t dress for men.” It was true. I dressed for myself.
“So you were planning to wear this anyway to go to a bar alone?”
Sensing where he was headed with this line of questioning, I rallied to my own defense. “I should be able to wear whatever I want.”
He scowled. “If you want a bunch of assholes hitting on you all night.”
“Well, now I’ve got you to protect me from all the non-existent dangers.” I rolled my eyes as he opened the door and ushered me inside, rock music blasting from the speakers. I handed the guy at the door a twenty for our cover charge, beating Dylan to it and we got our hands stamped.
Dylan led me through the throng of people crowding the bar, the walls decorated with Route 66 signs, Heineken mirrors, and dartboards. The crack of pool balls from the tables in the back cut through the music and clinking of glasses. It smelled like stale beer and sweat. A typical bar. Perfectly harmless.
I was happy to see there was a good crowd tonight, but I was paranoid about running into someone I knew. Or worse, someone who knew Sienna. On top of that, I’d texted Ollie to warn him that I was bringing Dylan and never got a reply. So yeah, this was a train wreck waiting to happen.
I was starting to sweat and I didn’t think it had anything to do with the temperature inside this bar. I took off my jacket and draped it over one arm.
Dylan ordered two beers while I scanned the room in search of familiar faces. My gaze landed on the stage where Ollie was duct taping the cables, his back turned to the room. Beck and Gavin were farther down the bar, closer to the stage, drinking beers and chatting with a few girls, none of whom looked familiar. Normally I would go over and hang out with them but I couldn’t do that tonight. Not with Dylan. Maybe if I just stayed here toward the back, nobody would even see me.
Dylan pressed a beer into my hand. I thanked him and chugged a quarter of it. He stared at me. “Planning to get shitfaced?”
“Will it help?” I wiped my sweaty palm on my skirt.
He chuckled. “Just chill. It’s all good.”
Easy for him to say. He leaned his hip against the bar and took a pull of his beer, his hand curving around my hip, his thumb brushing over the soft skin above the waistband of my skirt. Without thinking, I leaned into him, and slid my hand up his chest, over his lean, cut muscles, hard under the soft material of his black T-shirt. When I realized what I was doing, I removed my hand and took a step back, chugging more beer.
Dylan laughed, obviously finding this whole thing more amusing than I did. I really was a shameless hussy.
A few minutes later, the music from the speakers cut out and the lights dimmed. I relaxed a bit and looked up as Beck leaped onto the stage, his guitar slung over his back. He speared his hand through the bleached tips of his spiky hair and winked at a girl down in front, his hand curling around the mic and bringing it to his mouth. “Hey everyone. Thanks for coming out tonight. We’re the Savage Nobles.”
That earned appreciative applause from the crowd and a few cheers. Beck and Gavin were cousins and their last name was Noble, thus the name of the band which we’d come up with during a brainstorming session in the high school cafeteria.
Beck introduced Gavin who flicked his long, dark hair off his face then Ollie who tossed his sticks in the air and caught them one-handed, his biceps flexing under the sleeves of his white T-shirt painted with a black heartbeat and drums. I made that T-shirt for him. Over the years, I’d made a lot of T-shirts for him and the band guys.
“Well, alright,” Beck said, shouldering his guitar. “Let’s play some music.”
Ollie set the beat, Gavin brought the rhythm, and Beck played the chords of “Halcyon Days,” a song they wrote when they were on the road the summer after high school. It made me feel nostalgic to hear Beck’s bluesy rock voice singing about the golden days of our youth as if we were ninety years old and looking back on better days.
“They’re pretty good,” Dylan said in my ear, his lips ghosting over my neck as I nodded. I’d spent countless hours listening to them, hanging out in Beck’s garage while they jammed. Sitting on a threadbare sofa in a dingy warehouse in Seattle where they worked tirelessly on their sound, on the lyrics, their hopes and dreams pinned on someday getting their big break. More than anything, I wanted all their dreams to come true. Because they were good.
They were the real deal.
By the time the band wrapped up their set, I was on my third beer, sweaty from dancing, and high on the music. I’d forgotten all about being nervous, my inhibitions cast aside.
“We’re gonna do a cover, if that’s alright with you,” Beck said into the mic.
The opening chords of “Do I Wanna Know” by The Arctic Monkeys filled the room and Dylan’s hand came around me, his palm flattening against my stomach as his lips met my neck. We danced like we had on the beach that night, my free arm snaked around the back of his neck, his arm around my middle, our bodies moving in sync. The people around us faded away and it was just him and me and the music and my wildly beating heart.
I wa
s so careless. So reckless. But nobody had ever made me feel the way he did. I was love-drunk. Eyes closed. The beat of the music reverberating through my core, the heat of his body lighting an inferno inside me. I was powerless to resist him, his closeness so male, so intoxicating and delicious I got a natural high off it.
When the music stopped, the last note had been played, and the crowd started cheering, my eyes flew open, breaking me out of the trance. My gaze landed on Ollie whose scowl was directed at me. For a few seconds, our eyes locked across the crowded bar and I flinched as his expression grew hard and resentful.
He hates me. Ollie hates me.
My stomach dropped. I’d done it again.
Ollie jumped off the stage and stalked through the crowd, headed toward me. I tried to put some distance between me and Dylan, as if that would help when only minutes ago, I’d been grinding my ass against his groin. Ollie stopped in front of me.
“What is he doing here?” Ollie gritted out, skin slick with sweat, green eyes flashing with anger.
“I texted you that he was coming. You never replied.” As if that was any excuse.
“You expected her to come to this bar alone?” Dylan said. “The fuck were you thinking?”
Be quiet, Dylan. He had a knack for making matters even worse than they already were.
Ollie glared at Dylan, hands clenched into fists, and for a minute I was worried he would punch him. But that wasn’t Ollie’s style. “This is between me and Scarlett.” Ollie grabbed my arm and dragged me away from Dylan to a dark corner near the front door. His jaw clenched and the muscle in his cheek jumped. I had a sinking feeling that this time there would be no coming back. “So you’re doing this. You’re getting involved with him?”
“I…” I looked over at Dylan. I’d left him alone for two seconds and some blonde chick was already hitting on him. I wanted to scratch out her eyeballs. Scream that he’s mine. Back off, bitch. He made me feel violent.
What the hell was wrong with me? My gaze swung back to Ollie.
“Forget it. I have my answer.” He ran his hand through his sweaty hair and shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve made your choice. Hope you know what you’re doing.”
