Summer Girl Page 3

  “Oh, my God. You just swore at me. I didn’t know you had it in you.” He gave me a little half nod of approval, and took a healthy swig from the bottle of scotch.

  “Fuck you. How’s that?” I said defiantly, with only the slightest trembling in my voice. I was so sick of everyone looking at me like I just got out of convent school!

  Especially this guy. I wanted him to think of me as a hot, sexy seductress, not a girl who needed to shop for her first training bra…but who was I kidding. Even before I got drunk and puked in front of him, he’d taken one look at me and kissed another girl. There was absolutely no chance that he’d ever look at me that way.

  “That’s the spirit.” He smiled and took another swig of scotch and then set the bottle down on his coffee table.

  “I never drank alcohol before last night.”

  He stared at me in astonishment.

  “No fucking way.”

  “Swear to God.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s hard to explain. My parents are old-fashioned and they’re very, very big on appearances, and my older brother was a little bit of a hell-raiser, so I felt like I had to be the perfect child to make up for it. And where we live, you can’t get away with much. My mother is one of those charity ball people, always on the society pages, and I lived in fear of embarrassing my family, because I’d never hear the end of it. My mother can turn one mistake into a weeks-long ordeal.”

  “Damn.” He looked at me speculatively. “You said lived. Past tense.”

  Yes, the old Heather Tremaine was dead and gone and I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. It was still too new and too raw. I shrugged and looked away, and he didn’t pursue it.

  Instead, he stood up. “I’m going to go take a shower. I can give you a ride home later if you want.”

  My face fell. “Oh, sure. Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

  Back to the motel, which I didn’t feel like explaining to him at the moment. Back to my fruitless search for one little girl who I’d probably never find, and back to my uncertain future.

  He looked at me, raising an eyebrow quizzically, but he didn’t ask. “You can crash here tonight, if you want. No hurry. I’m not expecting any visitors.”

  “I…I wouldn’t be imposing?” My heart lifted.

  He shook his head, staring at me, an odd expression on his face.

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” The room was still moving around me, and I shuddered. “I may sleep a little more,” I said.

  “Good idea.”

  I curled up in a ball and pulled the blanket over my head, and blackness fell.

  Several hours later I was woken up by a pounding sound, and I sat up, feeling mostly better, only the faintest queasiness remaining.

  Slade walked past me, barefoot, wearing only jeans, and yanked open the door. I twisted around to look. A really pretty girl with glossed pink lips and permed black hair stood in the doorway and jealousy flared up in me. Which was ridiculous, of course.

  “Hey, babe. You’re looking hot today.” I wanted to claw her face off. “Can I come in? I left my panties here the other day,” she purred seductively.

  “Nope. I’ve got company. Hold on.” And he slammed the door in her face, walked over to the moose, and grabbed the thong panties off them.

  He walked back, yanked open the door and tried to hand them to her, and she stepped back, face dark with anger. “Those aren’t mine!”

  He shrugged. “Sorry. Those are the only ones here. Maybe you left your panties somewhere else.”

  She looked past him, over his shoulder, staring at me. “Who’s she?”

  “She’s none of your god-damned business. See ya.” And he slammed the door shut in her face again, locked it, and then walked over to a small silver trash can, where he tossed the panties.

  Outside on the front door, I could hear her letting loose a stream of curses, “Fuck you! You fucking ass-hole! You’ve got a two inch dick! You suck in bed! You give the worst head ever! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” Her voice rose higher and higher.

  Slade looked at me, I looked at him, and we both burst into laughter. I laughed so hard tears came to my eyes, as her car screeched away down the street.

  I wiped at my face. “Uh, let me guess…that was your sister?” I choked out.

  “You’re a funny girl, Heather.” He smiled at me.

  “Damn, Slade. You were pretty harsh with her.”

  “Yep. I’m an asshole. That’s why I’m a good guy to stay away from.” He gave me a long, hard look and the smile was gone. A wall had slid down between us, suddenly. Where had that come from?

  My heart sank. I know he was completely uninterested in me sexually, but it kind of stung to have him come out and say it.

  “Maybe I like that in a guy,” I said defiantly.

  I definitely liked him. Unfortunately. You’d think that seeing the endless stream of girls who flowed through his life would be a major turnoff, but I wasn’t finding that to be the case. Just being near him made me tingle from head to toe, made me want to…I don’t even know what I wanted to do with him. Bad things.

  “Not once you get to know me.” There was no invitation in his voice at all. The flirtiness in his voice, in his manner, from earlier, had vanished completely. I missed the flirtiness. I wanted it back. It made me feel funny and desirable and warm all over.

  He stood up, abruptly. “I don’t have to be at work until tonight. I need to go into town and do a little grocery shopping. Want to come with?”

  “Uh…sure.”

  For some reason, I was oddly touched. There was something intimate about running errands with him, I thought, as I followed him out the door. Even more intimate than sex, in a way – because clearly sex meant nothing to this guy.

  He locked the door behind us as I stood on his front porch. His house was a small bungalow on a little side street. All the houses on the street were like his, small but neat, with well-trimmed front yards, working class houses that could have been tucked into the garage of the house that I used to live in.

  Parked in his driveway was a classic Mustang, powder-blue and gleaming.

  “Nice,” I said.

  “Thanks. Restored it myself. It’s a 1965 Resto-mod Fastback.”

  “You just spoke Martian to me, but it’s still pretty,” I said, climbing in.

  “Pretty!” he said, pretending to be horrified. “It’s badass.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant to say.”

  “Sure it is. Except then you’d have to say the word ‘ass’.”

  “You are an ass. Fuck. You.” I said firmly, and my voice barely even quavered.

  He winked at me. “Nice. You’re really getting the hang of that.”

  And we pulled away and headed to town.

  Chapter Four

  Slade

  I sat across the counter from Heather, watching her lips wrapped around the straw stuck in her soda, and thought to myself, is she kidding? Is she just messing with me? Or is that really how she drinks?

  She wasn’t doing the obvious trying-to-be-sexy thing some girls do, when they suck on a straw and look at you to make sure you’re watching, where they pretend to give you a preview of their oral skills by molesting the straw with their mouth.

  No, what she was doing was way sexier. I couldn’t even say why. It was just watching how her cheeks hollowed out a little when she sucked the coke up through that straw, watching the look of pleasure on her face as the sweetness flooded her mouth…

  I looked away, because the images that were flashing through my mind, of something else causing that look of pleasure on her face…of me causing that look of pleasure, of me flooding her mouth with my come…were just wrong.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” she said.

  “They’re not worth that much.”

  Damn. The way this girl affected me was unreal. Being near her sent a strange heat flaring through me, and much scarier than that, an inexplicable desire to keep her safe
. To keep her close to me.

  Which is why I should have kicked her to the curb right then. Insisted on taking her back to her family’s mansion and dumped her on the doorstep.

  But I sensed that there was something wrong, and that she needed my help.

  Which was a laugh. She was a Tremaine, and they were worth hundreds of millions of dollars. I was a dirtbag, a bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks, who made a measly living at a bar and led a fucked up life that was going to end up with me picking a fight with the wrong guy or wrapping my car around a tree one of these days.

  We were sitting at the Greasy Spoon diner, where I’d insisted on buying her an early dinner. She’d ordered a hamburger and fries and actually offered to pay for her meal.

  A college boy walked by and glanced at her, his gaze lingering far too long on her chest and running down her whole body, and a prickly red heat filled me. His gaze was obscene, like a filthy caress, and I shot up out of my chair.

  “What the hell do you think you’re looking at?” I snapped.

  He took a step back. “Whoa. Nothing. Settle down.” He held up his hands in a placating gesture.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, asshole. And keep your eyes to yourself.”

  I moved towards him, fists bunched up at my sides, and he went pale, turned and rushed out of the restaurant. I’d been a step away from pounding him into the tiled floor, and he knew it. The look in my eye said it all: I never back down from a fight.

  Dottie, Heather’s temporary friend from the night before, who waitressed at the Greasy Spoon, shook her head at me.

  “Way to scare off my customers, Slade,” she said, before heading back behind the counter to grab a couple of plates.

  “I’ll leave you an extra big tip!” I called out to her, and slid back into my seat. Heather was staring at me wide-eyed.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “Yeah, I’ve got a temper. Especially when I’m hung over,” I growled out. “Yet another reason to stay away from me.” I really needed to scare this girl off – for my own good, even more than hers.

  But the look that she gave me was curious, not scared.

  “So you’re saying that your temper might be turned on me?”

  “On you?” I was shocked. “Not on you. Not on any woman. Ever.” Oh, god, no, not that. I’d had women slap me, one had even punched me, and I’d never even been the slightest bit tempted to raise my hand to them. Not after what had –

  No use going there.

  Let’s just say that when it comes to the fairer sex, I’m a lover, not a fighter. Period.

  She took another sip of her coke and looked at me thoughtfully. “You’re sure going out of your way to make sure that I know I should stay away from you,” she said, with the faintest hint of hurt in her voice. “It’s like you blew up at that guy on purpose, so I’d see you at your worst.”

  Had I? Probably, on some level.

  Great. She was smart and insightful, on top of everything else.

  “For your own good,” I said. “I can be your friend…when I’m sober, anyway. But that’s about it. I’m no good for you, or anyone else.”

  She shrugged. “No problem. I can take a hint,” she said, picking at the French fries on her plate and not meeting my gaze.

  I felt a sharp twinge of conscience, and shoved my burger into my mouth, taking a huge bite and not meeting her eyes, to keep from rushing in and apologizing to her. I’d hurt her feelings, which was the last thing in the world that I wanted to do, but which was the best thing for her.

  The bell on the door jangled, and in walked Officer Friendly. Or, to be more specific, Sheriff Rory Blackstone, professional pain in my ass. Older man, short hair with a streak of white running down the left side of his hair like an off-center skunk, in pretty good shape despite the slight paunch starting to thicken his waistline. I’d known him since I’d moved to town to live with my uncle when I was 16. Six long years ago.

  “Afternoon, Slade. Are you the reason that man was running across the parking lot?”

  “Good to see you too.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. I haven’t had to arrest you in what, three weeks? I was hoping maybe it was the start of a trend.”

  “Unlikely.”

  He shook his head at me, glanced at Heather with a quirk of his left eyebrow, then walked over to the counter where Dottie had a cup of coffee waiting for him.

  No point in hanging around there and getting in a war of words with the walking embodiment of law and order in our town. The lectures would start coming next, lectures I could recite word for word. Wasted potential…throwing my life away…sooner or later I’d end up blah blah blah….

  As if I didn’t know all that.

  I grabbed our bill and paid for it, and left a ten dollar tip for Dottie. She flashed me a big thumbs up and a wry smile.

  I’d been with Dottie once, or maybe more than once, couldn’t remember, a couple of years back. During the winter, when I wasn’t buried under a pile of the writhing, moaning bodies of hot tourist skanks.

  I know Dottie had wanted more at the time, which is why I’d cut things off immediately.

  Yet another reason to make sure that I never laid a finger, or any other part of me, on Heather…as hard as that was going to be.

  “Can we swing by the Salty Dog motel?” she asked as we walked to my car. “I need to grab a change of clothes.”

  “Uhhh…okay.” She was staying at a motel, not her parents houses? “Should I ask…?”

  “No,” she said firmly, avoiding my eyes.

  So, rich girl had gotten into a fight with her parents and stomped off to the motel for a few days until things blew over. Hell, even the motel wasn’t cheap during tourist season; $49.99 a night during the off season, $199 a night all summer long. And it was a dive. I was actually glad that she was staying at my house; she’d be safer there.

  I offered to let her come hang out at the Sand Bar with me that night, but she said that she was still feeling sick from the night before.

  “You are still kinda green around the gills,” I agreed, and then, because a look of hurt flashed across her face, I softened it with a wink and added “Which is good, because I like girls with gills. Gills are hot,” which made her laugh.

  I headed out to the Sand Bar with my head in a whirl. I’d known this girl for less than a day and already I was having feelings which I couldn’t even name. I couldn’t stand it when that guy at the diner mauled her with his hungry gaze. I couldn’t stand it when I said things to make her back off and she looked hurt. That was the whole point, though, wasn’t it? I needed to protect her by pushing her away from me.

  The problem was, I didn’t want to push her away from me at all. I wanted to pull her close to me, to taste her, to run my tongue across her sweet skin and hear her moan my name.

  What the hell had I gotten myself into here? And how could I get out of this mess without hurting her even more?

  The thought of coming home to find her sleeping on my couch lit a fire inside me, made me want to hurry up and finish my shift so I could go home and just watch her sleep, watch her chest rise and fall as she dreamed the sweetest of dreams.

  This is where I should say that I swore off all women at that point, that I saved myself for Heather.

  Far from it.

  I let a beautiful stripe-haired brunette named Tricia be my Bar Girlfriend for the night. She followed me around, clapped gleefully when I got in a fight with a drunk ass who groped one of the waitresses, and made out with me in the corner after I bought her a drink. Later I led her by the hand to the back office, and I locked the door and let her go down on her knees and take me in her mouth. I clenched her hair tightly in my hands and closed my eyes and felt myself falling, falling, away to that dark place where I didn’t have to think or feel anything but pure physical sensation.

  When she was done and she stood up and leaned against me, kissing my neck, I slipped my fingers inside the waistband of her legging
s and stroked her as she moaned, until she shuddered to a climax. My mind was a million miles away, and I didn’t look at her face as she came and whimpered “Slade. Slade.”

  She wrote her phone number down on a piece of paper for me, and I pretended to tuck it into my pocket, letting it fall to the floor in a tiny wadded up white ball.

  When I got home, Heather was asleep on the sofa, her red hair flowing like a silken river over the pillow. Her lips were parted softly and her breath came out in a sigh. The moonlight glowing through the window lit her skin, and she was like a fairy princess from some far away exotic realm.

  It took everything that I had not to wake her, not to scoop her up in my arms and carry her into my bedroom, but I walked away and went into my room, peeled my clothes off, and climbed into bed. Alone.

  Chapter Five

  I woke up to swearing, and the acrid smell of smoke. Well, what passed for swearing when it came out of Heather’s mouth.

  “Damn it! Oh, crud!”

  Wearing only my boxer shorts, I rolled out of bed and ran out of my bedroom, to find Heather in the kitchen. She was standing in the open doorway that led out to the side yard, in pink button down pajama shirt and shorts, holding the handle of a pan of smoking bacon. She’d thrust the pan outside, and acrid black smoke billowed up from it. The bacon strips had been fried to charcoal.

  “I ruined breakfast,” she moaned. “I was going to make you breakfast.”

  I burst out laughing. “Let me guess. You never learned how to cook. I know, I know, that’s what personal chefs are for.”

  “Quit!” She pouted, her lower lip jutting out; it made her look damn near irresistible. I wanted to nip at that lip and hear her moan, to run my tongue along it…

  I could feel myself springing to attention, straining against the fabric of my boxer shorts, as I walked over, grabbed the pan from her, and dumped it on the ground outside. Then I carried it back inside, stuck it under the sink and began washing it off.

  “I’ll go take a shower, and leave the breakfast making to the professionals,” she grumbled.

  “Please.” But I smiled to show her that I wasn’t mad. The fact that she’d tried to make me breakfast, and screwed it up, somehow made her even more adorable.