Summer Girl Page 5

  He was standing there, looking as hot and sexy as ever, and he reached into his pocket and fished something out.

  “Did you forget this?” My wallet.

  I threw my arms around him. “Oh my God, you saved my life! How did you find that? How did you find me?” He was like a solid wall of muscle, and he smelled so good, with that hint of cologne mingling with the clean, masculine scent of him. The familiar desire rippled through me from head to toe, hardening my nipples and dampening my panties. When his arms circled around me to return the hug, I just wanted to lean in to him and stay there forever.

  But then his arms loosened and he was looking down at me with that big, sexy grin. I stepped back reluctantly, letting my arms fall to my side.

  “Dottie called me. I looked around the living room and found it wedged in between the sofa cushions.”

  “You are my hero.”

  He laughed. “I’ve been called a lot of things before by women. That’s not one of them.”

  “Listen, I was a jerk this morning. I over-reacted. The truth is, I got in a huge fight with my parents and they cut me off completely. I have nowhere to stay and I’m down to a few hundred bucks cash, which is why I’m freaking out right now.”

  “So if you got in a fight with your parents and you can’t stay at your summer house…why did you come to Hidden Cove? Isn’t this just your summer vacation place? It’s like one of the most expensive places to be in the summer.” he looked puzzled.

  Good question. I just wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, about the lies and ugliness that were my family’s truth.

  I shrugged. “I’m looking for something. I can’t…I’m sorry. Oh, I said I’m sorry again. Sorry about that.” I grinned to show that I was joking on that last one.

  Slade was right, though. I did apologize too much. I’d grown up striving so desperately to be perfect, and always feeling like I fell just a little bit short, and it was my fault somehow. And then I found out that the ideals that I was trying to live up to were ugly lies.

  Slade glanced at his watch. “I’m off tonight. You need a ride back to my house? You’re welcome to crash on the couch as long as you need to.”

  “If you’re okay with that…I promise not to freak out on you again.” I could stay with Slade again. I could bask in the glow of his grin and feel that tingly warmth that I only felt when I stood near him. I practically wanted to run into the street singing and dancing, but I’d already embarrassed myself enough for one day.

  “Can you also promise not to cook me breakfast?”

  “Jerk!” I punched him in the arm, but I was laughing.

  My heart was sailing. I was saved.

  Chapter Seven

  “I can’t believe it. I am officially a waitress. I even have my own name tag!” I squealed with glee, rubbing my hands together. It was the end of my first day at work. Slade had given me a ride to the bank in the morning so I could open up a bank account and deposit my cash, and then he’d dropped me off The Greasy Spoon.

  Now Dottie and I were standing outside of the diner, having shucked our uniforms, and I had $125 in my pocket. It was 7 o clock, the sun was sinking into the horizon, and the night was ours.

  “Most people aren’t that excited to find themselves working at The Greasy Spoon,” Dottie laughed.

  “This job is saving me from starvation and homelessness. I can even get a car some day. I love this job!”

  “Are you going back to college in the fall?”

  I frowned. “I don’t know. I had a straight A average, but scholarships were still only paying for half my tuition. My parents covered the other half. I guess if I got loans and grants, I could start college again somewhere else.”

  “There’s a community college in town. Or you could go to state college. It’s only half an hour from here.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll think about that tomorrow,” I said in my best fake southern-belle Gone With The Wind voice. “What should we do tonight?”

  “Want to go to the Sand Bar? There’s not much else going on in town.”

  And Slade was working…

  “Sure, why not?”

  “You can come to my house and we’ll get ready.”

  Dottie’s house was actually a mobile home, tucked away in a mobile home park at the far south end of town. The main road, Seabreeze Drive, curved through town like a half circle, with all of the expensive houses on the north end, where the beach was sandy and sugary. On the south end, where the shoreline was rocky and jagged, the cheaper houses were clustered. The mobile homes were clustered off of Spinnaker Lane, which was far enough off of Seabreeze drive that the rich folks would never have to look at it.

  “It’s not much, but it’s home,” Dottie shrugged as we climbed the steps to her tiny silver Airstream.

  “It is way cool,” I said, and I meant it. It looked like it should be on the cover of some artsy magazine, or pinned on a million Pinterest boards.

  Dottie decorated with thrift shop chic, with pretty flowered sheets made of curtains hung up on wires, and folded napkins making a valence for the kitchen window curtain. She’d painted all of the used furniture in coordinating bright sherbet colors; somehow the whole mish-mash looked like she’d bought in from one of those upscale Shabby Chic places.

  “I’ve got a decorating blog,” she said, seeing me glance around admiringly. “I’m getting an associate’s in interior decorating.”

  “Nice. When I find somewhere to live, you’ll have to help me decorate.”

  “Oooh, my second real project! My first one was my aunt’s office. I need before and after’s for my blog. This will be perfect.”

  I glanced around the room. Her bedroom was the living room. “If you ever get in a jam, you could sleep here, but I’ve only got the one bed,” she said. “And I bring over guys a lot.”

  “That’s fine. I think it will be okay for me to stay with Slade.” Until I finally give in and rip my clothes off and throw myself at him, and he laughs at me, I thought but didn’t say.

  She gestured at her table. “Here, sit down in front of that vanity.” She looked at me with a critical eye. “You’re already pretty, but a little makeup couldn’t hurt.”

  “All right, as long as it’s a little…”

  Right. I was talking to a girl who laid on her eyeliner with a sharpie. Half an hour later I looked as if I should be standing on a street corner in a miniskirt, yelling “Hey baby, you want a good time? Fifty dolla!”

  She’d trowled on a full face of makeup; there was foundation, blusher, lip liner, lip gloss, black liquid eyeliner, and three different shades of sparkly bronzed eyeshadow. My eyelashes were thickly fringed with mascara.

  “Are you sure that’s not too much?” I asked nervously.

  “Are you kidding? You look gorgeous!”

  The guys at the Sand Bar definitely thought so. Heads turned as we walked up to the front door. Dottie had changed into a retro fifties polka dot sundress with matching espadrilles, and she looked like a hot pinup girl who should be posing on the hood of a classic car magazine. I was wearing a green halter dress, and the minute we walked in guys were swarming around us.

  Slade smiled at me when we first came in, but I saw his face turning dark as he watched me chatting with a group of guys by the bar.

  I felt a mixture of flattery and annoyance.

  He’d made it more than clear that he didn’t want to have sex with me. That he was only there as a friend. He’d made me feel like the flat-chested little sister of his next door neighbor, or something equally unsexy.

  So why was it annoying him when I talked with other guys? He didn’t get to say that he didn’t want me, and nobody else could have me either.

  I looked over and saw a girl with shiny waist-length black hair and tight, dark jeggings slither up to him and drape her arm around his shoulder, and I felt that queasy feeling rising up inside me, the one that I always felt when I saw girls rubbing themselves all over him.

  I turned to talk
to Dottie and of course, she was already making out with some guy, her arms twined around his neck, his tongue on a diving expedition down her throat. He was big, wearing a tank top that revealed muscles on top of muscles, with a white-blond crewcut. I’d have bet my week’s paycheck that she couldn’t tell me his first name.

  The heck with it. I turned to the guy to the left of me, a big brawny jock who had “quarterback” written all over him. Definitely not my type.

  “So, what’s your name?” Very good, Heather, I told myself. There’s a completely irresistible pickup line.

  Fortunately, when you’re talking to a drunk jock, it really doesn’t take a lot of wit and charm to impress. Pretty much if you’re female and walking upright, you’re in.

  “Troy Bradwell. What’s your name? You look familiar.”

  “Heather. I don’t think we’ve met before.” He’d probably spotted me around the north end of town at a house party or beach party years back, but that part of my life was dead, and I didn’t want to re-animate it.

  “You sure? What’s your last name?”

  “Petrokovski…vichowitz.” I made up the name on the spur of the moment. I was not going to say Tremaine. Then that big spotlight would click on and I’d be standing alone in its glare, exposed and up on a stage with everybody looking at me. I didn’t want that. I liked being anonymous, being talked to as a face in the crowd and not to some false ideal that had been built up.

  “Petrokov…what?” a look of bafflement spread across his face.

  “Spelled like it sounds,” I added helpfully. I didn’t think I could repeat it a second time.

  Dottie had come up for air, and she laughed at my fake made up name. Her current hookup’s hands were roving freely over her butt, squeezing and kneading like it was bread dough.

  “Hey, Heather,” Slade’s voice was right behind my ear, making me jump. I turned to face him.

  “What’s up?” I said coldly. “Where’s your girlfriend?” God, I sounded like such a petty jealous loser when I said that. I was about to apologize but I caught myself. I wasn’t sorry.

  He stared down at me, looking me in the eye. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Hey, dude, back off. She’s with me.” Troy stuck out his jaw belligerently, and I felt a sudden ice cold wave of fear wash over me. He was twice Slade’s weight; he could snap Slade in two.

  “Yeah? What’s her last name?” Slade said with a smirk, and a gleam in his eye. He’d overheard our conversation.

  “It’s Petra…Pet….”Troy’s face wrinkled up in frustration, as he desperately tried to think. It wasn’t a good look on him.

  I grabbed Slade’s arm and pulled him away before a fight could start. He let me pull him across the room and out the door onto the patio.

  “What was that all about?” I demanded. “You can let girls rub all over you, but you don’t want me talking to other guys?”

  “Not that guy. He’s a douchebag. He’s practically got a neon sign blinking “date rapist” on his forehead.” Slade glared at me. “Is that really your type?”

  “It’s none of your business what my type is, and you’re one to talk. I’ve seen the type of girls you go for.” I was so upset my hands were shaking. “Who do you think you are? You made it really clear that you don’t want me, so you don’t get to say who I can talk to.”

  Faster than thought, he moved so close to me that he was brushing up against me, and I had to tip my head back to look at him. He was breathing hard, his eyes dark with anger, and despite the fact that I was furious at him, I also felt that tingling running through my body, making me pulse with desire and sending a rush of moisture between my legs.

  “I never said that I don’t want you,” he said, his tone deadly serious. “I never said that.”

  “Oh? What did you say?”

  “I said that I’m no good for you. Or anyone. But especially you; you’re much too good for me.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “So…you do want me?”

  “So much it hurts.” He was a little bit drunk, I could tell, but his words were firm and steady and they hit me like a volley of bullets.

  He wanted me.

  “I’m not better than you,” I choked out. “I’m not too good for you. The Tremaines…we’re not what you think.”

  He reached up and his hand brushed the side of my face and I felt heat flare on my skin at the touch of his hand. It swept through my entire body like a forest fire.

  “I don’t care about the Tremaines. Only you.”

  Suddenly, amazingly, he bent down as if he were about to kiss me…and then Troy barreled through the door, followed by his friends, who were yelling at him to just let it go, man, let it go.

  Troy sauntered by and as he did, he reached out, grabbed my right butt cheek, and squeezed hard, wrenching a startled shriek from me. “Let me know when you’re ready for a real man,” he jeered.

  Slade let out a roar and launched himself at Troy a blur of motion, and suddenly the two of them were rolling around on the floor, furniture flying everywhere, and I was screaming at them to stop.

  Troy should have had the advantage, because he was bigger than Slade, but Slade was like a wolverine, maddened with rage, focused on nothing but the fight.

  It was over almost before it began; Slade knocked Troy out cold with a right hook to the jaw.

  Then the other bouncers descended on us and they were hauling Troy through the bar, and someone dumped a pitcher of cold water on him, which mostly roused him to a dazed semi-conscious state.

  Dottie’s potential hookup had vanished in the commotion. She stared at him, shaking her head in disgust as he stumbled past her on his way to the bar, bleeding from a cut on his mouth, leaning on me. “Jesus, Slade, really?” she snapped.

  “Yes, Dottie, really,” he drawled in a bored tone.

  Then I sat at the bar with Slade, pressing a bag of ice against his swelling right eye. “See what happens when you hang around me?” he said with a crooked smile.

  “I can’t believe you still have all your teeth.”

  “The better to eat you with, my dear. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I just said that to you. I am really drunk right now.”

  “No, go on. Tell me more.” I laughed.

  Then I turned serious. “You won’t get fired?”

  “My uncle Larry owns the bar. I’m fire-proof. Besides, bar fights are part of the ambience.” Slade nodded his head at an older guy behind the bar, and I realized I’d seen him around before but never really noticed him. In his sixties, grey hair, with a drinker’s red face and a swollen red strawberry of a nose.

  “I did not know that.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” But this time when he said it, he didn’t have that cold, back-away tone to his voice. He was smiling, his eyes warm and inviting.

  “Like what else?”

  A dark shadow crossed over his face.

  There was something in his past that he wasn’t telling me about, I could sense it. It was something that had burned him and made him hard, something secret and so painful that he couldn’t stand to talk about it.

  Join the club, I thought.

  I put my hand on top of his, leaning in so he could hear me over the din of the crowd and the jukebox. “You don’t have to tell me. You could show me.”

  The smile that spread across his face was slow as molasses, and the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I swallowed hard. My panties were so wet that I squirmed in my seat and crossed my legs, hard, trying to crush my desire.

  “Heather, I do believe I’m corrupting you,” he said with a grin. “You used to be such a nice girl. Like, yesterday.”

  “Is that bad?” my voice was shaking.

  Oh, my God, I wanted this man so much. And he’d told me he wanted me too. I’d heard him with my own ears, like an echo from my dreams.

  “Very very bad.” He cupped my chin in his hand and leaned in, brushing his lips against my ear. Desire flared up in m
e, so painfully intense that I actually let out a small whimper. “Let’s make it worse.”

  I saw Jason, one of the other bouncers, glance towards the door and a frown creased his forehead, and I followed his gaze. Across the room, the sheriff was making his way towards us, with a deputy by his side.

  My stomach clenched in fear. “Is this bad news?” I asked.

  Slade shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m about to get arrested. Is that bad news?”

  Chapter Eight

  Slade

  I saw the blood drain from Heather’s face as Sheriff Blackstone walked up to us. Me, I wasn’t the least bit fazed. I hadn’t seen the inside of the jail cell in our little sheriff’s station in weeks; I almost missed it. And it was high time I added some more graffiti to the wall.

  But to a girl like Heather, getting arrested had to be like the literal end of the world.

  “It’s nothing,” I reassured her. “I’ll be back home tomorrow morning.”

  And then suddenly it occurred to me – how would she get in my house? Where would she sleep? Who would protect her from drunk assholes if I was in jail?

  An uneasy feeling twisted in the pit of my stomach, and for the first time ever, I was worried for someone else’s safety. Well, not the first time ever…the first time in many years. The last time I’d cared about someone else’s safety enough to try to do something about it, it had devastating consequences. So devastating that it had detached my world from its orbit and sent me spinning out of control ever since, on a collision course with disaster.

  “Hey,” I said to Sheriff Blackstone. “She’s staying at my house. She doesn’t have a key, and she doesn’t have a ride home.”

  “I can give her a ride,” Dottie scowled, clearly pissed off at me. “Maybe you could have thought about Heather before you guys decided to whip out your dicks and see whose was bigger.”

  “Mine,” I snapped, swaying where I stood. Dottie just rolled her eyes.

  Drunk, self-centered asshole Slade strikes again, she was thinking.

  She was right, of course.

  I reached in my pocket and pulled out my keys, and handed them to Heather, whose eyes were huge with shock.