“Hey, you’re the one who decided Gene Simmons was worth risking your life for.”
“He was! Still is, too.”
I roll my eyes and ignore her Gene Simmons obsession. “Anyways, Jaws had just come out and you know how much I was dying to see that. I just didn’t want to go alone. So, when I saw Sam, I asked him if he wanted to come. If you remember, sixteen-year-old Sam was totally cute.”
Sam grins. Then his nose scrunches up as he processes my words. “Hey, what do you mean sixteen-year-old me? What about twenty-one-year-old me?”
I cross to him and pat his cheek. “You’re still adorable, Sammy. But I’m quite sure that night we both realized we’re better off as friends.”
“Hey, that was my first kiss! I’m a lot better now,” he says. “I’ll prove it!”
“I think you’ve been proving it ever since with Tanya, Brittany, Brooke, Meredith, and who was the last girl? Oh yeah, Bridget,” Joe chimes in.
“Helpful, man. Real helpful,” Sam mutters.
Sunny’s still a step or so back. “Wait, wait, wait. You were the girl Sam couldn’t stop talking about?”
“Sunny…” Joe warns just as my eyes widen.
I thought this was playful banter, but now, I’m wondering if it’s more, and if so, I really don’t want to give Sam the wrong impression.
“Sam, it was just a movie…nothing more. You know that.” I stare at him.
He takes his hat off, shakes out his hair, then sets it back on top of his head. “Yeah, Sunny, Amelia here was lucky enough to be my first kiss.”
“But you said that girl—”
“Sunny,” Joe warns again, and I’m starting to wonder if the sun is affecting us all, because I have no idea what’s going on.
“How can Amelia be the girl with the fish lips?!”
My mouth pops open. “Samuel Mackenzie! You did not say I have fish lips!”
At this point, he’s howling, nearly doubled over in laughter. I firmly set my hands on my hips and wait for him to calm down. When he finally does, his face is red, either from the heat or the exertion, but either way, he looks ridiculous.
“I’m sorry, Meems. So, so sorry. I was a dumb sixteen-year-old boy who’d just had his first kiss with a smokin’-hot girl, and I practically swallowed your face. So, when I accidently let it slip to Joe that I’d had a hot date, it just kind of came out. Don’t go havin’ a cow about it.”
I place both hands on his chest and push him with enough force to knock him back a step. “You are such a dick!”
His hands encircle my wrist and he draws me into his chest. Bright-blue eyes full of mischief stare down at me. “I said I’m sorry. Hell, till Sunny brought it up, I completely forgot about it.” His gaze falls to my lips then goes back to my eyes. “Trust me when I say your lips are the things wet dreams are for. Especially when you’re toying with a straw.”
Now I’m confused. “Sam, I wasn’t… That wasn’t me trying anything with you… I’m not—”
Sam’s chuckle stops me. “Babe, I know that show wasn’t for me. Glad it wasn’t for me, ’cause as bangin’ as you are—and damn, girl, you fuckin’ are—we both know we have no chemistry.”
Relief swells over me. Phew. “You’re not so bad yourself, Sammy. A lot cuter than you were at sixteen. And I’ll trust you’re a better kisser, too.” I step back, out of his arms and hold out a hand. “Still just friends?”
His hand takes mine. “Damn right. Don’t think you could handle all this, anyhow,” he teases with a grin.
When he retreats, flinging his arms wide and shimmying his hips as he belts out some Donna Summer surprisingly on key, I just shake my head, knowing he’s right.
“Earth to Amelia.”
Thoroughly engrossed in my book, I don’t register that Sunny’s talking to me until I feel a thong hit me on the ass. I sigh, placing my bookmark between the pages of my book, and look up at her.
She’s standing here, her things gathered, her clothes on. “I’ve only been trying to get your attention for five minutes now,” she says.
I grin sheepishly at her and hold my book up. “Sorry, Sun. I picked up this paperback before I came to town and can’t seem to get enough of it.”
Her nose wrinkles as she reads that title then laughs. “Really, Amelia? The Gloryhole Killer?”
I’m not embarrassed in the least. Sunny’s no stranger to my obsession with all things B-horror and true crime. I open my mouth to tell her about the book, but she reads me correctly, holding a hand up and stopping me.
“Nope. Don’t want to know. I don’t need to be put off truck stops for the rest of my life because of whatever sick fuckery is written in that piece of fiction.”
“But, Sunny, it’s terrific! Or, I guess, really bad. However you want to look at it. It’s like half trashy crime novel and super terrible seventies porno all rolled into one story. You see, there’s a psycho killer going around what they think are garden shears and—”
“Nope!” she cries, cutting me off and shaking her finger at me. “You know how squeamish I get when it comes to these kinds of stories, so I don’t care. Not going to listen to you. What I am going to do is head back up and get out of this heat. I’m starting to get a bit of a headache, and if I don’t cool off and lie down before work, I’ll be a total grump behind the bar tonight. You want to stay here with that nonsense or come back with us?”
I glance along the shore, noticing that no one else is around. The sun’s high in the sky, its rays beating down, but there’s a gentle little breeze coming off that lake that doesn’t make it too unbearable. I make a mental note to be liberal with the sunscreen because burning on my first full day here is not on the agenda.
I push my sunglasses back up and roll over onto my stomach, getting comfortable on my towel. “I think I’ll stay here a bit. I have nothing else to do, so I might as well enjoy the sunshine while I can.”
She glances to Joe and Sam. “Come on, boys. Let’s leave Amelia alone with her demented serial killer.” To me, she says, “Don’t stay out here too long, okay? You know you can always read in the nice air-conditioned house.”
“I won’t, Mom. Don’t worry. I’ll alternate by taking dips in the lake if I start to feel too heated. And I have plenty of water. I’ll stay hydrated. Just one more chapter and I’ll come in. You know I need to build my base tan.”
Sunny rolls her eyes, knowing it’s never just one more chapter. “All righty. See ya.”
The three of them trudge off as I reopen my book. I’m so engrossed in the story, desperate to see how Detective Cochran and Dr. Roscoe plan on solving the gruesome crime spree that’s rampant across truck stops in the Midwest, that I nearly jump out of my skin when something wet hits the small of my back.
Even though I have a very fond appreciate for all things horror, that doesn’t mean I don’t get the bejeezus scared out of me at the tiniest little thing. My book falls to the side as I yelp, completely forgetting myself when I roll over to see who’s interrupted my reading.