His lips curve into a smile, and he shakes his head. “Small world.”
At my blank expression, he explains, “I’m from New York too. The opposite end though. Kodack. Western New York.”
“Oh. I’ve never been.”
He glances out at the horizon. “Yeah, it’s nothing like this.”
The more he talks, the calmer I feel. “So how did you end up in Hollywood?”
He turns back with a grin. “Pursuing my dreams of rock stardom. Like thousands of other bands. We’re hoping the video we shot today’s gonna be our big break.” He studies me for a second. “Your family still in Bright Point?”
“Sort of. My dad’s away…on business.” That’s certainly one way of putting it.
“What did you do back home?”
I don’t think he’ll understand or respect “pampered princess” as an answer. For a reason I can’t identify, I don’t want him to think I’m another airhead actress. “I just finished my business degree, but mostly I help with the family business.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
All his other questions were of the “let’s get to know each other” variety. Talking about my family’s “business” treads into territory I’m definitely not comfortable discussing with this guy I barely know. “Little bit of everything,” I answer with a quick jerk of my shoulders.
He nods slowly.
“You?”
“Same. I work for my dad’s…business.”
“And that is?” I mean, since he’s being nosy, why shouldn’t I?
One corner of his mouth turns up. “Import/export.”
Huh. Seems like he wants to talk about his family as much as I do. “Can we not talk about our families?”
He doesn’t answer with words right away. Instead, he traces my cheek with the back of his hand. “That works. I’d rather kiss you instead.”
It’s not a question. The way he phrases his intention as a factual statement is very appealing. I can’t help but be drawn to his confidence. In a rush, the connection I felt when our eyes met this morning snaps back to life. His arms slip around me, pulling me tight against him as the warm water slaps against our legs. For a moment, he stares into my eyes, as if asking permission. Then his mouth brushes against mine. Warm and soft at first. Testing and tasting. I let out a soft moan and brace myself on his shoulders, momentarily distracted by how hard he is under the soft fabric of his T-shirt.
He pulls back. Before I can open my eyes, his lips crash against mine once again. At first, the shock of his hot, hungry mouth claiming mine renders me frozen. His persistence melts my insides, and I press myself tighter against him, digging my tiptoes in the sand to get closer. My arms slip around his neck, holding him tight. His tongue licks at my lips, and I surrender. He groans as our tongues meet for the first time.
The squawk of seagulls above us barely registers.
Until something warm and wet lands on my arm.
My eyes fly open, and I yank myself out of Chaser’s hold so fast, he has no idea what’s happening.
“Oh my God, oh my God! A seagull shit on me! Ewww!” I’m close to tears, staring at my arm. I’ve never had bird shit on my skin before in my life.
Chaser—the bastard—laughs. He actually laughs.
“Stop laughing at me!”
He’s still rumbling with laughter as he takes my arm and leans us over. “Wash it off in the water, silly girl.”
“Ugh, yuck.”
He takes pity on me and splashes water over my arm until I’m clean…sort of. Revulsion leaves a gagging sensation lingering in the back of my throat.
“Coulda been a lot worse. Could have landed on your head. Then we’d have to stick all your pretty blonde hair in the water.” He ruffles his wet hand over my hair, and I slap it away.
“Eww!”
He laughs again. “Some people consider it good luck.”
“Bullshit,” I grumble. “They’re just trying to make themselves feel better about their shitty luck.” I turn and head for shore. Completely mortified that not only was I pooped on, but that I acted like a prissy little princess, flailing and whining.
The splish-splash of his feet through the shallow water makes my cheeks heat up, and I run faster.
“Mallory, wait!”
He grabs me as soon as my toes hit warm, dry sand.
He’s smiling when I look up. “I’m sorry I laughed.”
Now it’s my turn to chuckle. “I’m sorry I acted like a big baby.”
“Maybe we should kiss indoors from now on.” He quirks an eyebrow at me, but the face he’s making is more seductive than inquiring.
I don’t know about kissing indoors. Only the thought that we were outside, in public, kept me from ripping off my clothes and begging him to take me.
Which would be pretty dramatic since no man’s ever made me feel that way before.
Am I eager to gain some experience or do I really like this guy? It’s hard to tell since I barely know him.
“Maybe,” I answer, and start kicking through the sand to the boardwalk.
Chaser
I don’t know what feeling to focus on first as I follow Mallory to the boardwalk. Amused. Confused. Turned the fuck on. Shit, pick one.
She’s a whole bunch of contradictions stuffed into a tiny, sexy package. I can’t get the sweet taste of her off my lips. I also can’t forget the horrified expression when she realized what the seagulls dropped on her. By sheer will, I hang onto the laughter that I know will only make her feel worse.
The biggest stab in the chest was the earnest way she apologized. Never known a girl who didn’t thrive on big, dramatic scenes. Club girls I knew back home would still be sobbing and complaining ‘bout something like that.
When she broke our kiss, she left me panting and turned inside out. I never pant after girls.
Well, turns out, maybe I do. There’s something about this one that makes me run after her. If my father could see me now.
“Slow down, tough girl.” I catch one of her hands easily enough and pull her to a stop.
She fixes me with a pissy expression. “Are you making fun of me again?”
“Not at all. Let’s go eat.”
Her eyes roam my face, checking to see if I’m sincere or not. When she’s satisfied, her shoulders drop, and I get a glimpse of a smile from her. “Okay. Where?”
I point at a shack-like building a short distance down the boardwalk. “Taco stand. Fish tacos sound good?”
“Don’t know.” Her tongue darts out, slicking over her plump bottom lip. “I’ve never tasted them.”
My dick twitches. Tacos are just the beginning of many first tastes I plan to give her. “You’ll love ‘em. If you don’t, we’ll find you something else.”
Gripping her hand tighter, I tug her down the sidewalk, dodging roller skaters, jugglers and all sorts of beach performers.
I place our order at the window, and when I ask for two Coronas, Mallory taps my arm. “Uh, I’m not old enough to drink.”
I almost laugh, except she’s completely serious. I’ve been snagging beers at my dad’s clubhouse since I was a kid, and no one ever blinked. “How old are you?”