Giving In (The Sandy Cove Series Book 1) (11 page)

“Thea Thornton! Whose side are you on
anyway?”

Thea looks like she just realized she put her
foot in her mouth, not sure what to say next.

“Your side, silly. I was kidding.”

Willow gets up and goes to the cooler Max is
sitting on now.

“And how do you know I haven’t been getting
any?” Steam starting to protrude from Harlow’s ears.

Her hand moves from her side and extends one of
them towards me.

“Well, for starters, the pictures in our house
have been securely fastened to the walls this week. No against the
wall banging has made them crumble to the floor, unlike last week’s
boink fest you had in your room. Tell me again, Cruz, are two
vaginas really better than one?”

Oh, she’s fierce.

“Actually, Willow. It’s kind of hard sticking it
into two vaginas at the same time. I mean it’s big, but I let my
fingers do the walking in one, as the big guy here is in the other
one.”

I motion to Morty. I make him proud with my
comebacks.

Of course, I get the ew’s, and the ah’s and the
‘Oh, that’s so gross’.

“Move it, or lose it, mohawk man.” She thumbs
for Max to get up so she can fish out some kind of girly foo-foo
drink for herself. Most of the girls drink them, except for Harlow.
She’s the beer girl of the group, with the exception of the
occasional shot of tequila.

Max pouts, but does what she says.

“You are so mean to me. Want me to get my
flashlight and find that bug that crawled up your ass?”

Bad move Max, bad move. She’s already in a mood.
I can tell.

Willow comes eye to eye with Max. She is a few
inches taller than him, which is funny. I always enjoy it when a
girl pokes a guy in the chest as she gives him an ear full of shit,
oh, and when he’s shorter than her.

“Listen here, short stack, I have no bug up my
ass. I am not mean, and you want to know the truth, yea, I need to
get laid, just like the rest of you. I need a good, old-fashioned
fuck fest. Happy now?” The scowl on her face is one I’d rather not
mess with. She’s terrifying.

She downs the pink-colored contents of her
bottle in what seems like one big gulp, swiping at her mouth
after.

Everyone stares. It’s not the words a debutante
like her uses, but I don’t think she’s like the others.

It’s quiet, I mean really quiet.

Porter, obviously embarrassed by his cousin’s
choice of words, shakes his head, and looks at the sand beneath his
feet. Max is looking at her like a hungry tiger, and she’s the
helpless gazelle, ready to be eaten. Well… maybe it’s the other way
around. I see him lick his lips.

Oh, no buddy, red flag, call the guards, we are
at def-con one here.

I have to stop this, stop the madness, I see
that is about to unfold.

“Ok, people. Enough. Max, what time does your
band go on tonight?”

Max snaps out of his staring contest with Willow
long enough to answer me in a tiny, pussy like voice.

“Ten. That reminds me, I, um better go rest
up.”

Max grabs his towel, his eyes still on Willow,
and yea, I think I may vomit. He trips over his own two feet and
stumbles. I hit my forehead with my hand, closing my eyes tightly,
because Max is an ass, and I’d rather not see him fall on it. His
ass I mean.

He jogs up the beach onto the boardwalk and
disappears.

Willow flops back on her chair, and sighs.

“I’m so going to have him before the summer is
over.”

Porter jumps up from where he was just firmly
planted.

“The hell you will, Willow. He’s my friend. He’s
your friend, and friends don’t sleep with each other’s friends, or
whatever. It’s just wrong. It complicates things.”

She stands again, meeting Porter’s eyes, nose to
nose, and I think the shit may hit the proverbial fan, again.

“Oh, yea, well Harlow had sex with Cruz, so
what’s that then, huh?”

Oh, no she just didn’t say that.

Harlow jumps up, spins Willow around by her arm,
and if I was a betting man, I’d say some big, huge, monstrous words
are about to fly out of Harlow’s mouth.

“Willow Taylor! How could you!”

Oh, I was wrong. I’m shocked.

Porter has his fingers in his ears, saying ‘la,
la, la’ in a sing-song tune, and mumbling, “I didn’t just hear
that.”

Harlow’s fire-like glare burning a whole through
Willow.

This. Is. Classic.

I’m waiting for them to start ripping each
other’s tops off, and then kiss. That would so make my day.

“Well, my God Harlow, that’s the first thing you
said to us after we got back to the house that night. Star tattoo
this and star tattoo that. Besides, you guys are past it
anyway.”

Harlow’s anger doesn’t seem to dissipate.
Willow’s words only fuel her, and I feel as though I may have to
get out of the line of fire.

“You’re a real bitch, you know that? How
immature can you actually be? Now he’s (she means me) going to get
off on what you just said. Look at the smirk on his face. Thanks a
lot.”

I do have a smirk. I like that I have a smirk,
and I have every reason to have one. She talked about my stars. Oh,
yes, my stars. All the ladies want to lick the stars, and then go
running to their girlfriends to tell them about them. The stars are
almost as good as my C.I.A. story. Almost.

Gets ‘em every time.

All’s quiet for a few seconds until Thea
saunters up to Porter. Her voice is quiet, like it usually is. She
plays with her hands, not really looking up at Porter when she
speaks.

“So friends hooking up with friends is wrong?”
She meets his eyes for a second. Her lip looks like it’s quivering,
and then she looks back at her hands.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Porter. Thanks.”

She grabs her stuff and walks off the beach.
Porter looks like he’s waging a war with his thoughts. I’m not
about to ask what the deal is. Not my concern.

“Hey, Turnip, relax. I’m not going to bust your
chops about it. What’s done is done, right?”

That’s really not what I’m thinking. I’m going
to use this information to my advantage. Now listen, I know we are
getting along and trying to find some kind of friendship in all
this, but I never said I can’t tease her and get her angry as hell
at me. It’s a turn on. I like to see Harlow Hannum a little hot
under the collar.

“I’m sorry I have to apologize for Willow. I
didn’t expect her to betray me like that.” Harlow looks genuinely
sorry, I almost feel bad for her… almost.

“Ok, girls. Let’s go back to our houses, rest
up, then go out tonight, have a great time and hear Max’s band
play.”

I grab Harlow’s beach chair before she has a
chance to stop me, but before I do, I give her a little show.

I reach up, stretching my arms over my head,
letting my swim trunks drop slightly, to reveal, yep, you guessed
it…

“Oh my, oh my. I wonder if the stars will be out
tonight. What do you think, Turnip?”

She’s not paying me too much mind, so I cough.
She turns around and gives me the eye roll.

“I knew it was too good to be true. Put those
things away.”

She gives me a half smile that I didn’t expect,
and her cheeks have a touch of red to them. I’m not sure if it’s
embarrassment, recognition, or the sun.

Tonight Max’s band is playing at Jax. It’s the
most popular bar here in Sandy Cove. It gets pretty packed, but Max
is good friends with the owner, so he reserved a few tables for us,
right near the stage, so we can see Max. The girls are late, as
usual. They told Porter and me to go ahead without them.

We saunter up to the bar, grab a few brews, and
make our way to the reserved tables. Damn, this place is crawling
with hotties tonight. I tap Morty a bit through my jeans and say to
him, “Tonight’s going to be a good night for you, bro.” I’m giddy
like a school girl. I nod to some of the girls I see. I wink, and
graze my upper teeth with my tongue. I flex without doing it like a
body builder and adjust my arms a bit to get them to notice, not
like they didn’t already.

I mean, really, look at me.

The tables at Jax have banquet seats that are
aligned enough that everyone sitting at them has a great view of
the stage. Porter and I raise our beers, and I make a toast.

“Here’s to good friends, good music, and the ton
of pussy we’re getting tonight. Cheers.” Porter doesn’t return my
sentiment. “What the fuck is up with you man? I’m kind of getting
tired of your Mr. Rogers, quiet as a church mouse attitude.”

He scowls at me, not immediately looking at my
face, and trying to avoid the question.

Then he raises his head, looking right past me
like I didn’t exist.

“Holy shit.” He drags the phrase out, jaw agape,
and eyes widened to the point of bugging out of his head. I crank
my neck to one side, nothing, but then when I move to the other, I
realize what the blank expression on his face truly means.

I repeat after him, “Holy shit!” I emphasize the
holy. And with all good reason, which at the moment has my head
spinning like the rinse cycle of a washing machine.

In walks the girls, but they don’t look like our
girls. They look… well, they look hot! Dressed to kill. All I see
are legs. Some in short skirts, some in dresses, and some in
shorts. Legs.

“My God, are they the same girls we live next
door to?” I say it out loud and I had no intention to.

Willow steps up first. All five feet ten of her,
then Thea steps up after her in a short little skirt. Porter looks
like he’s about to go ape shit. He doesn’t look too happy, but what
I see after Thea walks in, stirs something down below, and makes me
take a long, hard drink of my beer. I blink, several times for
there is a sight to behold. Harlow Hannum looks like she just
stepped out of a fucking magazine. Like the kind I see in the
convenience stores.

Her hair cascading around her shoulders, with
soft, wide curls flowing down to lay across her supple breasts. The
purple color of her sundress is unusual, but compliments her skin
tone. But her legs? It’s her fucking legs that make Morty stand at
attention.

It’s not right, well it is, but it’s not. I’m
guessing it’s my natural male testosterone playing part in my
sudden boner, but for Harlow, it’s got to calm down. A sudden bulge
in my pants is not an option. Also, I’m not dead. I will admit to
thinking a girl is pretty, even if it is Harlow.

Sorry Morty, old boy.

“Hi,” she says placing her hand on my
shoulder.

“Yo. Beer?” I turn to her, not meeting her
eyes.

“Sure.” She replies, and I spin on my heels to
the bar and wait to be served. I reach the bar, and I’m still in
shock as to the way she looks tonight and how my body reacted to
seeing her dressed up that way. I feel a hand on my shoulder, this
time I feel the nails of that hand slowly touch me, from shoulder
to wrist.

“Wow, you have some serious ink. I like it a
lot.”

I glance to see who’s speaking. I come face to
face with some exotic looking chick, maybe Polynesian. Long, dark
hair, bronzed skin, and her lips all pouty and needy. Wonder how
they’d feel around my cock? Maybe later, first I have to get Harlow
her beer.

“You like them now, do you baby?”

She continues to trail her fire engine red nails
up and down my ink, alternating between licking and biting her
lower lip.

“Oh, yea, I like a lot. You have them anywhere
else.”

The bartender hands me my beers. I throw money
on the bar and turn around, but something catches my eyes, and my
brain goes from zero to sixty immediately, observing the scene in
front of me.

It’s almost like when a swarm of flies zeros in
on a piece of crap, although instead of flies, they’re guys. Around
the girls, smiling, talking to them, licking their lips, and
getting ready to go in for the kill. Especially Harlow. I study all
of them for a few moments, surveying, waiting to see what their
next moves will be.

My eyes go to Porter, who is standing next to
them. I notice the girls not paying any attention to him, but his
eyes are on all three of them. I start to make my way over, but the
beaut next to me stills my arm.

“Where are you off to? I want to find out where
your other tattoos are.”

Damn, I could have her right now, and she’s
fucking hot, but the big brother vibe in me needs to go over and
give the guys flirting with the girls a bit of warning, without
words that is.

“Maybe later, baby. I’ll find you. What’s your
name?”

“Leilani.”

Polynesian? Sounds hot.

“Sounds good. And you will get your answer about
the rest of my ink.”

She releases my arm, and I stroll over to the
gang. The guys around the girls aren’t as big as me, some are built
well, but my stature towers over them. I make my approach,
methodically, intimidating even.

I hand Harlow her beer after I tap her arm. She
doesn’t even take her eyes off this guy she’s talking to, she just
holds out her hand for me to place the beer in it.

What the fuck is that all about?

“You’re welcome, Turnip.”

The guy she’s talking to snickers.

“Turnip? What is that?”

Harlow laughs forcefully at his question. I mean
such an exaggerated attempt at a laugh that even I think it’s
comical.

“Oh, that’s just some silly name my neighbor
came up with. Oh, I’m so sorry, but I didn’t get your name.” She
asks the genius standing next to her.

“Elton. Elton Joel.”

Now see, that’s my cue to laugh the way she just
did, but mine won’t be forced because you have to be kidding me.
Elton Joel? Were his parents smoking crack when they named him? Oh,
wait. I’m not going to answer that, but it’s not going to stop me
from laughing right in his face.

“Elton Joel? Seriously?”

Harlow shoots me daggers from her eyes, clearly
ready to kill me. Elton Joel smiles when Harlow looks at him after
she shoots me her fiery gaze, but when she looks back to me, his
expression is less than welcoming.