He catches me staring and snaps his T-shirt at me, smacking me on the butt. “Stop your drooling. You’re only allowed to do that in private.”
“Arrogant much?” I raise a brow and rest my hands on my hips.
“You know you were drooling.” He stalks toward me, walking along the edge of the blanket, his expression full of serious intent. I stand up a little straighter, my breathing coming a little faster as he slips an arm around me and pulls me to him. I have no choice but to rest my hands on his very firm, very warm chest. “It’s all good. I get why you were doing it,” he murmurs, his mouth hovering just above mine. But I dodge away from it, wanting to tease.
“Why? Because you’re just so good looking I can’t resist your charms?” I streak my fingers down his front, enjoying the way his skin prickles with goose bumps. A thrill runs through me because I’m the one who does that to him. I’m the one who has that effect on him like no other girl does.
That’s heady stuff.
“No, though that’s a valid reason. Ow.” He rubs at the spot on his chest where I just slapped him. “I know that’s how I react every time I see you. That’s what I was trying to say.”
“Oh.” Now I feel like a jerk. I drop my head so I don’t have to face him and he slips his fingers beneath my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“Come on, don’t make me beg. Take off your clothes so I can see your swimsuit, Chels. You’re killing me with anticipation here.”
“Turn around.” Pulling myself from his arms, I make sure his back is to me before I pull off my T-shirt and then wiggle out of my denim shorts, tossing them both into my bag. I straighten out the bikini bottom, tugging on it so it’s covering my butt and making sure everything’s in place. “Okay. You can turn back around now.”
The anticipation game is fun. We’ve done this sort of thing before. Lots of times really. Slowly he turns, his gaze becoming heated the moment it lands on me. He whistles low as he rubs his hand along his jaw, his gaze running over me from the top of my head to the tips of my pink painted toes.
He says nothing for so long I’m starting to get a complex before he finally utters, “I think you need to put your clothes back on.”
“But—why?” I let my arms hang loose at my sides, surprised by his words. I’ve actually filled out some this last year. I’ve gained a little weight but nothing too outrageous and besides, it seems to have gone in pretty good places. At least places Owen approves of. My boobs are bigger so I fill out the bikini top better than I had when I first met him. My hips are a little wider too but he just says that’s more for him to grab on to.
Still, it’s hard not to compare my wide hips to his lean ones and that stomach of his is so ridiculously tight and ridged with muscle. Trust me, I know because I’ve explored every firm inch of skin there with my tongue.
“I don’t want anyone seeing you like this.” He pulls me into him, his hands landing on my hips, fingers playing with the little ties there. “One tug and I could have these bottoms falling right off of you.”
“Then don’t untie them.” I stepped out of his embrace with a smile, wondering if he’d chase me. I’m starving for my sandwich but I’m more starved with the need to play around with him. Shooting him a daring look, I turn and start running toward the water, yelling out, “Catch me if you can!”
I glance over my shoulder to see him standing there with his hands on his hips, a smile curling his lips as he watches me. He’s letting me get ahead of him because he could so totally catch me and humiliatingly fast. He does this sort of thing for months on end out on the football field.
Catching me would be no big deal. But I know he will. He’s caught me time and again, saving me from trouble, saving me from my own stubborn pride. And I’ve done the same for him too.
No heavy thoughts today though. Today is about fun in the sun on the beach and in the water. I want to enjoy these last hours with Owen before he leaves.
I let Chelsea get a good distance ahead of me before I take off jogging after her, keeping my pace steady. I could be on that girl in about thirty seconds flat but I’m in no hurry. She’s having fun running through the foamy water that’s leaving rounded patterns on the wet sand, squealing so loud I swear the seagulls above us are squawking louder just to be heard.
A group of little kids aren’t too far off, digging into the sand and they laugh at Chelsea as she keeps yelling, which causes her to laugh too. “It’s cold!” she tells them and they start giving her grief.
I come to a stop and watch as she walks over to them, plopping down into the sand on her knees. She’s examining the sand castle they’re making and when one of the boys offers her a red plastic bucket, she takes it with a smile and scoops it into the sand.
My heart catches and I rest my hand against my chest. Seeing her like this reminds me that she never had much of a childhood. She’s told me bits and pieces since I’ve been with her, brief descriptions of what sounds like a lonely, extra smart kid who had to deal with a pair of selfish parents who didn’t give a fuck about her.
I know what that’s like, to have a parent who doesn’t care. But at least when Mom wasn’t around, I had my sister. Fable made sure I had food in my belly and clean clothes to wear. She’s the one who stayed on top of me about my homework and that I went to school. Not Mom. She was too focused on finding her next drink and landing the next fool who was dumb enough to be taken in by her brittle charm and fading looks.
Scowling, I scrub a hand over the back of my head. It’s wrong to think so ill of the dead but she wasn’t a nice person. And that’s putting it mildly.
Enough with the bullshit memories trying to wreck my afternoon, I need to refocus. I head over to where Chelsea is playing with the little kids, standing right behind her so my shadow falls over them, causing three little heads to all look up at me, squinting against the sun.
“You’re ruining our view, mister!” one of them yells, sounding indignant.
No one’s ever called me mister before. I step to the side, my shadow disappearing. “Looks like you’re making a castle,” I say casually.
Chelsea glances over her shoulder at me, flashing a smile in my direction. “Took you long enough to get over here.”
“I didn’t want to ruin your fun.” I crouch down beside her, dragging my finger in the sand. I gather a bunch of it and turn my finger over, letting it land with a plop on top of her knee. “You need some help?” I ask the two boys and one girl who are digging diligently in the sand with their wimpy plastic shovels.
“Yeah. Here.” The little girl hands me a bright yellow bucket, hardly looking at me as she refocuses her attention on what she’s doing. And what that is, I really don’t know but these are some inexpert castle builders I’m dealing with so I decide to get down to business.
I see the parents sitting not too far away and when I turn to them, giving them a look that asks if it’s all right, the four adults all give me and Chelsea a thumbs up, the looks on their faces saying they think we’re crazy.
We probably are. But it’s no big deal because we can walk away whenever we want. They’re the suckers with the kids they gotta take care of at the end of the day.
We work on the castle forming process for a while, with me instructing the kids how to pack their bucket with wet sand before they turn it upside down and dump it out. Their castles are crumbling but I set them straight. Chelsea watches me working with the kids with a mixture of amusement and that soft look she gets when I do something she particularly likes. Which only makes me want to keep doing it because I know she approves.
And I really love it when I earn my girl’s approval.
When I send the kids off with empty buckets so they can go in search of rocks and little sticks to decorate their castles, they take off running, their little feet flicking up wet sand and getting it all over us.
“I’m scared to take a shower tonight. There’s sand in some weird places on my body, let me tell you,” Chelsea says as she scoop
s her hand into the sand and lets it fall from her fingers.
“I’ll help you find all that sand,” I tell her with a leer and she makes a face, grabbing another handful of sand so she can plop it onto my shoulder. I brush it off and lunge for her, causing her to fall backward onto the ground and start laughing almost hysterically when I start tickling her. “Is it here?” I ask, poking at her ribs.
“No.” She shakes her head, her arm darting out to grab more sand and she presses her hand against my chest, letting the sand cover it. “It’s right there.”
It all falls on her so that was a bad move. Deciding to make it worse, I grab another handful and let it drop on her flat stomach, everything inside of me tightening when I see the way she shivers. “Cold,” she murmurs, her laughter dying when I start to brush it away from her stomach, letting my fingers trace little patterns on her skin.
“You’re dirty, Chels,” I tell her, my fingers drifting lower. I can feel her tremble and when my fingers get closer to the top of her bikini bottoms, she sucks in a harsh breath, my name falling in a warning-filled whisper from her lips.
Just then the kids reappear, hopping up and down in excitement, the buckets making a total racket from all the rocks and sticks inside. “We found a lot of stuff,” one of them yells.
I withdraw my hand from Chelsea’s stomach and she sits up, sending me a sly look before she encourages the kids to dump out their buckets and we can get started.
“You’re in big trouble, starting something you can’t finish,” she murmurs as she lines up a row of rocks in front of the castle she built, creating a pathway.
“Ha, I plan on finishing it later tonight, baby. That is a guarantee.” I place a bunch of sticks in the top of my castle, sitting back to admire it.
“A guarantee, huh? That sounds promising.” She keeps busy with her pile of rocks, her dark hair falling all around her face in damp waves, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
“Oh yeah.” I reach for her and press a firm kiss to her mouth, making the kids groan over how gross that was. Guess they aren’t fans of kissing yet. “A definite guarantee. A promise. Whatever you want to call it. So be prepared.”
“Be prepared for what?” She glances at me, a wicked spark in her gaze.
“For the best night of your life.”
I promised Chelsea the best night of her life and I tried my damnedest to live up to my own hype. After we finished with the sand castle building—posing for photos with the kids as the parents snapped away with their phones—we ate our sandwiches and hung out on our blanket, enjoying the sun. I fell asleep, it was so warm and the breeze felt so good on my skin. What made it even better was having Chelsea snuggled up close to me and I think she dozed for a while herself.
It was fucking perfect.
We went back to her new dorm suite and took a shower. Together. I examined every inch of her—looking for sand of course—and she laughed until she moaned because I got my girl off with my fingers buried inside her, my mouth attached to hers. Then she treated me to a full body examination, washing me everywhere, ending up on her knees, where she gave me a blow job that about made my eyes cross when I exploded in her mouth in mere minutes like some sort of inexperienced kid.
It’s still so good between us and it should be, you know? We’re young and I’m definitely not sick of her. I don’t think she’s sick of me either. We’re in love and we’re experimental and I’m always pushing her limits because it’s so easy to do. She lets me get away with all sorts of stuff, always to her benefit.
No matter what, her needs are what is most important to me.
We went to dinner at a small restaurant not far from the pier, with a great view of the ocean. She looks pretty in a simple pale blue strapless dress, her skin glowing from all the sun she got today, her still damp hair up in a high ponytail, showing off her neck and shoulders. I realize halfway through our meal I’ll be leaving tomorrow afternoon, headed back to home while I leave her here and I got this weird twinge in my chest.
I don’t want to leave her. But this is what she wants. What she needs. I refuse to hold her back. Besides, it’s temporary. I need to man up and act like this is no big deal.
The truth though? It’s killing me that I have to go home without her. I don’t care that it’s only for two months. I’d hate to leave her for two fucking days, I’m that attached to her. She’s become such a big part of my life I know it won’t feel right, not having her around.
What if she meets some dickwad while she’s here? Some brainy guy who she has a lot more in common with? She could leave me in the dust. Shit, my heart just gave a major spasm at the mere thought and I rub absently at my chest, trying to ease the ache.
“You all right?” she asks, my always aware, ever-observant Chels.
“I’m fine.” I wince, letting my hand drop from my chest. “Just full I guess.” I blame the food but there’s still half of it sitting on my plate and I always clear my plate. My appetite has disappeared thanks to my head being filled with images of Chelsea finding someone else. Someone better for her.
She loves you. She would never do that to you.
Yeah, she wouldn’t. Not on purpose. People change though. We’re young. Shit happens. All those clichés apply to my situation right about now. I could lose her. She’s so beautiful, so smart and so freaking nice. Thoughtful and kind and funny and sexy as fuck…any guy would be lucky to have her.
Especially me.
“You don’t look so good,” she says, reaching out to touch my hand with delicate fingers. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Um.” I tug at the collar of my shirt, in desperate need of some air. “I’m good. I just...I’ll be right back.”
I flee the table before she can say another word and I can feel her eyes on me, watching as I go. I bet she’s worried and I seriously don’t want her to chase after me.
Thankfully she doesn’t and I go into the bathroom, glad it’s a one-stall kind of thing so I can lock myself inside. Not that I need to take a leak. More like I need some advice—someone to talk me down off the ledge.
Hitting a button, I bring my phone to my ear and listen to it ring.
“Aren’t you supposed to be spending the weekend with Chelsea?”
“Hey Fabes,” I say weakly after she answers. My niece Autumn is crying in the background and I can hear the TV running some obnoxious cartoon stuff. I even hear Drew talking to Autumn and she stops crying. She’s a total daddy’s girl and hearing all that in just a few seconds’ time makes me ache for my family. I miss them. All of them.
I’m a weenie asshole, having to call my big sister for relationship advice but shit. I was about to have what I think might be a panic attack out there and nothing like that has ever happened to me before. Ever.
“You okay Owen?” Her voice softens and I can tell I must sound a mess for her to switch gears so quick. “Is everything all right?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m with Chelsea and we’re supposed to be having a nice dinner but…”
“But what?” she asks when I stop talking.
“I’m in full on panic mode.” My voice lowers and I turn my back to the bathroom door, as if that can keep my conversation more private. “I just realized I don’t want her to leave.”
Fable sighs, but she doesn’t sound put out. More like she feels sorry for me. “You only just now realized this? Come on, it’s just for two months.”
“I know. And I was good with it until a few minutes ago. She looks so pretty tonight and she’s about to go on this new adventure that I’m not a part of. I didn’t plan for that. I thought this summer would be for us, you know?” I let out a loud exhale, irritated with myself. “I’m being selfish.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve just been caught by surprise with this change. Your being upset is completely normal,” she explains. “You can’t let her know you’re upset though. You have to be the strong one.”
What if I don’t want to be the strong one?
“She’s probably feeling unsure right now. You’re the one who’s going back home while she’s left there alone, not knowing anyone and about to start a new job that’s important to her. You need to make her feel good about her decision, not feel sorry for yourself that she’s leaving you,” Fable continues.
Shit. I know my sister is right. It just sucks, being faced with that reality. “She could meet someone else.”
“Is that your fear?” When I don’t answer, she makes a little tsking noise. “She’s madly in love with you. She’d be a fool to find someone else or…cheat on you.”
God, if she cheated on me I don’t know what I’d do. Not that I think she ever would. “I’m not saying that. I’m saying…she could meet a guy who’s more like her. Who she has lots of stuff in common with. A smart guy. Not a dumb ass jock like me,” I explain.
“You are seriously Mr. Insecure tonight, aren’t you? God, Owen do you know how smart you are? And how much you have going for you? Give me a break. If you just believed in yourself for once, you’d realize all you’ve done with your life and you’d be proud of it.” Her voice lowers and I press the phone closer to my ear so I can hear her. “Don’t let all that bullshit Mom fed us through the years get to you. She was wrong. You’re not worthless. You’re smart and you’re talented on the football field. You could go pro, you know.”
“Could not,” I mutter. Here we go again. She was always telling me this crap. I’m no Drew Callahan and I never would be.
“Could too,” she stresses, cutting me off before I can protest more. Like she always does. “Now get off the phone and go back out there. Spend the night with the girl you love. Treat her right. Tell her how much you love her and that you’re going to miss her. But also tell her how proud you are of her and how much you believe in her. She needs to hear all of that, okay?”
“Okay. I will,” I reassure her and I swear I hear her smile over the phone.