Chapter Four - Paxton
She’s nuts. I grab her arm again, tugging her along with me—ever careful not to be too rough, lest I get slapped with a rape charge again—and stop at the front door.
“I understand,” she says. “I get it. It’s weird coming face to face with your soulmate. So I’m going to give you some time—”
“Great,” I mumble, throwing the door open. “See ya around, sugar. Watch out for falling tiaras or dropped shoes or…” Fuck it. I got nothing for this.
I slam it closed and engage the chain lock. I haven’t used that thing in… ever. The house is wired up from top to bottom, courtesy of an alarm company Oliver recommended. And thank God for motion detectors. Because I’m making sure everything is armed tonight, boy.
Fuck.
I take a deep breath and realize she left my sandwiches here and I forgot to pay her.
Oh, well. She’s the boss, right? She can’t get fired. Besides, she owes me those two sandwiches as far as I’m concerned.
Crazy fucking girl.
I grab the paper sack and walk back to the beach side of the house, taking a seat on the terrace.
I eat, trying to get the weird girl out of my mind. Why today? After so long without a girl, why do I have to get horny and decide I’d like to fuck today?
Well, I picked the wrong girl. And isn’t that the story of my life? Jesus. Has there ever been a good one?
No.
No. I am a crazy bitch magnet. Every single one of them has been certifiable.
I tried to tell myself I’m just one of those charismatic men, the kind who attract followers and whatnot. Charming and handsome. I can’t help that a majority of women find me irresistible.
It’s why I played that game in the first place, right?
Well, isn’t that sweet. Does everything have to come back to her? That fucking bitch who tried to ruin my life?
Forget about it, Pax. Just eat your dinner, take a shower, and think about surfing tomorrow morning.
So I do.
And I don’t even wonder if the food is poisoned until I’m scarfing down the last bite of the chicken avocado ranch.
Isn’t that the preferred method of killing enemies in fairy tales?
It wasn’t. Poisoned, I mean. Because I feel fine when I wake up at dawn and grab a cup of coffee before I hit the waves. I pull my spring suit up my body and slip my arms in, flexing my muscles a little to get comfortable, then get my favorite board from the side of the house and jog down the sand. It’s not exactly cold this morning, maybe sixties. But it’s clear that summer is just about over and all the tourists have gone home because there are only about half a dozen guys out waiting on waves.
I run into the surf, drop onto the board, and start paddling.
I don’t talk to anyone, but I know all their faces. The middle-aged dude who lives a few houses down. He’s a year-round guy. Lived here when I moved in, and I’ve never said more than ten words to him at a time, so I have no idea what he does, other than surf every morning and leave his rooftop terrace hatch unlocked—even when he’s not home. Finding that out was a happy accident when I was drunk one night and decided I could jump from roof to roof. I got tired at his house and discovered he doesn’t lock his hatch. He’s got a hot wife, too. Probably some model from days gone by, because she’s attractive in that beachy California kind of way even though she’s got to be pushing fifty.
The two teen actors. I only know they’re actors because I did background checks on those hoodlums last year. They have a house in Burbank—not too far from Mr. Corporate, now that I think about it—and don’t live here full-time.
Then there’s the three twenty-somethings who wear suits during the day, just like me, and all drive cliché cars, just like mine. They live next to old dude with hot wife. They share that house and throw a lot of parties. I had to check them out too because the police came once and that is the kind of shit I need to know about.
But that was last year and since then, no more problems.
They all nod at me when I turn around and sit up on my board to take a look around and admire my house.
I love this place. It’s more home than home.
And that’s when I spot another surfer. Even though it’s barely dawn and the morning haze is cluttering up the visibility, I know who the newcomer is immediately.
Her.
Bakery girl. I wonder if she smells like sugar covered in ocean salt water?
Her dark hair is pulled back into a long ponytail and her spring suit is white with black stripes on the arms.
She paddles straight for me.
I look around, weigh all my options and decide not to make a big deal about it when I’ve got six witnesses who probably wonder on a regular basis who I am and why I’m so mysterious.
No way. If this bitch thinks I’ll put on a show for the locals, she’s got another thing coming.
“Good morning,” she yells—so fucking loud—when she gets over the breakers.
I glance at the other guys, notice they’re noticing us, and take a deep breath when one of them paddles closer.
“Hey,” he says, once he knows I can hear him. “Do you know that chick?”
“Why?” I growl.
“I’ve seen her around the neighborhood. Fucking fine, man. You dating her?”
“I don’t do dates.” I snort.
“Good,” he says, turning himself around in the water. “Because I’m hitting that shit right the fuck now, bro. This was just a courtesy call.”
I narrow my eyes at his back as he paddles to his friends. He’s one of the party-house guys.
“She’s all yours,” I call after him. He doesn’t answer. Asshole.
“Pax!” the sugar princess yells.
I have to take a deep breath and count to ten so I don’t bark, Shut the fuck up. I paddle towards her so she won’t announce my goddamned name to all these strangers again and when we’re about twenty feet apart, I say, “Keep your voice down.”
“Sorry,” she says, sitting up on her board and swiping the long strands of black hair out of her eyes. “Forgot. You’ve got that whole Mr. Mysterious thing going on.”
“Jesus fuck. Will you shut up?”
“They can’t hear me,” she says, waving a hand over towards the party-house guys. “I saw him talking to you and I didn’t hear a thing. What did he say, anyway? You both looked over at me after.”
“He says he wants to fuck you.”
“Oh.” She laughs. “Did you tell him I’m taken?”
“No,” I growl. “I don’t give a shit who you fuck. I don’t even know you.”
“Yet.”
“Not yet, princess. I’m not going to know you ever. In fact, I know too much about you already. Don’t tell me any more details because I’m not interested.”
“You sure about that?” she says, looking over her shoulder at an incoming wave. “And don’t call me princess.” She frowns for a moment before turning it back into a smile. “My oldest sister claimed that nickname.”
“Aurora?” I laugh, trying to decide if I should take this wave just to get away from her. But party guy number one looks like he’s getting ready, and it’s cutting away from me, so I don’t.
“You remembered!” Sugar says. “Yes. See, we’re gonna get along so well, you and I. So, so well.”
“Look, Cinderella.” I have to shake my head at her name. I can’t even take this conversation seriously calling her that. “I’m a private kind of guy, as you know.” I stress that last word, just to make sure she understands I’m pissed off about this bullshit. “So you’re gonna go your way and I’m gonna go my way, and we’re both gonna forget any of this ever happened. I’m not interested.”
But just as the last of my words are coming out of my mouth, she starts furiously paddling, her attention on an incoming wave. The swell lifts me, carries me forward a little, and then I bob back down. But Cinderella is already up, weaving back and forth, riding it out.
She’s good. Better than I thought she’d be. I kinda figured she was just playing out here. Trying to get my attention, but no. The girl surfs.
And owns a sandwich shop. And a house. In Malibu.
I don’t know. Something about this is all kinds of wrong. All the little red flags are waving at me. All the little alarm bells are going off.
Hmmm.
She ditches the wave near the beach, and she’s getting ready to paddle back when the party-house guy who wants to make a move surfs right up next to her and falls into the water. When he comes up, they are both laughing. Talking. Smiling.
Oh, is that how she’s gonna play this? Get me jealous?
I don’t do jealous.
They paddle back together and she hangs out with all three party guys after that, completely ignoring me.
I catch a few waves, then head back to the house.
Games, man.
I can play with the best of them. But I just don’t do it anymore.