She’s here again—rock girl. She’s sitting up on that same big rock, a hundred yards away from my beach house, where she sits every day. Hence, the nickname, Rock Girl.
God, I’m lame.
With her sketchpad resting against her bent knees, her eyes are fixed on the paper like her life depends on it while her hand freely moves the pencil over the paper, drawing…I have no clue.
I wish I did.
I mean, I could take a wild guess and say she’s drawing the scenery—the pier, beach, sand, sky. There’s plenty of shit like that here in Malibu. But still, I want to know exactly what she’s drawing that has her so enraptured.
Like, I really want to know.
I’ve been watching Rock Girl for a week now.
I saw her on the first day when Max and I arrived at the beach house, which will be my home for the next year. This will be my year of freedom before I have to go to Harvard, and then once I graduate, it is on to work for my father to learn the family business.
Can’t wait. I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
Until then, I’m here to surf my ass off—and apparently stalk cute blonde artists.
Every day, at least for the last seven days, at just a little after five p.m., Rock Girl walks along the beach, passing by my house, with a bag on her shoulder, usually wearing a pair of ass-hugging jean shorts and a red tank, which shows off her perfectly formed tits. They’re not too big or too small, just the right size to fit my hands, I imagine. And from what I’ve seen, they look to be real—meaning, when I watch her climbing up the rock, they jiggle about.
I can’t remember the last time I saw a hot girl with a real pair of tits, not in the silicone world I’ve been raised in. Everything in my world is fake, even the people, especially the people.
On Rock Girl’s shirt is a logo, covering the left breast, that I can’t quite make out. And trust me, I’ve tried. I’ve nearly gone blind, staring at that fucker, trying to work it out—not that staring at her tits is exactly a hardship.
I’m assuming her clothing is her work outfit. Either that, or she has a really limited wardrobe, not that I’m complaining because her body looks smoking hot in those threads.
She keeps her long blonde hair, which I would really like to get my hands all tangled up in, tied back into a ponytail.
When she reaches the top of the rock, she sits down and pulls a sketchpad and pencil out of her bag. Then, she spends the next hour drawing. At just a little after six, she packs her things back into her bag, climbs down the rock, and leaves the way she came.
And I watch her.
Every day.
It’s not creepy at all.
Okay, maybe it’s a little creepy.
But I just can’t help myself. There’s something about her, something that has captured my attention in a way no one ever has before. And it isn’t just her sexy tan legs, great rack, or tight ass—even though those are amazing.
There’s just something…captivating about her.
I don’t know if it’s the way she seems to put all of herself into her art the moment she presses that pencil to the paper or the way she looks so totally free while sitting up on that rock with the wind blowing through her hair, like nothing or no one can touch her.
For that hour, she’s free.
But when she steps down off that rock, I can see a heaviness falling down on her, like a cloud of responsibility.
And I know what that feels like.
When I’m out on my board, riding the waves, nothing can touch me.
But the minute I’m back on shore, that momentary freedom I felt is gone.
Sure, I have freedom in the sense that my parents haven’t given a fuck about me since the second I was born. So long as I don’t bring disrepute to the Gunner name, tarnishing their smoke-and-mirrors lifestyle, then I can pretty much do whatever the hell I want.
But there has always been an expectation of me.
I’m the heir to Gunner Entertainment, the oldest and largest movie studio in Hollywood.
After this year off—that my parents graciously granted me after I’d threatened to do some seriously crazy stuff if they didn’t give it to me—I’m expected to go to Harvard and graduate with honors. Then, I’m to take my place at my father’s side until the day I take over and become the King of Hollywood.
Sounds like a dream to most. To me, it’s a fucking nightmare.
I despise everything about it and what it represents.
The glitz and glamour cover the lies and deceit. My world is filled with frauds, each one with a dirty little secret to hide.
Soon, I have to become one of them, and when I do, I fear that I’ll turn into someone I’ve never wanted to become—my father…or worse, my mother. She’s a fame-hungry, soul-sucking bitch who cares about no one, except for herself.
I paint a nice picture, right?
Well, call me a cynic, but growing up with the parents I have, you’d be one, too.
I don’t want any part of the life they’re forcing me to have.
All I want is to become a pro surfer. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I just want to be in the ocean, chasing that never-ending wave.
When I was fourteen, I tried telling Ava that I didn’t want to take over the family business, that I wanted to become a professional surfer. She laughed in my face and then reminded me exactly what would happen if I did.
They’d cut me off cold. I would have nothing.
And believe me when I say, they would leave me penniless, living on the streets, and they would do it without losing a second of sleep.
Especially Ava. She is as hard as the Botox filling her face.
I wish I were brave enough to go it alone. The problem with being brought up with unlimited funds would be to have to live without it. And I don’t know if I could do that.
So, for now, I’m my parents’ bitch.
Although I might be their bitch and screwed up in more ways than I can begin to explain, I’m not a fucking weirdo. I don’t usually hang out on my balcony, watching chicks, like some creeper.
I’m not exactly the shy type. I’m confident—probably too confident sometimes—and when I want a girl, I tell her. I don’t hide in my house, afraid to approach her.
And I’m not an asshole—well, not all the time—but I am aware of how I look. When your mother is one of the most beautiful women in the world—even if she is a demon from hell—you stand a damn good chance of scoring lucky in the gene pool.
And I scored well.
At six-three, with an athletic body that I’ve gained from all my years of surfing and swimming, I keep the scruff on my face overgrown and my sun-bleached hair longer.
I have no problem at all with getting chicks. It’s getting rid of them that is usually the issue.
But for some reason, I can’t seem to get my ass off this balcony to go over there and talk to Rock Girl.
I’m seriously starting to worry about myself.
For fuck’s sake, Gunner. Just go down there and talk to her. What have you got to lose?
“Hey, fuckface. You still watching that chick?”
Releasing a sigh, I turn to look over my shoulder at Max. “I’m not watching her. I’m…looking at the scenery.” I gesture weakly with my hand.
Max snorts out a laugh. “Sure you are, limp dick.”
I see Darcy, the girl Max has been banging for the last few days, sidle up beside him. She shoots me a sexy smile.
“Hey, Adam.” She lifts her hand in greeting, wiggling her fingers at me.
I lift my chin at her, not bothering to say hi.
Darcy might be hot, but she’s an idiot.
And she must think I’m fucking stupid.
She tried to play it off as an accident when she walked into my bathroom yesterday while I was in there showering. My private bathroom, the one you have to walk through my bedroom to get into. Yeah, sure it was an accident, Darcy.
Max laughed his ass off when I told him.
He doesn’t give a fuck. And if Darcy weren’t screwing Max, I probably would have banged her, as I’m guessing that was what she was there for. I’ve never been one to turn down a hot girl, even if she is an idiot. But Max is banging her, and we have one golden rule in our friendship. We never sleep with the same chick.
Bros before hos, and all that.
Max is the only real thing I have in this shitty world, and I wouldn’t do anything to risk losing him. He’s the same with me.
Max’s background is pretty similar to mine, fucked-up parents and all, but sadly, between us, I score the highest on the screwed-up-worst card.
We look out for each other. We’re brothers in the true sense of the word. Aside from his poor taste in women, he’s the best person I know.
Thankfully, Darcy will be gone in a few days. That’s Max’s MO. He hooks up with a girl and keeps her around for a few days—longest I’ve seen is a week—and then she’s replaced. Me? I don’t keep them around. I screw them for one night, and they’re gone the next morning.
No repeats. No relationships.
That’s exactly how I like it.
And if I sort my shit out, then Rock Girl can be my next no-repeater.
Actually, something feels very wrong with that statement. Again, what the hell is wrong with me?
Maybe that’s why I can’t get off my pussy ass and go introduce myself to her. Sitting up there on that rock, she’s perfect to me. If I go over there, I’ll only end up tainting that perfection, ruining it.
Spoiling pretty things is a gift of mine. It’s a Gunner family trait.
“We’re just going to grab some dinner,” Max says. “You wanna come?”
I turn around, pressing my back against the sun-warmed railing. “Nah, I’ll pass. I’m gonna go for a run.”
Am I? I guess I could go for a run. I could go for a jog along the beach. Maybe speak to a little hottie seated up on a rock…
“And would that run take you past a certain blonde over there?” Max jerks his chin in Rock Girl’s direction.
I lift my shoulders, shrugging at him.
He shakes his head at me. “What the hell is going on with you, Gunner? Why haven’t you just talked to her already? It’s been a fucking week.”
I flicker a glance at Darcy, who has this sudden sour look on her face, and now, she’s staring out past me in Rock Girl’s direction.
Yeah, not going to happen, Darcy.
I strike a glance at Max. I love the guy like a brother, but I wish he hadn’t said that shit in front of Darcy. She has a big mouth, and I don’t want to get a rep here in Malibu for being a pussy who can’t even talk to a girl.
“Nothing’s wrong with me. Maybe I just don’t want to talk to her.”
I really do. I want to talk her straight into my bed.
“Yeah, sure you don’t want to talk to the super hot girl, Gunner.” Max rolls his eyes at me.
“How do you know she’s super hot?” The words are out before I can stop them.
As far as I know, Max hasn’t seen her up close, not that I have actually seen her up close. Just the quick glimpses of her as she’s walked past here. But the glimpses I have gotten, I’ve liked—a lot.
A shit-eating grin spreads across Max’s face. “Because I talked to her yesterday.”
“You talked to her?” My voice has suddenly gotten weirdly higher.
Why the hell did Max talk to Rock Girl? And why is he only just now telling me this?
He lets out a prolonged deep chuckle. “Yeah, I did. When you went in to shower after your little hour-long hot-girl gazing session, I decided to go for a swim. And your little hottie came back, as she’d left something up on that rock she sits on. A fucking pencil or something. Seemed important to her.” He shrugs. “Anyway, after she found this pencil and was climbing back down off the rock, she dropped her bag, spilling her stuff everywhere. Being the gentleman that I am, I helped her pick things up—tampons, lipstick. You know, girl things.” He grins.
I lift my eyes to the sky.
Gentleman, my ass.
Max wouldn’t know a gentleman if one actually came up and smacked him across the face. Not that I would either, but that’s not the point. The point is, Max talked to my Rock Girl.
My Rock Girl? When did she become mine?
“She seems nice. And she’s really hot, bro,” he goes on. “I did consider asking her out myself, but I didn’t want to break your little stalker heart.”
“Hey!” Darcy screeches, swatting him on the arm.
“Only kidding, babe.” He gives her that smooth grin of his that all the chicks fall for. “I mean, why would I ask her out when I’ve got you?”
He pats her on the arm, pacifying her, and the second she looks away, he smirks at me.
Bastard.
He’d have asked Rock Girl out even if Darcy was riding cowgirl on his cock at the time.
Nothing stops Max when it comes to a woman he wants. He’s like me, in that respect—well, apart from Rock Girl. Because, out of the two of us, I’m apparently the one without the balls to go speak to her.
“You’re a bastard, you know,” I say, fighting a smile.
“Takes a bastard to know a bastard.” His grin gets bigger.
“True.” I can’t argue with that.
Now, I’m feeling really twitchy, and I want to ask him more about his conversation with Rock Girl, but with Darcy standing there, I can’t. That, and it’d only give Max more ammo to torture me with.
“Anyway, I’m bailing ’cause I’m fucking starving. All the sex works up an appetite, which you would know, if you’d gotten laid lately.”
I flip him off.
I got laid a few days ago, and he knows it. Hot lifeguard who works on Zuma Beach. We were down there, surfing, and she was cute. After I finished surfing, I fucked her in her tower in the middle of her shift. Fortunately, no one needed saving at the time.
“You want me to bring you any food back?” Max asks, taking a step back inside the house.
“Nah, I’m good. I’ll get something later.”
“Bye, Adam,” Darcy says in an annoying singsong voice.
God, I hope he doesn’t bring her back with him.
“Later.” I lift my chin at her before turning back to Rock Girl.
She’s still sitting there, sketching away. I watch as she puts her pencil down on the pad and tilts her head back toward the sky, soaking the last of the sun up.
She looks so peaceful and so damn pretty.
“Gunner?”
I turn back to the sound of Max’s voice. “Yeah?”
“Do me a favor. Just go ask Evie out before you totally lose your man card and quite possibly get arrested for stalking. I really don’t wanna have to come bail your ass out of jail.”
“Fuck you.” I laugh as I grab an empty beer can from the patio table, left out from our drinking session last night, and throw it at him.
Max ducks, the can just missing him.
Then, I realize what he just said. “Evie?”
His lips lift into a knowing smile. “Yeah. That’s her name, which you would already know if you’d manned the fuck up and talked to her the first time you saw her.” He jerks his chin in her direction. “Just put us both out of our misery and go talk to her.” He raps his knuckles on the doorframe before disappearing.
Why is he so keen on me talking to Evie?
Evie.
I let her name roll around my mind. It’s pretty, really pretty.
Adam and Evie. Like Adam and Eve. In the Garden of Eden—or the Bed of Adam—fucking like animals.
Seriously, what is wrong with me? I’m imagining having sex with this girl, and I haven’t even spoken to her.
I can’t believe Max spoke to her first, and he got her name.
Fucker.
Okay, this is just stupid. I need to just go over there and speak to her.
That’s it. I’m going to do it.
I’ll go for a run on the beach, and while I’m there, I’ll strike up a conversation with her. If I don’t, Max will only torment me about it. And then, he might possibly ask her out himself.
She’s just a girl, Gunner. You’ve talked to plenty of pretty girls before.
But the difference is, I never wanted to know anything about those other girls. Each conversation was for one reason only—the end game.
But this one, I think I might actually want to get to know her—and not just know the color of her panties.
I make a quick change into a pair of running shorts and a tank, and then I pull on my running shoes. I tie my hair back, so it’s out of the way while I’m running. Then, I grab my water bottle and fill it up.
Before leaving, I make a quick check out back to make sure she’s still there.
Yep, she’s there—and yep, I’m still as lame as ever.
Heading out the front door, I jog along the path on the highway, so I can come onto the beach via the walkway.
I don’t want to come out from the back of the house, as it’s not far enough away from where she’s sitting. This way, I’ll be coming toward her for a good period of time, so if I stop to take a break, it won’t look so weird.
When did I start overthinking things? And just exactly when did I lose my balls?
Apparently, on the day I saw a pretty blonde girl sitting up on a rock.
I jog up the street for a few minutes and then take the path off to the walkway to take me to the beach. It brings me out about three hundred yards away from Evie.
Game time, Gunner.
Feet hitting the sand, I begin jogging toward her.
The closer I get, the faster my heart starts to beat. And it has nothing to do with the exercise because I’ve barely even begun running.
It’s because of her.
What is it about this girl that has me in all kinds of knots? How can I feel so nervous over a girl I’ve never even spoken to?
She hasn’t noticed me yet. I keep my eyes on her throughout my approach.
She has the tip of the pencil pressed to her lower lip as she stares down at her sketchpad, a frown marring her forehead.
Not that far from her now, I slow my pace, coming to a stop a few feet away from her, under the pretense that I need to stop to catch my breath.
Facing the ocean, I take a drink of water from my bottle.
I slide a glance in her direction.
She still isn’t looking at me.
And just as I think it, she looks straight at me, her eyes meeting mine. I freeze.
Holy fuck, she’s stunning.
Way prettier than I first thought. My initial take on her did not do her justice because, up close, she’s beautiful. And I know beauty. I’ve been surrounded by it my whole life.
But her face…nothing compares.
She has the most amazing eyes. Captivating. They’re the color of whiskey, huge and shaped like almonds, and they are set in the most perfect face I have ever seen. Heart-shaped with a cute button nose and full lips.
In this moment, her face has literally become the center of my universe. I can’t stop staring at her.
And that’s probably why she says to me, “Um…are you okay?”
I blink myself free, realizing what a fucking idiot I must look like.
Way to make a first impression, dickface.
“Are you an artist?” I point a finger up at her sketchpad.
Then, I have to stop my own hand from punching me in the face at my lameness. That’s my opener? Wow, I just keep getting better and better.
Thy name is Adam, and I am a fucking loser.
A smile tips up her lips, and she pushes her pencil into the top of her ponytail. “Do you think you have to actually sell a drawing to be able to call yourself an artist?”
“I’m not sure.” I shrug, my eyes going straight back to her face. It’s kind of hard not to stare. She’s that beautiful.
“Well, if you do, then no, I’m not an artist.”
“Do you want to be one?”
She ponders this for a moment, her teeth biting down on that plump lower lip of hers, and I imagine my own teeth doing the exact same thing.
Her eyes come back to mine with an unexpected and surprising intensity in them. “Yes.”
For a second there, I feel like she’s saying yes to something else. Maybe she’s agreeing to the movie reel of dirty thoughts going through my mind right now—me and her, naked and sweaty and tangled up in my bedsheets.
No, that’s just my wishful thinking.
The thought of sex with her has my confidence finally making his late appearance.
I don’t know why, but thinking about sex while talking to a girl always lifts my game. I’m weird like that.
I tip my head to the side, folding my arms over my chest. “Maybe I could buy one of your drawings, and then you could officially call yourself an artist.”
She arches a perfectly formed brow. “You’d buy a drawing from me when you haven’t even seen any of my work?”
“I would.”
“And why would you do that?”
I give a lazy shrug. “Because I can.”
That seems to get her attention. She closes her sketchpad, places it on the rock beside her, and moves forward, letting her legs dangle over the side. She curls her fingers around the edge of the rock and stares down at me. “I might be really crappy at drawing, and then you would have wasted your money.”
Technically, I wouldn’t be wasting my money. It’d be my parents’, but I don’t want to tell her that I’m a rich kid. It might put her off. Evie clearly works for her money. I’m getting that from the logo on her shirt, which I can now see that it says Grady’s Surf Shack. I don’t want her to think that I’m a self-entitled brat.
“I highly doubt that you’re crappy.”
“And how would you know that? Aside from assuming, of course.” She gives me a teasing smile.
“Because you seem far too smart to spend your time on something that you know you’re not any good at.”
“Oh, so now you know I’m smart as well as good at drawing?” She laughs, the sound so sweet.
It makes my cock stand to attention.
“Well, for all you know, as well as being a crappy artist, I could also be as dumb as bricks.”
That makes me laugh. “Well, are you?” I ask, my hands coming to rest on my hips.
“What? Dumb as bricks?”
I nod, smiling.
“Quite possibly.” She gives me a lasting grin that I feel all the way deep down in my gut. Then, she grabs her sketchpad and shoves it in her bag. “Shit,” she mutters, looking around, running her hand over the surface of the rock.
“Something wrong?”
“I’ve lost my pencil. It’s just…it wasn’t cheap—well, for a pencil, and—”
“It’s in your hair.”
“Oh.” She touches a hand to the top of her ponytail, her cheeks turning pink. “Thanks.”
She pulls the pencil from her hair and drops it into her bag. Hooking the bag onto her shoulder, she starts to climb down the rock.
She’s leaving?
Her feet hit the sand. “Well, it was nice talking to you,” she says, turning to me.
She starts to move past me, and I’m just standing here, like a limp fucking noodle. I watch her go, desperately trying to think of anything to keep her here for just a few minutes longer.
Aside from blurting out that I want to take her out, I’m at a fucking loss.
Then, out of nowhere, she stops abruptly and turns back to me. “Did you change your mind?”
“Change my mind? About what?” My mouth is so dry it’s like I’m talking through cotton wool. I’ve seriously never had this kind of reaction to a girl before. “Do you mean about buying a drawing from you? Because—”
“No. I meant, did you change your mind about asking me out?”
My mouth literally drops open. “I-I—” That’s honestly all I’ve got. I can’t seem to get my brain to compute to my mouth, not that it would have much to send.
“I mean, it doesn’t matter to me if you have. I was just wondering.” Her head tilts to the side, and then a light blush starts to creep over her face as her eyes spark with something that looks an awful lot like realization. “Oh God. Have I gotten the wrong guy?” She presses her palms to her cheeks.
“The wrong guy?” I feel like I’ve just had a brick dropped on my head.
Was she supposed to be meeting some other guy here, like a blind date or something? I sincerely fucking hope not.
“You don’t live at that house there?” She points in the direction of my house. “Standing out on the balcony every day for the last week, watching me sketch?”
Then, it hits me.
Max.
Motherfucker.
Ask me if I’ve ever been embarrassed.
Never. Not once in my whole life.
Not even when the maid at my parents’ house walked in and caught me jacking off to Hentai porn in my bedroom when I was sixteen. Hey, don’t judge. I’d pretty much worn out all other kinds of porn by that point, so it was either cartoon porn or old-lady porn. So, Hentai it was. And the fact that I ended up fucking the maid the next day has nothing to do with it.
But the fact is, nothing has ever embarrassed me—until now.
Max told her that I’d been watching her—like a stalker.
I’m going to kill him.
I’m actually going to kill him and dump his body in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and I won’t feel an ounce of remorse.
“Max,” I grunt out, practically choking on the heat burning up my throat. “The guy you met yesterday, the one who helped you when you dropped your bag, did he tell you all of that, about me…watching—” I can’t even finish that sentence.
Her face clears, and she smiles sweetly, giving a light shrug, as she hitches her bag up her shoulder. “Can’t say I’ve met a Max.” Her lips innocently purse together.
She’s so met him. And she so knows I’ve been watching her. I should want to die from the horror of the embarrassment.
But I’ve realized one glaring fact. Even while knowing all about me stalker-watching her, she still wanted me to ask her out.
I want to marry her on the spot—or at the very least, get her naked and fuck her.
“Anyway, I have to run—”
“Wait, what?”
“I have to go,” she says on a smile, taking a small step away.
“No, wait. Go out with me. Right now. I’m not a serial killer, and I’m really not a stalker, honestly. I just liked watching you sketch—in the non-weirdest way possible.”
I give her my best smile, and she giggles.
“You know where I live. You’re safe with me. And I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. You name the place. Just…just say yes. You won’t regret it. I swear.”
And there’s the Adam Gunner I know. About fucking time he showed up.
A big smile pushes up her lips, and if I thought she was stunning before, she’s fucking resplendent now.
Heat starts in the center of my chest and quickly spreads throughout the rest of my body. Like hot air filling a balloon and rising up to the sky, she has me floating.
“I’ll let you know,” she says, taking another step away.
What?
That takes me back a step. I didn’t expect that response. It’s either yes or no usually. Well, actually, it’s never no.
A girl has never turned me down before.
“You’ll let me know?” I practically choke out the words.
“Yeah.” She smiles. “I’ll let you know.” Then, she turns and starts to walk away again.
But I’m not giving up that easily.
“And why can’t you say yes now?” I can feel my confidence starting to waver.
This never happens to me. She’s like my very own brand of kryptonite, and oddly, I like it—a lot.
Evie turns to face me but continues walking backward, that stunning smile still on her face. “Well, I figured one more day to wait wouldn’t hurt you, considering it’s taken you a week to ask me out.”
I’m pretty sure I just fell in love.
Well, it’s probably more like lust—big lust—but whatever. I have to have her—now.
I take a step toward her, following her. “I think you’re fucking amazing.”
Her smile gets wider, and she laughs, biting down on her bottom lip. “And I think you might be a little crazy. Oh, I forgot to give you this.”
Jogging back to me, she pulls her sketchpad from her bag. She opens it up and tears a page out. She shoves the sketchpad back in her bag and hands me the piece of paper. “I’ve been working on it all week. I think it’s finished.” She meets my stare, blinking those stunning whiskey-colored eyes of hers up at me.
My breath catches.
I have never wanted to kiss a girl more than I do her in this moment.
Taking a step back, she breaks the connection. She lifts a hand, her perfect fingers wiggling good-bye to me. “I’ll see you tomorrow. And it was nice to finally meet you, Adam.”
“Wait…I never told you my name.”
“I know.” She grins. “Max told me.” And on a cheeky wink, she turns and jogs up the beach, leaving me standing here.
I watch her for a long moment, unable to look away. Then, I finally tear my eyes off her, remembering the paper in my hand.
I turn it over and look at it.
It’s a drawing of my beach house from her vantage point on the rock. The sun is setting in the background, and I’m standing on the balcony, watching the artist who’s sketching me.
She was watching me, too.
A stupid grin lifts my face, and my heart starts to beat out of my chest.
I think I’ve just met the girl of my dreams, the girl who I didn’t even know I was dreaming of.