EMERSON
I came to a dead stop in the middle of the sidewalk, asking myself how it had come to this. How I’d failed so miserably. Did my best friend in the whole wide world really believe in fairy tales? “You sure you wanna do this?”
Lauren stopped too, midstep, her shoulders slumping. “Em, we’ve been through this. I’m not abandoning you.” She dropped the box she’d been lugging and came back to where I stood. This whole beach-house-for-the summer thing had been her idea in the first place. A way to celebrate that college was finally behind us. She tilted her head to the side, studying me as she placed her hands over mine as I clung to the carton marked “BATHROOM” in bold black Sharpie. “It’s not like I’m skipping town or anything. I’ll be less than a mile away.”
I shot a meaningful look to where Will—Lauren’s new roommate—had gone over and plucked her abandoned box from the walkway and was hoisting it into the back of his pickup truck. I lowered my voice, trying my best to be discreet. “I mean…are you sure you wanna move in with…” I gave a quick nod his way and resorted to Pig Latin. “. . . im-hay? He looks etchy-skay.”
She took the box I was holding and passed it to Will, too. He managed it with one hand as he winked at me, not bothering to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping. “Me? I’m sketchy as hell,” he agreed, flashing me the dimple that had surely done Lauren in. “I plan to do shady things to your friend here.” Then he smacked her on her ass with his free hand, and she blushed.
Fuck. It was too late. I’d already lost her.
I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Whatever. Go on, then. But don’t come crying to me when it all goes to shit.” I scowled as I imparted my wisest words on her. “And it sure’nuff always goes to shit.”
“Be careful, your Texas is showing.” She grinned, and then cast a calculated glance over my shoulder to the house next door—Lucas’s place. “Like you’re one to talk . . .”
I settled my hands on my hips, preparing for battle. “If you have something to say, spit it out already.”
She opened her mouth, looking like she was about to launch into another explanation about how I might not be keeping a toothbrush over at his house, but that I’d hardly spent a single night at our place in the ten weeks since we’d moved here.
She was starting to sound like a broken record. This was the same discussion we’d had when she’d dropped the bomb on me that she’d be shacking up with Will.
Ten weeks. That’s all the time she’d known him. Not enough, if you asked me, not that she had.
Thankfully, Will laid on the horn, letting us both know he had better places to be than stuffed inside the hot cab of his truck watching the two of us say our farewells. Instead, she wrapped me in a hug. “Not everyone are your parents, Em.”
I wiggled out of her sappy embrace. When had my best friend become such a cliché? “And not everyone are yours, Lo.”
She blew me a kiss as she climbed into the pickup. “I’m only a mile away,” she reminded me cheerily, before riding off into the sunset with her white knight.
Me, I was less about sunsets and white knights, and more about Sex on the Beach (the drink and the extracurricular activity) and one seriously hot surfer boy.
I didn’t need Lauren, I was livin’ the dream. At least that’s what I’d been telling myself ever since Lauren had up and ditched me for he who shall not be named. Seriously, if this was what it felt like to be dumped, I’d take a hard pass. No wonder there were so many heartsick country songs written about it.
I preferred the no-strings attached thing I had going on. I was the love ‘em and leave ‘em type.
So what was I doing here now then? Why was I waiting for my hot surfer boy at his place?
Because Lucas Harper wasn’t just any hot surfer boy, he had become a complication…with a capital C.
Meeting him on the very first day Lauren and I had moved into our summer digs had been…unexpected. From the moment I'd first laid eyes on him, I couldn't wait to get him naked.
Fortunately for me, Lucas had been more than willing to oblige.
That's why I was waiting. Not because I had developed—God forbid—feelings for him or anything. Because no way . . . I refused to let myself become one of those girls.
When the keys jiggled in the lock, I adjusted “my girls” to make sure they were displayed to perfect advantage. I did my best to look somewhere between Suzie Homemaker and porn star, emphasis on the porn star. Zane had picked up a double shift at the bar, so I wasn’t in danger of wasting my boobalicious efforts on Lucas’s roommate.
When Lucas came through the door his feet were still caked with sand from the beach.
“I made you dinner,” I announced, leaning across the table to give Lucas a better view of what I had to offer.
As usual, Lucas didn’t disappoint. His gaze didn’t even glance toward the takeout pizza box and the roll of paper towels I’d set out—my version of “cooking.” His eyes went straight to the cleavage peeking out from behind the apron I’d hijacked from a box Lauren had marked “KITCHEN.”
This . . .
This was the expression I’d been waiting for.
Who needed Lauren and her sentimental drivel? I had Lucas. Sweet, hot, uncomplicated Lucas.
I grinned when he attempted to lean his surfboard against the wall, but missed entirely. The board clattered loudly onto the tiled floor. “Great,” he said absently, his eyes going suddenly dark—darker even than the mahogany they already were. They traveled down the apron, and I realized it probably dawned on him I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “I’m famished.”