Tate
Mom’s eyes rove over Ella. From the top of her head, across her beautiful face, down her pretty dress, to her pale pink toenails. She studies her, and Ella fidgets under the scrutiny.
“Mom.”
“I’m just tryin’ to figure out if I’m dreamin’, son,” Mom replies, looking at me. “You brought a girl home?”
“Who did what?” Dad asks, walking into the kitchen. He stops. “Tate? You brought a girl home?”
“Well, she’s a girl, and she’s with me at home, so it looks that way, old man.”
“Cocky little idiot,” Dad laughs. “Well, move over, Diane. Let me look at her.”
“She’s not an art exhibition, guys.”
“She’s real pretty, huh?” Mom says to Dad.
“Sure is. What are you doin’ with my son, girl?” Dad roars at his own joke.
Ella smiles. “I was coerced into it.”
“Hey!”
She directs her smile to me. “I kinda was.”
“You don’t take his shit, do you?” Dad asks her. “He’s got a lot of shit to give.”
“No, sir, I don’t, and if he tries, I give it back.”
“Ahh, the family interrogation,” Sofie laughs, sitting at the table. “Are you squirmin’ yet, Tate?”
“Fuck off,” I mutter.
“Dollar!” Mila screams, tugging at my pants. “Dollar pig!”
I stare at the ceiling and dig a dollar out of my wallet. “Here, Mimi.”
“Tankoo.” She crumples it into her fist and walks away.
Mom looks at me with raised eyebrows, and I sigh. “Sofie will explain later. Can we get this fun meeting over with yet?”
“We could, if you’d introduce us properly,” Mom replies, turning to pour water into Dad’s mug.
“I tried, but y’all decided you’d stare at her instead.”
“Well, we’re shocked, hon.”
“Tate Burke doesn’t bring girls home. Not even to sleep with,” Sofie inputs helpfully.
“Yeah, thanks, Sof,” I grumble. “Mom, Dad, this is Ella Dawson. Ella, this is Mom and Dad.”
“Diane and Phil,” Mom corrects. “But you can call us Mom and Dad. Everyone else does.” She shoots a fond look at Sofie, then folds Ella into a warm hug.
Mom kisses the top of Ella’s head, then Dad embraces her tightly. My lips twitch at seeing her so warmly welcomed. God knows my girl needs it—she needs all the love that can be thrown at her. I’m still buzzing with anger from the conversation she had with her parents. Not because they’d assumed I’d hurt her, but because they’re so blinded by that motherfucker that they don’t believe her.
Ella glances at me across the old farmhouse-style kitchen, her eyes flicking over the rustic cupboards and large range cooker, and smiles shyly. The curve of my lips matches hers and I hold my arm out to her. She slots against my side perfectly, and I curl my hand around her hip. I kiss the side of her jaw, breathing in her soft scent, and glance at my parents.
“We’re goin’ out.”
Sofie grins from the table.
“Dinner is at six,” Mom informs me. “I’ll set an extra place at the table.” Her wink is overexaggerated, directed at both of us, and I exhale heavily before sweeping Ella past my family and out the front door.
I guide her to my truck and unlock it.
“This is yours?”
I look back at her. “Yeah, we don’t all use yellow cabs to get around at home, darlin’.”
“Actually, I used a car service.” Ella clicks her tongue and pokes my arm. “How do I get into it?”
I laugh and open the door. She eyes me and the truck speculatively, so I grasp her waist and lift her. She squeals, grabs my shoulders, and lets me guide her onto the seat.
“Like that,” I murmur, brushing my lips across hers.
“Smartass,” she replies, just as quiet, and swings her legs around.
“You ever lived anywhere other than New York? Or Harvard?”
She stares at me flatly as I get into the truck.
“I’m takin’ that as a no,” I reply. “All right.” I start the truck and pull out of the driveway. “We’re goin’ to the store. And, er, an old . . . fling . . . works there. So you can stay in the truck if you want.”
“Why would I?” Ella turns to face me and hugs her knee to her chest. “You told everyone I’m your girlfriend. Don’t I have to kick ex-fling ass?”
I glance at her and laugh. Shit. She’s fucking adorable. “Sure you do, darlin’, but she’s a bitch of an ex-fling.” I explain the story about Nina spilling the beans to the media when Sofie came back this past summer. How her ten seconds of fame made everything ten times harder.
“Damn,” Ella whispers.
“And she hasn’t exactly left me alone since then. Seems to think that I’ve forgiven her since I’m back home.”
“That’s cute. I wondered why your phone was buzzing every ten seconds.”
“Askin’ me when I’m comin’ over. You’d think after ten ignored messages she’d get it.”
“That it isn’t happening? Yeah.”
I pull up in the parking lot and look over at her. “Are you gettin’ sassy, Els?”
She cuts her eyes to me and pushes open the door. She stares at the drop for a second before she swings her legs around and jumps out with an “Oof!”
I laugh and lock the truck behind me. Ella slides her hand into mine, our fingers entwining. I glance down at them and smirk smugly. Apparently I’m not the only one who gets a little protective.
I grab a cart and shove her in front of me so I can push it. She glares over her shoulder, but the smile curving her lips defies her annoyed stare. I chuckle and give the cart a push into the store.
“Wait! I can’t walk with you behind me!” Ella squeals, tripping as the cart catches the back of her feet.
“All right!” My chuckle becomes a full laugh and I step to the side, hooking my fingers around the side. “Come on.”
“What are we doing?”
“Romantic-type shit,” I reply, tugging her down the candy aisle. I throw a large bag of marshmallows into the cart, then spin it around to where the chips are. Ella squeaks, and I love it. It means I’ve surprised her. I’m quickly learning that she has a sound for everything . . .
Disgust. Surprise. Happiness. Amusement. Sadness. Anger. Pleasure . . .
“Cheesy ones,” she demands.
“What?”
“Cheesy Doritos,” she explains. “I like the cheesy ones.”
I smirk and grab a bag of them as well as the original ones. “What Els wants, Els gets.”
“Does that count for orgasms?”
I stop and stare at her. “Did you just say that out loud?”
She pushes the cart forward, making my hand fall away from the side, and she stops right next to me. She cranes her neck back to look at me, and grinning, she says, “You’re rubbing off on me, Tate Burke.”
“Orgasms? Rubbing? In two sentences?” I clasp the back of her neck and bring her toward me. “Grab some Red Bull. I’m keepin’ you up late.”
She laughs through our kiss and skips off down the aisle. She throws a smile over her shoulder and turns the corner. I shake my head and jog after her. When I catch up with her and wrap my arms around her waist from behind, she screams, then slaps a hand over her mouth.
“Tate!”
I laugh and kiss the side of her neck. “Keep walkin’, darlin’. The wine is the last aisle.”
I push her forward and only let her go to put a bottle of her favorite Moscato in the cart. She purses her lips, but again, she smiles, ruining the stern effect she’s so obviously going for.
Shit, she’s too fucking cute to be stern. Ain’t nobody gonna take her serious when she tries that shit.
I put some Budweiser into the cart next to her wine and swing it around to the checkouts. Deliberately, I direct us to Nina’s register, and it takes everything I have not to grin my way through this.
“Tate,” she acknowledges, her eyes focused on Ella.
“Nina.” I drop the marshmallows on the belt and hug Ella again.
Nina’s eyebrows meet her hairline. She widens her eyeliner-rimmed eyes and parts her bright pink lips. “Oh, cute. Wine, chips, and marshmallows. You’re treating her to your late-night beach fuck.”
“Except I’ll wake up with him tomorrow morning.” Ella smiles sweetly and covers my hands with hers.
Nina stares at her. “Sure you will, doll, until next week.”
Ella’s smile widens. “Are you going to scan those chips, or are you going to crinkle them? Because if you’re picking the latter, I’d prefer a new bag.”
I bite the inside of my lip to stop my laughter exploding out of me.
Nina scans the chips and dumps them at the end. Ella scoots us forward and puts them and the marshmallows in a bag.
“Really, Tate, you could get original with your dates.”
“I took her for dinner already. I’m no fuckin’ Romeo,” I retort.
“Pretty good Casanova, though,” Ella admits. “At least when you stop talking.”
“Hey!” I tickle her sides and she giggles, slapping at my hands.
“Lay off,” she manages through her laughter. “Can you pay yet? I’m led to believe I’ll get sex on the beach, dear boyfriend, and I don’t want to be disappointed.”
“Boyfriend?” Nina sputters, looking between us.
I swipe my card and grin.
“Apparently class comes into play.” Ella shrugs, grabs the grocery bags, and puts them in the cart. “It was nice meeting you . . .” She looks pointedly at Nina’s name tag. “Nina.”
“Pleasure,” she snarls back.
I bury my face in Ella’s hair, fighting my laughter. Shit. She’s got an attitude worse than I thought. Fuck. This chick can shoot any bitch down without even thinking about it.
She shrugs me off her, grabs the bags, then looks at the back gate expectantly. I unlock it and lower it, and she deposits the bags in it. I look at her as I relock the back gate, and she tucks her dark hair behind her ear and gazes up at me with those gorgeous dark brown eyes I adore.
“What?” she asks softly, her hand lingering at her collarbone, her fingers still twined in her hair.
I step toward her and bury my fingers in the other side of her hair. “Fuck, Els. I never thought it would be so hot when a girl got protective over me.”
“You think that was protective? Oh, that’s adorable.” She kisses my cheek and escapes my loose hold.
“What do you mean?” I trap her against the side of the truck and grab the handle without pulling it.
Ella’s lips pull up to one side. “When she said that thing about the wine, chips, and marshmallows on the beach, I wanted to jump over the counter and tear her extensions out,” she admits quietly. “I felt worthless for a split second, until I realized she’s the girl you were talking about. I still felt a little shitty, but I’m right, aren’t I?”
“That you’ll be the girl waking up next to me tomorrow?” I say, stepping toward her. “Fuckin’ right, darlin’. Every day from now on. Just you.”
She cups my cheek and leans up to kiss me. “You got more-expensive wine for me, though, am I right?”
I cover her hand with mine and grin against her mouth. “You got it, baby.”
Open-mouthed, I stare at Ella as she discards her fourth marshmallow.
“I can’t dooooo it!” she whines, throwing the toasting stick on the blanket.
“Hang on.” I scoot over until I’m behind her and rest my legs on either side of her body. “Get a marshmallow.”
“Can’t I stick to chips and wine?”
“No.”
She huffs, but pulls a marshmallow from the bag and puts it on the prongs. I curl my fingers around hers and lean forward, making sure the fluffy candy is right over the fire.
“Turn it slowly,” I instruct. “Like this.” I spin the stick so slowly I can barely see it moving. “See?”
“Oh!” Ella tilts her head to the side. “We don’t have bonfires in New York. At least, my family doesn’t.”
I pull the toasted marshmallow from the fire and put it to her mouth. She takes a bite from the hot, gooey mess, and I say, “Then get used to Southern life, darlin’. We love ’em.”
Ella smiles, mouth full of marshmallow. She tilts the stick toward my mouth, and I close my lips around it, pulling the last of the gooeyness onto my tongue.
Her smile widens, then she leans forward and seals her mouth over mine. My fingers creep up her arm to the back of her head, entwine in her hair, pull her closer, down on top of me to the sand. She obviously drops the stick, because she frames my face with her hands.
She whimpers slightly when the sore part of her lip brushes my lips, but she tilts her head so the connection is avoided.
I curve an arm around her back. Holding her body flush against mine. Feeling and enjoying every curve of her body. Committing every inch of her to memory.
Like I could fucking forget. Like she’s fucking forgettable.
She isn’t.
Not for a goddamn second.
If something should rip her away from me right now, I know for a fucking fact I’d never forget the softness of her skin, the sweetness of her kiss, or the cascading warmth of her breath against me. I know for a fucking fact I’d never, ever forget Ella Dawson.
I also know there isn’t a single fucking person in this world who could ever compare to her. Not for me. No one will ever laugh the way she does. No smile will ever be as bright as hers. No touch will ever ignite my skin in a way that comes close to hers. No one, ever, will put as much light in my days as this girl does.
“Hey,” she moans against me. “What’s with all the kissing? Wasn’t sex mentioned earlier?”
I flip her over on the blanket. She grips my hips with her legs, her fingers diving into my hair, her body pushing even harder into me.
“Sex was mentioned. Not by me,” I say into her neck. “But I’m happy to oblige.”
“And if someone sees . . .”
“We own this beach and everyone is on orders to fuck off.” I smile against her collarbone. “So this promise I can keep.”
She tightens her grip on my shoulders. “Thank God.”
“Tate?”
“Uhh?” I rub my eyes from the dim light coming through my bedroom door and lean up on my elbow. “Huh?”
“Tate,” Dad says firmly. “You gotta get up, son.”
“What time is it?” I ask groggily, quiet enough that I don’t wake Ella.
Dad’s lips thin, and I see his fingers tighten on the door. “You gotta come downstairs. Now.”
“All right. Shhh.” I gently move Ella’s arm and get up and shove yesterday’s pants on. Dad tosses me a shirt and I throw it over my head. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Come downstairs,” he repeats.
I rub my fingers through my hair and glance back at Ella before shutting my bedroom door. “Dad?”
“Shit. Son.” He pauses halfway down but gives me nothing.
“Dad! What the fuck is goin’ on?”
“Tate?” Sheriff Alan Hooper appears at the bottom of the stairs.
I look between him and Dad. “Sheriff? What are you doin’ here?”
He removes his hat and runs his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Tate, son. I ain’t gonna arrest you, because you’re my best friend’s son, but I gotta take you in for questionin’.”
“What the fuck for?”
“New Orleans PD had a report filed against you. Passed to us when they realized you were home. Grievous bodily harm. You resist and I gotta arrest you, son. Come with me and it’s easy.”
Every muscle in my body tenses. “Who reported it?”
The sheriff shakes his head.
“Alan,” Dad slaps his shoulder. “Tell him and he’ll cooperate, ain’t that right, son?”
“Sure, Dad.” I look from my old man to another. “Sheriff? Who was it?”
Sheriff Hooper looks me in the eye. “Matthew Hamilton.”