Hawk

 

The sun began to set.

Dad grilled steaks in the back. Victor had just dragged out another pack of beers.

I didn’t know why grownups drank those things. It tasted like piss. And I knew what piss tasted like due to Brett pranking me one morning with his special Superman lemonade.

Mom and Cindy sat on a stretched-out blanket on the sand. Brett did back flips in front of them as they took a sip of their champagne and giggled each time he did one.

A few feet behind Mom, my younger brothers Stone and River focused on digging a gigantic hole in the sand. They’d been at it for an hour. God only knew what they had planned. Both dogs stayed clear of them.

“What’s wrong?” The little girl with the black afro pouted at me. I was two years older than her, but next to me she looked even younger—all short and bony. I didn’t even know she was a girl until Mom told me her name was Yasmine.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said.

“There is. You don’t want to be my friend?” she asked. “Do you?”

I threw a rock at the ocean. It hit the surface and sank into the darkening water. “I have to be your friend.”

It was so unfair! Brett and I were supposed to be playing pirates, but Mom told me to be nice to the neighbor girl because she’d just lost her parents. I didn’t kill them. Why do I have to play with a dumb girl? She couldn’t run fast. She couldn’t wrestle. I bet she didn’t like to get dirty and only wanted to play with dolls.

In fact, the only good thing about her was her smell—oatmeal cookies. I think that was because she was always eating sweets. I heard her sister yelling at her everyday outside that she should stop sneaking her hand into the cookie jar.

But why couldn’t Brett have been the one to play with her? Or maybe, Stone and River. Well...no, Stone and River would probably bury her.

It was so unfair.

Yasmine kicked at a shell with her toe. It rolled over. “Why do you have to be my friend?”

I threw another rock. This time, I’d made it an inch past the first target. “I have to be your friend because my mom said that you’re sad.”

“I’m not sad. I’m mad.” Frowning, she picked up a rock, copied my stance, and threw it just like me. The rock hit the surface farther than mine did. “I beat you.”

I didn’t want to smile, but I did. “Yeah, but you can’t do that again.”

“I bet I can.” She grabbed a cracked shell and slung it farther out, reaching beyond a distance that I’d ever thrown.

I dropped my mouth open. “How did you do that?”

She formed her little hands into a fist. “I can do it because I’m mad at God, so he’s giving me powers to make it up.”

“Powers?” I turned to her in shock.

Her afro was so wild. It moved on its own. Tangles of curls whipped and twirled along her tiny face. And under the moonlight, her eyes glowed and looked like windows to some cool land far away.

“Whoa,” I whispered. “You do have super powers.”

She nodded. “I told you. God knows I’m mad.”

Her eyes watered. “I don’t know.”

In that moment, I thought it might be cool to be her friend. She did have super powers and I’d always wanted some. Maybe she could show me how to fly.

She picked up another rock and slung it into the ocean. “I could be the most bestest super friend in the world to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I know things.” Yaz pointed to the night sky. As the sun set, thousands of stars began to glitter above us. “I know where God’s light switch is to turn on all the stars.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” She walked to me and whispered in my ear. “God hid it in my heart.”

I woke up in a cold sweat. The sheets clung to my wet skin. A cool breeze blew into my window, drying the sweat away. Sheer curtains swayed back and forth into a dance, letting the moonlight creep in and shadows twirl along my walls.

What made me think of that night?

I hadn’t dreamed of Yaz in years. Recently, I’d just had nightmares or didn’t sleep. That dream had been a memory about the first time I met her. Sure, I’d seen her around the beach. But it wasn’t until her parents died that Mom decided to adopt the Rolles.

Yasmine’s parents died in that car accident and the next thing we knew, Mom always invited Cindy and Victor over for dinner or Thanksgiving, Fourth of July, or Sunday afternoon tea. There was one point when I thought Mom would just get on with it and ask them to live with us. She was that obsessed with helping them mourn. However, she’d lost her parents at a young age and I think a lot of old memories had returned to her.

“I know where God’s light switch is to turn on all the stars.”

“You do?”

“Yes. God hid it in my heart.”

Yaz sold me on our friendship right there. She had indeed become my most bestest super friend. And during those years, she was a fascinating creature—always with an elaborate story that broke down the world—always taking me on an adventure in the ocean or a journey on sand where the beach grass grew tall above us and she claimed monsters lurked within.

Yaz made me believe in God.

“You do have super powers.”

“I told you. God knows I’m mad.”

“Will you forgive him?”

“I don’t know.”

I stared at the ceiling and wondered if God knew I was mad at him too? Was that why he’d brought Yaz back into my life? What were the odds that all the times, when I’d come back to Key West and had never seen her, that this moment would be the one? That I would reunite with Yaz, when I needed her the most?

I’d been a complete emotional mess after my ex-wife, Lisa—the Black Widow—had manipulated my mind and tortured me. Regardless of the physical pain she’d caused, the guilt was worse than the scars on my chest. Guilt ate at me. Every time I closed my eyes, her victims crowded my head—my friends. Guys that I’d brought around her—fraternity brothers, co-workers, and my best man. All dead by her hands. I’d resolved any financial problems for her victims’ families by anonymously starting a fund and donating several million dollars to it, but it wouldn’t bring the men back.

They’re gone forever.

“Hey!” Brett ducked his head in my bedroom. “Man, are you still asleep? It’s two in the afternoon.”

“No, I’m just in bed.”

“Still in bed? What the fuck?” He walked in, dressed in frayed jeans and a Nintendo t-shirt, completely unlike his usual business attire. His unshaven face was cast with the sullen shadow of a man who’d been drinking steadily for most of the afternoon. In fact, he held two beers in his hand and I didn’t think he was bringing me one.

“We should be out on the ocean, man.” He drank from one can and then sipped from the other. “It’s fucking beautiful out there.” He set the beers on my nightstand. “And the women.” He kissed the tips of his fingers. “Oh my God. You better hurry up and get dressed before I run through all of them.”

“I’m not worried. Have fun. My type never goes for you.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s your type?”

“Sane, smart, and breathing.”

He offered me one of the beers he’d drank from.

I waved him away. “I’m good.”

“Get your ass up so we can play. Let’s go fucking sky diving or something. Jump into a fucking volcano. Kidnap a mermaid.”

“You sound like a teenager.” I stretched my arms. “Are you going to be this way the whole time?”

“The question is, are you going to be this way the whole time?”

And with that, he chugged down one of his beers the same way he did in college.

Jesus. Is he going through a midlife crisis? He just turned thirty. I thought that happened later.

Presently, Brett was dealing with a divorce after three years of marriage to a woman he should have known better than to cheat on. I didn’t think he would find another amazing woman like Selene again. But then I’d married a serial killer so it wasn’t like I had great life advice.

“Come on.” Right in front of me, Brett humped the air. “I. Am. Ready. To. Bang!”

“Jesus, man.” I left the bed before him and his little penis could assault me. “Put that BB gun away before you shoot and hurt yourself.”

Since the trial, Brett had unofficially assumed the job of taking care of me. But sometimes I wondered if I was more taking care of him. Brett was the oldest of us four. I was next and only two years younger. Stone and River were the babies, barely thirteen months apart. Most thought they were twins. Regardless, I was the most responsible of the bunch and had held the protector title for as long as I could walk. And now our new positions were hard to swallow—Brett, the protector and me, the victim. The broken. The weak.

“Man, you missed a fucking good Duval crawl last night.” Brett crashed onto my bed as I rummaged in my drawers. “I must’ve hit up every damn bar on Duval Street.”

“I heard. You had like a hundred people downstairs in the middle of the night.”

“No one came up to bother you right?” Brett grabbed his other beer and chugged it down.

“No.” I shook my head at him. “Take some breaks, man so you don’t get—”

“Don’t even say it.”

Mom always called it the Key Disease. The party life in the Keys tended to have a lengthy duration. People started putting out drinks early in the day and continuing late into the night. It didn’t help that the nightlife was crazy—luxury martini bars to salty dives, taverns and pubs. Everything stayed open until 4 a.m. Others shut down, when the last customer left. This usually meant dawn.

Meanwhile, the DUI limit was .08 percent here, less than many other states. Even crazier, the DUI laws applied to all vehicles—scooters, boats, and bikes.

“Don’t end up in jail,” I said.

“I’m not going to get the Key Disease. And I think I can keep myself out of jail. I am the best lawyer on the east coast after all.”

“Who gave you that title?”

“Not the point.”

“So, you gave it to yourself?”

“I’m a smart guy.”

I didn’t disagree. Throughout the NY corporate world, they called Brett “The Butcher.” And it wasn’t the fact that he looked like he could bench press a small car. Whether in the boardroom or in court, if anybody came against my family’s company, he slaughtered them and wore their flesh as a T-shirt. He dominated the business world. A lot of guys covered their balls when he entered the room.

Although no one would ever figure that out if they looked at him now, fully embracing the Key’s life like he was a frat boy juiced up with steroids.

“Saw you talking to Yaz last night,” Brett said. “That was her and not some other crazy red head, right?”

“Yeah, it was her.”

“So?”

“Nothing.” I yawned.

Concerned crossed over his face. “What was up with her burning stuff out there?”

“She was doing a spell to heal her broken heart.”

“That sounds like Yaz.”

“Definitely.”

“She was always overdramatic.”

“Yeah.” I stretched again and grabbed some swim trunks. “Hey, I meant to ask you something.”

“What?”

“I was looking for those two black boxes.”

“You mean those dark ass boxes full of the Black Widow murders that you’re obsessed with and drag around with you everywhere?”

“Yes, those boxes.” I frowned. “Vera said you delivered them back.”

“She did?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. “It’s full of pictures of cut up bodies. Why would I want that on my vacation? Why would you want that? You promised me that you would give us an official vacation from the crap. Why are we even talking about this? Let’s hit the beach and some sexy chicks.”

“Man, I don’t feel like going to the beach today.”

“The only time you come to the beach is at night. Come on. Get some sun on that pale skin. The jet skies are ready.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yaz is out there.”

“I don’t care about that,” I lied. Although as soon as he brought her name up, my interests piqued.

It would be nice to see her.

But Yaz was all over the place and she’d already broken my heart even though she never knew it. I’d cared for her so much, but never told her. I waited so long that she ended up dating my friend, Nick.

That had been the worst winter of my life. Nick was all muscle and a jackass. I’d started working out because of their fling. I guessed now I should thank Nick for putting me onto a path of fitness.

Brett didn’t give up. “We should go fishing and catch us some pink gold.”

Down here, people called shrimp, pink gold. Long ago, a few fishermen caught a shark in the waters between Key West and the Dry Tortugas. When they sliced open the creature’s belly, hundreds of them spilled out, sparking a vibrant shrimping industry. Many earned a good living doing it, while guys like Brett and me enjoyed the challenge of catching them and the delicious taste of grilling them afterwards.

Usually, I would’ve jumped on the idea. But something fogged my mind.

“Not today,” I said.

“Maybe, we can get a kayak and go bird watching or something.”

“Bird watching? Are you serious?”

“Personally, I was going to bring a fat blunt and a six pack along with the binoculars.”

“I’m fine, man.”

Brett headed for the door. “Are you at least stepping outside of your room today, Dracula?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on.” He kissed the air twice and winked at me.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Come see your sweet Cherry Bomb.” He winked again.

“Wink one more time at me and I’m going to punch you.”

“Fine. I’ll just go spend time with Cherry Bomb myself.” He walked off, glancing over his shoulder as if daring me to stop him. In all fairness, I almost did. “I’ll tell her you said hi.”

I groaned.

It would be nice to talk to her again. Fuck. Maybe too nice.

Holding my clothes, I headed across the room and looked out the window. Clear blue waters lingered near the shoreline, winding out to a sparkling turquoise that was highlighted by the noon sun. Tons of people crowded the beach, tanning in the powder white sand.

I spotted Yaz immediately. Her little feet stuck out of a big umbrella with cherries on top of it. I laughed, remembering that I’d bought her that umbrella long ago.

How the hell did she get that open? She must’ve dragged it out of an attic or something.

I leaned to get a better view of her.

Reading a book, she moved to her side and lay out flat on a pink and white beach towel. Those red dreadlocks were swept up into a messy ponytail on top of her head, tempting and making me want to reach out and twirl the soft locks along my finger.

But that wasn’t what had me rock hard inside of my boxer briefs.

She wore a two-piece swimsuit with a bottom that came up high on her hips. Like any red-blooded man, my gaze went to those succulent legs and the round globes of her ass. God, Yaz. You’re still insanely beautiful.  I clamped my jaw tight against the urge to rush out there and bite on her chocolate flesh.

In my mind, I saw myself sitting next to her, so close the swimsuit would torment me, have my hands all over her flesh, touching and caressing. The bikini had these little ties around her neck and hips. I thought about yanking them away and massaging her thighs.

Yeah. Talking to Yaz would be so good.

I gripped the edge of the window and gazed at her some more. In my head, she moaned and asked me to let my fingers stray between her legs.

Sweet Cherry Bomb.

Heat drummed in my chest as my cock stiffened.

Fuck. What are you doing? Don’t even think about it.

I loved women, their bodies and scent. The only problem with women was the emotions they dragged to the table. We’d meet at a club, have some drinks, and go back to my place. And then we’d engage in nothing else but sex for the time we spent together. No nice play. Not one dinner or movie. I didn’t even order pizza and turn the TV on. Just fucking and a goodbye. And even with that, they’d suddenly want more. And no matter how many times I told them that I only wanted a fling, after a while they’d beg for a real relationship.

Most of the time, a woman and I ended with her in tears. 

Don’t even think about trying to fuck Yaz.

I didn’t date women like her, hippy chicks. The peace and blessings ones that did yoga at dawn and meditated with tea at sunset. I liked my girls bad, raw, and broken like me. Ones that were so detached, I failed to recall them at all. Yaz still had too much sunshine, when I yearned for the rain, the storms, the darkness. I liked my women with so many problems that they stayed away more than came. Little conversation and some sex. After Lisa, I had nothing inside me to want more than that.

But still, the image of me sitting next to Yaz flashed in my head.

I said don’t think about it. She wouldn’t get it.

I bet Yaz was the type of woman that would want to talk on and on until I screamed. She’d want to learn about me, and me about her. She’d want me to confess dumb shit that I didn’t have the mental health to deal with anymore.

Look away.

The only time I wanted my women to open their mouths was to receive my cock. No talk. No love. No rules or relationship. No lengthy dates not ending in sex. Not even a Netflix and chill in my pad sort of situation. No tears. No frowns. No goddamn complaints. No discussion of feelings or where it was going. None of that.

Two days of relentless torture had carved that out of me. I was no longer human, although I pretended to be. I was just the meat after my ex-fiancée butchered me.

Just...

Don’t you fucking think about that anymore!

Yaz’s laughter sounded outside. Brett had actually left the house and walked over to her.

Just can’t leave it alone, huh, man?

Brett always had a way of making Yaz giggle and smile. Had I not been so love struck with her as a teen, I was sure he would’ve tried to date her. Every boy on the island wanted to fuck her.

Old memories of the wet dreams she would cause me hit my mind. My dick hardened.

Fuck.

Even though the very idea of getting close to Yaz turned me off, the thought of fucking her set me on fire and had my head spinning in circles.

I should be thinking about Lisa’s possible accomplice. Not this.

Still, I couldn’t get last night out of my mind. When we were talking by the fire, it was hard to not flirt. I’d imagined slipping that gown down as she sat in the sand among the smoke. How beautiful would her nipples look within the fire’s light?  How much could I make her moan?

Fuck it. I’m just going to talk to her. Where’s the harm in that?

Against all sanity, I showered, dressed, and stepped outside. The sun had heated up the sand. It took a while for my feet to get used to the warmth, and I was thankful for the cool breeze.

Brett had already left Yaz. She’d returned to reading her book.

So close to sunset, no one walked the beach. Although my brother’s section and Yaz’s sister’s bed and breakfast property were surrounded by private sands, usually a couple people were around jogging. Not anymore. The day was close to ending.

Just say hi and then find Brett.

When I approached Yaz, she looked up from her book. “Oh look, it’s Hawkins. Your brother said you’d been sleeping in bed all day. He gave me twenty bucks to cheer you up.”

“Just twenty?”

“Yep.” She pulled it out from her book. “I plan on buying a house now.”

I laughed. “My brother should mind his business.”

A guy rode by on a bike with a radio tied to the back, blasting music in the air. I caught the melody and smiled. He was playing one of my brother’s songs.

Yaz turned his way. “Isn’t that’s River’s song?”

“Yeah. I think that’s Sapphire.”

“I love his stuff. How cool is it to have a brother that’s a rock star?”

“Cool, but life isn’t as different for me as it is for him. For me, River has always been my baby brother and he’s always sang. And to tell you the truth, I’ve always been his number one fan, so nothing has really changed for me. For him, he’s freaking out. I’m just glad the world now sees his genius.”

“River will be fine. He’s the sweetest Barron boy.”

“And me?”

“The nerdy one. That’s why we were always tight. I love nerds.”

“Because you’re one.”

“Exactly.”

Like a moron, I sat down next to her. I had no idea why I did. That hadn’t been part of the plan. Maybe it was because she closed her book and smiled at me, rising to a sitting position. She looked so welcoming and warm. I just wanted to bathe in her light for a few seconds.

“How’s the healing going?” I asked.

She held her hands together in prayer. “I can feel my heart slowly stitching back together again.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”

“No, Hawkins.” She showed me her middle finger. “I’m just trying to be positive, while being in a fuck-the-world mood.”

“Same ole Yaz.” I leaned back onto her blanket.

“And how is your escape from your life going?”

“I’m enjoying my darkness more than when in New York.” I looked out at the ocean.

“Interesting. Most run away from their darkness.”

“I’m not scared to live in it. Blackness hides things that I don’t want to see. It’s like a cave, keeping me safely in and shutting the world out.”

“You need light. Sometimes it’s good to see everything around you, Hawkins.”

I turned back to her. “So, you’ve called me Hawkins a few times after I asked you to stop.”

“What? Oh.” She fake pouted. “I’m so sorry. I keep forgetting.”

“No, you’re not sorry.”

“What? I really am.”

“Now, you owe me.”

“Fine. I guess I do.” Those words sounded so sweet coming from her. “How can I make it up to you?”

I inhaled the teasing scent of her. Images of Yaz naked came to my head. “Yes. Let’s discuss the many ways you could make it up to me.”

“I could bake a cake.”

I frowned. “I’m not a fan of sweets.”

“I could write a poem.”

“I feel like I’ve heard enough of your poems in my lifetime, and rap songs too.”

“Hey, I could’ve been a big star.”

“Sure, but let’s get back to you making it up to me.”

She shrugged. “What do you want? I can’t think of anything.”

I licked my lips. “I could.”

“Wait a minute.” She widened her eyes. “What are you thinking?”

“You don’t want to know. I could think of many ways you could make it up to me, but your heart and mind wouldn’t be ready.”

“That’s a lot of big talk coming from you.”

I wanted to tell her that there would be a lot of big things coming from me, if she was stupid enough to take that step, but I left it alone.

What am I doing? Why am I flirting? This is stupid.

But still, I couldn’t walk away. A white ibis flew by with its scarlet, down-curved bill and red legs. He spread his black-tipped wings out, probably searching for shrimp and crab.

Yaz turned attention to where I was looking. “That bird is on a serious hunt.”

“Yeah. He’ll find something. He’s determined.”

“Did you know that Egyptians used to worship ibis? They had this bird-headed god and even pharaohs were buried alongside mummified ibis.”

“And why do you know that?”

“I’m a fan of odd facts.” She changed the subject. “And what did you do last night after I left?”

“I stared at a blank canvas again.”

“That sucks. Do you do that often?”

“This past year I’ve been doing it a lot. I’m blocked.”

“I never asked you what you did?”

“I own a media company. Painting has just been an obsessive hobby of mine.”

“I remember. You always loved art and creating things.”

“Yeah. Now painting is my addiction. It’s one of the only things that gets me out of bed.” I gestured back at my family’s house. “I changed my mother’s sewing room into an art studio a few years back. I used to come here all the time and paint with my...”

Wife...Lisa...Fuck. Think of something else.

“With what?” Yaz asked.

“The whole point is that I’m losing interest in the one thing that makes me happy.”

“You’ve lost your muse.” She nodded. “Maybe we should do some sort of ceremony for you tonight to find her.”

“No.” I grinned. “You’ve done enough ceremonies for us all.”

“Ha ha.” She stuck out her tongue. “Oh wait. There’s this creativity workshop on White Street at this holistic center called Soul Tribe. It’s for all types of artists. I think it starts with writing and then goes into drawing, but it’s all about using art to heal yourself from whatever is getting in the way of your life.”

“I doubt I can heal from what I’ve been through by picking up a pencil.”

“I bet you could.”

“No. I have another idea. Maybe you should model for me?” I’d blurted it out. Once the words left, I immediately regretted them. This was one of my moves—an old habit. Paint a woman as she modeled for me nude and have her begging to be in my bed before the paint dried.

What am I doing? What’s going on with my head today?

She blushed again and in that moment, I’d forgotten my doubts. “You want to paint me?”

Why not? She’s beautiful. It would just be painting. This way I can play with my skills and get my creative energy working and maybe taste her...Damn it. Remember. Don’t fuck Yaz.

I nodded. “Yes. Model for me tomorrow.”

“Uh...”

“It won’t be long. No more than an hour, although I would want more time.”

“How much time?”

That question triggered nasty thoughts, but I reminded my dick and myself that this was not the type of woman to invite into my bed.

“It would just be a few times,” I said. “You would control how long and when we stop.”

“Hmmm.”

“Look at it this way. You would be helping me rediscover my passion. Painting for me... it’s more than what the piece will look like.”

She gazed at me with this intense look. “Then, what is it?”

“I lost myself one day... long ago... and sometimes, when I’m sliding the paint onto the canvas, I remember the good things about me.”

Silence passed between us.

I was glad she didn’t ask what had happened. Normal questions were hard to answer. I didn’t like to hold in secrets, but I wasn’t a fan of telling people the hidden things about me.

However, since the time I was a kid, I’d been a truthful person. When things were broken or in disarray at the house, Mom called me instead of my brothers. She always knew that I’d rat out the person, even if it was me.

And most of the time, it was me.

I don’t want to lie to Yaz. I hope she never asks.

For some reason, I’d never really learned to lie, or more like I never figured out the benefits of lying. So, after a while, the truth of my life became depressing. No one wanted to hang out with the tortured man. No sane person invited the dark guy to dinner.

And same with women. Once they realized the reality of me, how broken I really was, they tried to fix me. But I couldn’t be fixed. Too many puzzle pieces had gone missing in the chaos. And so, they left too—always covered in tears.

But Yaz asked a question and didn’t pry further. She respected the lines that others wouldn’t. It was like she got me more than I understood myself.

Instead of asking me what happened, she said, “I would love to see your work.”

My heart boomed in my chest and I couldn’t figure out why. I was confident in my art. I’d made good money off it, before starting Rebel Media.

But with Yaz, I wanted to impress her.

What will I show her?

“However, I’m not sure about modeling for you.” She rose from her towel, giving me a beautiful view of that perfect body. “Believe it or not, I’m shy.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.” She dusted the sand from her thighs. “Maybe I can come over and see your paintings? What do you think?”

It took me several seconds to answer. The whole time I’d been focused on those thighs and her saying come.

“When can I come?” she asked.

My cock hardened. “Twelve would be a good time.”

We’re not fucking her. Calm down.

“Cool,” she said.

“You’re leaving so soon?”

“It’s almost sunset. My sister is doing a big dinner for the guests and running a game of poker.”

“What’s she cooking?”

“Sheep tongue souse. Every now and then, she likes to get the guests out of their comfort levels. Clearly, she’ll have some chicken souse available too.”

Souse was an old English word for something pickled. Most Bahamians like Cindy cooked their exotic meats like sheep’s tongue or pig’s feet with a thin broth, which qualified as souse. A few ate it for breakfast and threw a few Johnnycakes on the side which was a type of bread that went back longer than the islands.

“You should come,” she said.

That word come hit me again in the wrong ways.

I cleared my throat. “No. We’ll see each other enough tomorrow.”

“Cool. What should I wear?”

“Nothing at all.”

She laughed. “What?”

“I want to paint you in the nude.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it.

“What’s the big deal? We used to skinny-dip all the time.”

“That was when we were young, and I never agreed to modeling for you.”

“I thought you said yes.”

“I didn’t and I’m definitely not taking my clothes off.”

“I’ve seen you naked before, Cherry Bomb. I doubt you’ve changed that much,” I lied. Those breasts were plumper than I remembered. They sat on her chest like lush melons. Those hips had expanded into cock-hardening awesomeness. If she decided to model for me naked, I would go hard and be drooling all over her.

Why are you doing this to yourself?

“Hmmm.” She twisted her lips to the side. “I’ve never modeled for anyone, and especially not in the nude.”

“Then good. You’ll be jumping into something new. All the self-help books say that taking risks in life puts you on the path to healing.”

“They do. I’ve read that too.” She nodded. “Interesting. I never thought you were the type to read self-help books.”

“There was a time when I tried to get better and read tons of those books.”

She brightened. “Oh wow. Did they work?”

“No. Not at all. They were a complete waste of time.”

“Really? Mr. Fucking Sunshine to the rescue again.” She sighed. “Nude modeling?”

“Very nude. Yes.” I signed a cross in front of me. “And I would be the perfect gentleman. I’ll even give you the painting when I’m done.”

“That would be so cool, but I can’t pose.” She shook her head and that cute blush returned. “I’m too shy.”

“Everyone is scared at first.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You’re a big-time author. I’ll be framing the icon of our century.”

“An icon that’s very nude. I don’t think so.”

I had looked Yaz up. Her first book was an erotic story with an island setting—one similar to Key West. In fact, she had seven books in that series and people appeared to love it. She penned several more about a group of spies that fell in love with the women involved in their missions. Lots of women raved about her online. I read their blogs and tweets, laughing at their obsessive shouts of glee, demanding book number eight be written soon. The public loved her. She’d hit the New York Times in her debut and continued to top the list with later releases.

“How did you know I wrote?” she asked.

“I looked you up.”

“I feel bad. I didn’t look you up.”

“Good. It means that you’re not nosy.”

“I actually am. I was just tired. I’ll look you up tonight.”

“I don’t want you to look me up.”

“Why not? You’ve always been a freaking boy scout. I doubt you did time in jail for mass murder or global terrorism.”

I forced a smile. “Yeah...it’s not that bad.”

I guess.

She checked her watch. “Dang it. I was already supposed to be up there.” She frowned at me. “Next time, come out earlier. I want to hang out with you.”

“Then let me paint you tomorrow.”

She shook her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t. I’m too much of a punk.”

“I understand.” I got up from her towel and helped her dust off the sand, fold it, and handed it to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Maybe on the beach,” she said.

“But not in my studio?”

“No. That’s not happening.”

“Damn it. Then, I think I need a spell.”

“Why?”

I covered my face. “Because you’ve just broke my heart!”

“Oh, stop it.” She left in the most delicious way, twisting those hips and laughing. And I watched those beautiful globes of her ass bounce and jiggle.

I came damn close to racing after her and taking her away.

We’re not fucking Yaz. Calm down.