We’ve been in Santa Cruz an entire week, and the four of us have managed to establish a routine that works. For Phoebe and me, that routine includes food, cocktails, sex, and sun. Everything this summer was supposed to be about. Yesterday, Phoebe went to the store she’ll be working at, By the Beach, and filled out her paperwork. Her first day is tomorrow, so tonight instead of partying with Duncan and Kelsey next door at Jackson’s house, we’re heading out to dinner, just the two of us, and to the boardwalk.
The Santa Cruz boardwalk is a sight to behold. A cross between an amusement park and a county fair, the boardwalk buzzes with excitement. Families laugh, children eat cotton candy, and teens learn to flirt with one another. Phoebe and I don’t plan on riding many rides, but people watching is almost as much fun as if we were.
“That dinner was delicious. Do you think it’s the sea air that makes everything taste better?” Phoebe squeezes my hand as we walk. I know what she means. My senses are on hyperdrive here.
“Seriously. I swear, even the coffee tastes better.”
“Do you think,” she begins before stopping.
“What?” I ask as I stop in front of the donut hole vendor. I place an order for the largest bag of holes to share while I wait for her to continue.
“Do you think you’d move here? To the west coast? A beach town?”
I’m not surprised by her question. Phoebe is unsettled. She isn’t sure what she wants to do with her future, she isn’t one hundred percent sure where she wants to live other than far from her parents, and I think deep down she’s scared that maybe life doesn’t need a plan.
“I don’t know. I mean, it’s not the worst place to live. I’d probably have to be closer to a large city for work, I doubt there are many positions in pharmaceutical sales here. But, I suppose it wouldn’t be too awful to call a place like Santa Cruz home. Why? Do you think you’d want to move here?”
Phoebe shrugs and stuffs a donut hole in her mouth. Evading. I know that move well.
“Look, babe. We’re young and have our lives ahead of us. This is the time we should be trying things, spreading our wings; the world is our oyster, yada yada,” I say, smiling before tugging her to me and continuing. “I know one thing . . .” I pause to take the bag of holes from her hand and toss them on the bench next to us. The frown she gives me is hilarious, and I smile while kissing her. Her nose scrunches because I’m laying the PDA on thick. “I love you and want to be with you. We don’t have to decide anything right now. How about we table the topic of where we’ll land until my interviews next week? Then, we can figure out where we’ll live and what our future may hold.”
I watch as Phoebe begins to shut down. Her posture changes, and she takes her hand and brushes away non-existent hairs from her face. Her nostrils flare, and she takes a deep breath before speaking. Her tone is neutral but with a slight clip. “Your interviews”—she takes a deep breath while looking over my shoulder before turning her gaze to me— “those interviews, are your future, Madsen. They aren’t mine.”
Ouch. That was a little harsh, but I get it. Phoebe is a lot of things, but one she isn’t is a follower. To her, my interviews and my possible employment don’t automatically include her. That’s where we differ. To me, every decision I make includes her. Each step I take is with her in mind. “Hey,” I say, placing my hand to her cheek, my thumb gently rubbing at her bottom lip. “I didn’t say it was. I’m not trying to pressure you. I mean it when I say I love you. I know labels aren’t in your vocabulary, and you aren’t ready to plan our future. The reality is, you are my future, Phoebe. I’ll do this at your pace and keep the labels off the table, but make no mistake, we are forever and you are what matters most to me. If being in California is what you want, then California is where we’ll be. But tonight? We’re hanging out and riding that big ass Ferris wheel before I take you home and ravish this body. You need a good night’s sleep before your first day of work, and I think a little Secksin is exactly the sleep aid you need.”
Phoebe laughs, and I plant a quick kiss to her lips, pick up the bag of donut holes, and drag her to the Ferris wheel. Phoebe is like a kid on Christmas Eve. She loves everything about amusement park rides, but what nobody else knows is she likes to be a little naughty when we’re stopped at the top. I learned this unexpectedly, and it scared the shit out of both of us when I jumped the first time she unzipped my pants and stuck her hands in my pants on a ride at a local amusement park. No worries, we aren’t heathens; nobody could see us. But when I jumped, the cart we were sitting in started swaying so much I sent a prayer to whoever was in charge of safety that they actually did their job.
“Hey,” I say as Phoebe begins kissing at my neck, but she ignores me. I know something is wrong, this behavior, as much as I love it, is really out of character for her. When she doesn’t stop her sweet and erotic assault, I grab her face and plant a quick kiss to her lips. “Save it for home. I want to be with you and take in the view. It’s amazing.”
Phoebe gasps, it’s small but I feel it. Multiple emotions flash in her eyes – shock, offense, and sadness before the big one – anger. “Are you turning me down? Did I just get shut down? Are you kidding me?”
“Whoa there, Rocky,” I say, grabbing her hands as she pushes at my chest. “I didn’t turn you down; I want to hang out with you and fucking cuddle, dammit. Stop making me sound like a chick, and look at the damn view, will ya?” I smirk because what I said is probably the most ridiculous string of words to fall from my mouth.
“Cuddle? Oh my God, you’re ridiculous. Fine, how about we snuggle? You want to be my snuggle muffin?” She’s mocking me with baby talk, and I swear she’ll regret that later when I smack her ass.
We spend the next few hours riding the various rides, playing games, and winning Phoebe the most ridiculous stuffed pelican ever. She’s names him Chester and refuses to let me carry him for her. She says she’s going to cuddle with him when I’m gone, and I’m a little worried for Chester. She’s serious about her cuddles. But, if she’s going to cuddle with someone, I’d rather it be a fake pelican than a blond surfer who calls her Fancy.
Phoebe is up and dressed early this morning, thoroughly excited for her first day of work. Her excitement is contagious; I’m up with her, listening to her ramble on and on while she eats breakfast. Phoebe is pouring coffee in her travel mug when I hear three quick knocks on the front door.
Jackson.
Seriously, this guy needs to learn the definition of boundaries. Phoebe jumps up and opens the door before the fourth knock, and I can hear the two of them talking as they return to where I’m sitting at the kitchen table.
“Morning,” Jackson greets me. Not “Good morning” or even “Hey.” Just “morning.” Jackass. That’s what I call him now. He’s no longer Jackson.
“What’s up? We’re getting ready to head out,” I say, standing and tossing the keys in the air before catching them.
“Oh Mads, that’s why Jackson’s here. He’s working at the store today, so he thought he could drive me. Save you the trip.” Phoebe smiles at me and doesn’t seem to read anything into Jackson’s sudden desire to play taxi. I, on the other hand, am hip to his game. She walks up to me, bends over, and places a quick kiss to my lips, “You should get some surfing in while I’m at work.”
“I don’t mind taking you.” My eyes shoot to Jackson, who has poured himself a cup of coffee. In the week we’ve been here, he’s made himself right at home. Which is weird since his actual home is like thirty steps away.
“That’s silly. Pick me up though? Maybe we can grab a late lunch? I’m only working until two.”
“If you’re sure,” I reply while Phoebe nods her head in agreement and places another kiss to my lips and turns to grab her purse.
“See ya, Madsen. I’ll take good care of her.” Jackson’s last words sit like a bomb in my stomach. I don’t have a good feeling about leaving for New York in a few days. This fucker better recognize his place. And his place isn’t taking care of my girl.
Suddenly in need of something more strenuous than my shitty attempts at surfing, I put my cup in the sink and grab a protein bar from the stash in the cupboard. Taking a few bites as I walk back into our bedroom, visions of Jackass opening the car door for Phoebe and his cocky grin showing off his perfect teeth flash before me. I bet his parents paid a pretty penny for those teeth. I’m not a fighter by nature but something about that guy makes me want to change that.
I contemplate googling a gym nearby, preferably one with a boxing option. If I can’t smack that cocky grin off Jackson’s face, at least I can get in a good workout. But instead I opt to go for a run. Running isn’t my preferred form of exercise, but it’s one I’ve fallen back on time and time again. Once my shoes are laced and my earbuds secured, I head out the front door and take off at a slow pace.
My running playlist is set up so I gradually increase my pace along with the intensity of the music. When “Try Me” by Jason Derulo begins, I know it’s time to turn back toward the house. If my pace is the same as it is at home, I’ve just hit four miles, which means by the time I’m back to the house, it’ll be eight. Any more and I’ll be fatigued. Any less and it’s not worth it in my book. Having this time to myself has my mind spinning. Jackson seems, overall, to be a decent guy. If he wasn’t blatantly into my girl, I might like him. But the fact is, he is into my girl, and I’m leaving town in a few days. I trust Phoebe, but her refusal to label us and acknowledge to others who we are to each other leaves me more than a little unsettled.
Sure, she kisses me and calls me “babe” in front of Jackass, but she also introduces me as “Mads” and never “my boyfriend.” Her refusal to use a fucking title, or label as she calls them, is driving me nuts. For the last three months, it hasn’t been a big deal. As soon as we came back from spring break, I made it known to everyone who mattered that we were together and it was business as usual. But here, it’s different. There’s no history.
I don’t like it.
I push away the jealousy because Phoebe hates it, and I don’t want her pissed at me. I need to keep my focus on the end game. The end game being, getting one of these jobs and moving Phoebe and me to New York. Worst case scenario, we talk about other options, and I expand my job search.
I decide, instead of walking into the house after my run, to take a quick swim. I kick off my shoes, toss my phone and earbuds into my shoe, and discard my T-shirt. Once I’m in only my running shorts, I run into the surf and push my body further. This probably isn’t smart, considering I just ran eight miles, but I don’t care. I need to exhaust myself so my mind isn’t going. Being alone today wasn’t how I planned to spend my time in Santa Cruz.
After a long float, I exit the water and head home. Kelsey and Duncan are cleaning the kitchen, and instead of bothering with small talk about what they’ll be doing today, I make a beeline for the shower and wonder how long I can prolong this menial task so the day doesn’t drag any longer than necessary.