CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Chelsea
The last time I had been to Brees Campground was after prom my senior year of high school. A big group of us had parked in the tent spaces and run off to the beach. It could have been the full moon or maybe the freedom graduation offered right around the corner, but whatever it was, my friends and I splashed in cocktail dresses, chased each other on the beach, and laughed harder than I could remember. Prom night went down as one of my favorites ever. And here I was again, more than six years later, meeting an almost total stranger for dinner.
I slowed my car along the gravel drive that bordered the horseshoe of camper trailers. I didn’t remember the names being so funny. Under the Seashell? I might have to write these into a parody song.
There was Jake’s Jeep next to Silver Sand Dollar. I touched up my lip gloss again and ran my fingers through my hair. This was only dinner with a new summer resident, I told myself for the twentieth time. I took a deep breath before climbing out of the car and walking to the silver camper.
All day I knew he had flirted with me, but it was different than the advances coming from Derek. Jake was confident and sure of himself. He didn’t pout or punish me if I didn’t flirt back. In fact, it seemed to make him smile more, the more I resisted his innuendos.
It had been surprising spending the day with him. I caught myself laughing unexpectedly and teasing him when I knew I shouldn’t. He took everything in stride and nothing about the store stressed him out.
What I really wanted to know was how long he had been writing and if he had any advice to launch me into the writing world. I needed any help I could get to break into the music business. It was worth a shot.
I noticed two chairs arranged in front of the fire. I tapped on the door, feeling a surge of nerves begin to take hold.
He swung the door open and greeted me with a smile and a smooth face.
“Wow. Hey.” I stood, staring at the once scruffy jaw. “I—uh—you look good without the beard.”
“Thanks.” He rubbed his cheek. “After the dip in the creek today, I thought it was about time. Saltwater and facial hair are not a good combination. I’m not really a beard guy.”
“Oh, I thought it was part of the whole writer thing.” I tried to make a joke to cover my persistent staring. His face looked so different. So handsomely different. And there were dimples when he smiled. It took restraint not to reach toward him and touch his cheek.
“I’ve got beer. Want one?” He revealed two longneck bottles in his hand and stepped back so I could enter the camper.
Everything was red and white like a perpetual picnic. I took a beer from him and reached for a towel to twist off the top. These tops always hurt my palm.
“Nice place.”
“Thanks. It’s twenty-two feet of home for the summer. Want a tour? We can start dinner in a minute.” He shuffled me to the center of the room.
“Definitely. Show me the chateau.” I looked around the small space, wondering where he wrote.
“All right. This here is the culinary den of the place.” He pointed to the quaint kitchenette. “And this is the breakfast nook.” I liked how the table and bench jutted out, giving a better view of the ocean.
He walked toward the back of the camper. “The master suite, complete with a bed. Yeah, that’s all that’s in here. And of course the master bath. If you turn just right, you can fit in the shower. I think I’ve learned new contortionist skills this summer.”
I sized him up against the tiny shower, and wondered how someone with such broad shoulders managed to squeeze in there.
“Wow, looks like you have everything you need.” I took a swig of the beer.
“It is pretty damn perfect. This is the living room, I guess.” A red couch ran along the inside wall. He walked two steps to the kitchen and retrieved a plate of steaks from the mini-fridge. “You eat meat, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
He sighed. “Good. I was worried for a second. But this is what I’ve got. Come on. Let’s get these cowboy steaks on the fire.”
“Cowboy steaks?” I had never heard of that before.
“Yeah, you’ll see. Come on.” He led me through the door and motioned to one of the chairs. “All right, so we just throw them on the fire, and in ten minutes, they’ll be done.”
“You mean like on a roaster stick?” I looked around for the utensils we needed to spear the steaks.
He laughed. “No, like this.” He grabbed one of the steaks off the plate and tossed it into the center of the fire where it sizzled on the hot coals. “Want me to do yours?”
“No way.” I chunked it into the flames right next to his.
“Nice throw.”
“Thanks.” I tipped the bottle back and watched as the steaks bubbled under the heat.
Jake settled into the chair. “So, tell me, songwriter, what kind of music do you write?”
I blinked. People didn’t usually ask about my music. They usually acted like I didn’t write at all. Everyone on the island knew I wrote music. I’d been doing it since the third grade, but that didn’t mean it was accepted as a way to make a living. This was a chance to have an actual conversation about the words that swirled in my head and seeped from my pores.
“Anything and everything,” I replied. Ok, well that was about as vague and shallow an answer as I could muster.
“Oh, that kind of music,” he teased.
I nudged him with my elbow. “I meant that I don’t really try to write a certain song. I let the words hit me, and then I write it. It’s kind of hard to explain, but I feel it, I don’t think it.”
I chugged on the beer, thinking maybe my first answer was better than my second. That was too much. He would surely think I was some kind of abstract artist who needed to be secluded in an artist-only loony colony.
“How did you learn to write lyrics?” He kicked at one of the logs with his foot. He seemed comfortable with the fire.
“It’s not something I went to school for. I think of it like poetry, I guess. I see the words together or feel them together.”
“Feel them?”
I twirled the bottle until I heard the beer sloshing. He had turned to face me, and I realized he was listening. His eyes scanned mine and his forehead fixed in concentration. “Yes, it’s a feeling, but it comes out as lyrics. It’s hard to explain.”
“It makes sense to me. Those are my favorite songs. The ones that actually mean something—not just rambling strung together to fit a beat, but words with soul.”
I followed his eyes, wishing it wasn’t getting dark so I could see the flecks of green. Right now, he was looking at me as if he understood everything I said and more, and I wanted to capture that look in his eyes and memorize it.
He broke the silence. “If you didn’t go to school for music, what did you study?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, that? My master’s is actually in education. My parents want me to be a teacher. We compromised on me teaching music.”
“Well, that sounds like a sensible idea. You get to do both, right?”
“No, not really. All I want to do is write. I’m sending songs out every week to labels, and any day I’m going to sell one. I really want a contract so I can move. I’ll pay my dad back for college and grad school and I’ll be done with this nightmare.” I gripped the bottle in my hand like it could steady me. I didn’t mean to get so worked up.
“Nightmare? I guess you’re talking about what I overhead this morning on the docks.”
He turned to look at me. It wasn’t pity in his eyes. It was the same look he had at the kayak stand—understanding and warmth. The kind of look I wouldn’t mind seeing more of. I liked the way it felt when he looked at me that way.
I tried to explain. “It’s a long story, but you could say I had a falling out with my dad recently and I’m ready to move on. First, I owe him for my tuition. It was part of the deal when I went to grad school. We came to a compromise after I told him I could make a higher starting salary with a master’s degree. I’m supposed to be grateful I got to go, but now it feels like I’m an indentured servant. Half of my pay goes to my tuition bill, and I get the other half.”
The beer was empty, but I wasn’t sure if it was ok to ask for another one so quickly. I liked talking with him, and if he brought me another beer, I would stay and swap stories as long as the fire burned.
Jake stood from his chair. “Why don’t I grab us a few more beers and the plate for the steaks? I’ll be right back.”
I watched as he walked back into the camper and decided a pair of khaki shorts had never looked so good on a man before. My cheeks flushed, wondering if his backside looked as amazing as his chest and arms.
“Here you go.” He returned seconds later with a cold beer. Using a long set of tongs, he reached into the fire and stabbed both of the steaks. “Cowboy steak is served. You ready?”
I nodded.
He handed me silverware and bread. “I’m not much on cooking. It’s steak and bread tonight.”
The hot plate in front of me looked and smelled wonderful. This was plenty. “I love it. Let’s eat.”
He cut into the steak and took a bite. “Mmm…might be my best yet.” He grinned, his mouth full.
“So, I’ve done all the talking. Tell me about where you went to school and your hometown.”
“There’s not much to tell.” He cut into the steak again. “I went to a small Texas school and played some football in college.”
“Football?” I knew he was too naturally athletic not to have been involved in sports of some kind. “What position did you play?”
“I was the quarterback, of course. But after the last concussion, I decided I needed to do something a little safer. I’d like to keep my memories.” He winked.
“So is that how you got into writing? It’s the football safety net? I wouldn’t pair those two things.”
He nodded while tipping a beer back.
“Tell me about your book. I want to know what you’re writing. I feel like I’ve been cut off from writer minds since I moved back home.” I tasted the meat and enjoyed the smoky flavor.
I watched him chew. Finally, he spoke. “I’m taking my time on this one. Just seeing how it goes. I need to feel it.” He winked. “You understand.”
I knew he was trying to distract me and I hated to admit it worked.
“Does that mean you haven’t started yet?” I wondered why he was so reluctant to share his work with me. I felt like I had just given him way too much personal information. I needed him to balance the conversation.
“Something like that.”
“But—”
He cut me off. “Damn it, my neighbor does not understand volume control.” The music from next door had increased several decibels, drowning out the sound of the waves. “Thanks to you, I now know what she’s playing is beach music. Let’s go in. I’ve got speakers inside. We can continue this conversation. I want to hear more about your songs.”
Slightly flustered, I clutched my drink and followed him inside the camper. It felt small and cool after sitting under the stars and in front of the fire. It also smelled like Jake’s cologne, fresh and soapy-scented.
“Sorry about that.” He pulled the door tightly behind him. “Alice likes to play her music loudly, and if I go over there now, I might not be back for a while.”
“Oh, ok.” I didn’t know if I should slide into the booth or sit on the couch. I wanted to keep talking. I wanted to get him to open up.
He fiddled with one of the speakers before strolling to the couch and crossing his ankle over his knee. He had selected a country song, but I hadn’t heard it before.
“What’s this?” I nodded toward the speaker.
“You don’t know this song?” He looked shocked.
I shook my head. The words were haunting and perfectly placed. It was an acoustic number, and the man’s voice was smooth and raspy on all the right notes.
“How about Quinn Jansen? Do you know her?”
I laughed. “She’s only my favorite singer and songwriter. I love her.” Ever since I had seen the indie artist’s first video on YouTube, I was hooked. After it went viral, she was on every show. Every top list.
He smiled. “Well, she wrote this.”
“What? But it’s a guy song.” I wondered if he was teasing, but he looked too serious.
Jake stretched on the couch. I admired his athletic body. A quick flashback of his dripping wet chest reminded me how sculpted he was under that shirt.
“Quinn can write. I’d listen to just about anything of hers.”
The next song was a Quinn Jansen hit.
He smiled. “Speak of the devil.”
I giggled. “Yep. I do know this is her song.”
I sat on the end of the couch, keeping a pillow’s distance between us. It was hard to ignore how the closeness of the camper brought us into each other’s space. It was immediately more intimate.
All day I felt as if we had been gradually moving closer to this moment. Thrills of recklessness tingled under my skin. What did I really know about this guy?
He pointed over my head. “Hey, would you mind cutting off the light over the table? Not only is Alice loud, she’s nosey.”
“Sure.”
I reached behind me. I meant to flip the light closest to the table, but instead, I swiped all three, throwing the entire camper into darkness.
“Oh crap. Sorry. Sorry.” I fumbled with the wall, but couldn’t find the switch to save my life.
“Hey.” The tone of his voice was low and commanding. “Leave it.”
The way he sounded in the dark made me shiver and smile at the same time. God he was sexy.
He was moving closer. The attempt to steady my pulse was useless.
My heart beat faster, waiting for him to close in on me. But he took his time in the dark, setting his own speed for the chase. He knew exactly what he was doing. Strong hands slid around my waist and drew me toward him. He didn’t kiss me right away.
His cheek brushed against my face, and his lips grazed my ear. It was as if he wanted to inhale every part of me. The anticipation was dizzying. His body pressed close and I felt the heat from his mouth. He moved from my ear, to my neck, and skimmed my throat with his lips, raking me with his warm breath.
Oh shit. He was torturing me. It stirred the feelings of want I hadn’t been able to unleash all summer. Pent-up desire. Bottled lust. I leaned back, taking in every touch as he ignited blazes along my skin.
His hand clasped the back of my neck, wrapping his fingers through my hair before bringing my mouth to his. He tasted like the last sips of beer, and I couldn’t think of any better way to get drunk than on deep kisses like these. His tongue played with mine as he pinned me on the couch under him.
I wanted to think through what I was doing—making out with a virtual stranger at the campground—but thoughts seemed like a bad idea, an idea that wouldn’t do anything to ease the burning feeling taking over my core.
Everything throbbed and ached. I needed this. I needed him.
His hands slid under my shirt and worked their way up my back, pressing into my skin. I arched as his hands landed on my bra.
“Wait,” I whispered.
I pushed against Jake, creating enough space to pull the shirt over my head. I tossed it on the floor. He led the straps over my arms and dropped the lacy garment on the floor.
I could get lost in the kisses, the touches, the whispers in my ear.
I let out a deep moan as the heat of his mouth descended to my breast. He sucked hard, pulling my nipple with his teeth. I fisted my hands through his hair, knowing the pressure between my legs was building with each flick of his tongue.
“Oh God,” I whimpered.
He moved to the other side, and my breast throbbed from where his lips had been. He took me between his teeth, my nipple pebbling under his command. I heard a growl of satisfaction vibrate from him.
“Damn, you’re sexy,” he groaned.
He made a slow circle with his tongue. He blew across the wet skin, making my knees clench harder against his waist.
My panties were soaked. My clit throbbed. And my mind was blurred by everything my body wanted. What was he doing? All it would take was one flick of his fingers between my wet folds and I’d lose it. He’d see how desperate I was for this.
I’d fall off the cliff before we got to the good part. I was a live wire, waving in the wind. My breath was erratic. My center needy to feel how hard he was as my hips rocked into him.
I realized that the sudden abandon I felt by being with a total stranger was evaporating. This was all too intimate to experience with someone I didn’t know, and instantly, that seemed kind of important. We would be stocking shelves together in the morning. In our aprons, under my father’s watchful eye.
He’d think I had no restraint. That I was like every other girl on this island—no sexual experience in the world. God, this was embarrassing.
I bolted from the couch, knocking Jake back on his heels.
I broke the spell. I ruined the moment.
“Shit. Where’s my shirt?” I covered my breasts with one hand and searched the floor for my shirt with the other, my breath frantic. It had to be here somewhere. The camper wasn’t that big.
“Something wrong, darlin’? Are you ok?” Jake sounded calm. Of course, he wasn’t the one with only half his clothes on. “Hold on. I’ll help you.” He crawled to the floor. “Ah-ha. Here you go.”
I fumbled to find my clothes. I was glad we were in the dark so I wouldn’t have to see the look on his face while I struggled to redress.
“I need to get home. I didn’t realize how late it was. We have an early morning. Thanks for dinner. Really, it was great. And the music. And…” I had to get out of here.
“Chelsea, wait—”
But I didn’t give him a chance to explain or apologize. I bolted from the Silver Dollar and ran to my car. Today set an all-time record for embarrassments, and this night really needed to end. It was going to start over again tomorrow when I got to the store and had to train the man who had just made me almost come from nothing more than a hot kiss and some heavy petting.