Old Enough to Love... (Just One of the Guys)

Text copyright ©2013

Kristi Pelton

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

Wow… I clearly need to thank my family who tolerated pizza rolls and chicken sticks when I was too engrossed in my writing to stop. I would like to thank my parents who introduced me to Oregon and its beauty when I was a kid; and now creating new memories with my boys.

Olivia…what can I say? You’ve read it a hundred times with a smile and you always continued to push me. We did it together! To the Barnes and Noble writers group: Alice, Karen, Mark, Phil, Dennis and George…and those now in Heaven: Bill, Eleanor, Karleen. It’s because of all of you that I continued.

Lisa
Loewen…bless you!  Thanks for your help in editing and non-tabbing!

Creating this work of fiction has been a blast…thank you to Journey, Kid Rock, Eminem, Gasoline Heart, and T-Swift for keeping the vibes going when I got lost.

Go Ducks…Go Jayhawks…Go Cubs

Mom, Dad, Kevin, Ben and Zach…I love you
.

“Come on, Reesy,” I shouted to our ten-year-old weimaraner. Her tail snapped back and forth as she whipped past me and up the hill. Summer vacation was finally over and this was our last day at the beach.  Usually, this was my favorite place in the world but this summer completely sucked.  As I ran toward our house, sand oozed over my freshly painted toe nails and nestled between my toes ready to stowaway.

A familiar whistle resonated over the roar of the waves. Saying goodbye to Austin was the worst part of my summer.  He stood on the third floor deck of the most photographed home on the beach and shot me deuces, our greeting and farewell every summer.  I flicked a peace sign in return and forced a smile. I’d had a crush on him forever.  Our four year age difference wasn’t much to me, but I was like a little sister to him. I realized now, that would never change. It had always been a tossup, who I was going to marry or, at the very least, offer up my virginity to…Austin
Falsone or Grant Meiers.  Austin lived here in Cannon Beach. Grant would return to Ashland with us. They were as different as Lil’ Wayne and Michael Buble. With Grant, I pictured living on a beach, our blonde hair, blue-eyed kids wearing wet suits and catching the surf. With Austin, our brown-eyed, brown-haired kids were dressed in khaki shorts and polos, tossing frisbees. I knew for years that one of those scenarios would play out, but every summer my hopes of finding love dwindled. I was fifteen and outside of a few truth or dare games with my brother’s friends, love…romance had eluded me.  Austin turned away and I watched him disappear between the French doors to his bedroom.

Reesy
waited for me, alongside a fresh pile of steaming dog crap. “Nice, Reesy. Thanks.”  A great end to an already crappy summer.

Mom forced us to carry plastic bags to keep the beaches clean. I didn’t really care that there was plastic between me and the crap; it was still freaking disgusting. And even though I
wasn’t touching it, the warmth through the bag made me shudder; plus, I could still smell it. Holding my breath, I pulled it into the bag, tied the end and sidestepped the beach grass. Ryan was at the back door laughing. Older brothers were a pain, but at times, my overprotective one was a bigger pain than most. Reesy perched herself right in front of him waiting for attention.

“Great news. You’re riding with mom,” he said and his lip pulled into a bigger grin just before he crunched into an apple.

“NO!”

He shrugged. “She wants to talk to you.”

“What about?” I demanded.

Reesy
almost purred as he rubbed her ears. “The punk.”

“He’s not a punk!”

“Let’s go, Reesy.” Ryan patted his thigh. “You’re wrong Emma. He is a punk. A punk who better keep his hands off you.”

The only thing I prayed for all summer was to feel ‘his’ touch once more and Ryan was the one person who would keep that from happening. Before I could control it, the bag and its warm contents left my hands and nailed Ryan in the back. He glanced over his shoulder at the plastic covered crap on the ground. I ran past and pounded his arm as hard as I could.

“You’re the punk! Come on, Reesy.”

Ryan continued rubbing her floppy ears so she stayed put. Nice! Even betrayed by the dog.

Mom was driving; I stubbornly kept my eyes locked on the edge of Highway 1. The view of the Pacific was freakishly awesome but no matter how often we drove it, it stressed me out. Scared of breaking through a guard rail and ending up in the blue water, I covered my ears with my Beats and closed my eyes.

Over the past couple of years, my brother and I had fought about who got to ride with Dad (the non-talker)—today, I lost, which sucked. My feet stuck out the open window and I tried to fake sleep. We’d barely past Tillamook before I felt the predictable tap on my arm. I opened my eyes, paused Adele and removed an earpiece.

“What?”

“You ready to talk?”

“About what?” Of course I knew what it was about. I looked at her out the corner of my eye. A lazy smile touched the sides of her mouth. She was pretty with her light brown hair pulled into a baseball cap. Outside of her inquisitive nature into every aspect of my life, she was beautiful and eloquent and funny. People migrated to her and an unspoken thrill shot through me when they would say that I was a miniature, Katie Hendricks or Kate, as she preferred. I didn’t see it though.

She hit the brakes with a sudden jolt, which made my stomach lurch. I peeked and saw the brake lights of my dad’s Land Rover as he slowed for an RV making the twists ahead. Passing was not an option on this road and unless the RV pulled off at one of the many lookout points or lighthouses, we were in for a long ride.
Ugh!
Seeing Reesy look out the back window of the Rover at us, made me smile. She liked me best.

Mom and I were in her silver Honda S2000 convertible with the top down. There were only a few months out of the year in Oregon that the top could be down and August was one of them. Ashland was still three hours away.

“Emma. Really?”

“Really what, Mom? It’s not worth talking about.”

“Sweetheart,” she said with a pitiful inflection. “I know this summer was hard for you. Given what happened, right before we left. This is the first year I’ve reconsidered our texting and cell phone rule.”

“Such a stupid rule,” I muttered softly unsure if she heard. No texting allowed on the summer getaway.  What a load of crap! Our house on Cannon Beach was awesome but staying for two months was brutal. No phone calls, no texts…strictly ‘family time’ is what she called it. I called it my father’s lame attempt at fighting technology and controlling my life. Ryan called it bullshit; one summer he actually bought a cheap phone and paid for minutes. I was too scared to outright break the rules but snuck a couple of calls on his.  

Summers in Cannon were easier on Ryan. First off, he was a dude—a dude’s dude. As long as he had Grant, a football and some chicks, he was golden. The Meiers vacationed from Ashland to the beach just like us. Seth Meiers was a freshman at the U of O. And Grant, well, he and Ryan were both turning 18…SENIORS! Their summer consisted of football, girls, more football and more girls. Cannon Beach was ideal for them—a tourist spot that brought in a new crop of girls, weekly.

The boys had it right, the girls were completely predictable. Cannon was never what people expected. Upon arrival, they would find a cold beach and even more frigid water. Sure enough, these teenage girls would arrive
beach equipped
with their swimsuits—voila, senior guys to the rescue—always prepared with an extra sweatshirt or jacket. Conversation started and a week-long relationship begun. Obviously starry eyed and pathetic in their simple thinking, most girls were had from the beginning with my brother and his best bud. Watching them exchange addresses as the girls bit their cheeks and fought back tears—VOMIT!