Recklessly (3 page)

Shit, cool it, Wesley.

              She kept a tiny smile on her face as her gaze wandered over the length of his frame, but she paused on specific areas: his eyes, his chest and his mid-section. Wes loved that she was checking him out, and doing it so openly. No doubt, it excited him and he gladly let her indulge; he had nothing to be insecure about. The cordial sibling rivalry between him and Abel kept him in a gym or pool at least four days a week, women seemed to dig his single tattoo sleeve (Abel had covered both arms), and his looking like the stereotypical tall, blue-eyed, dirty-blond surfer didn’t hurt, either. He let Abel have the longer hair though, opting to keep his short but enough to still let women run their fingers through, and a constant shade of five o’clock shadow.

“What are you doing tonight?” she asked.

              Wes grinned. He really liked how forward she was. “We are going up to Malibu in a few hours actually. Waves are better than usual.”

              “You surf?” Lana reached down to fiddle with something on her bike, and the leather material stretched and moved over her butt, so Wes tilted his head to stare at it again. “I was up in Santa Cruz last weekend and it was five-to-six feet on Saturday…”

              “That’s not the back you’re supposed to be looking at,” Abel whispered, and Wes gave him the finger. Lana had her phone in her hands once she was upright again, so he pulled his out. She recited her number and he called it so that she could have his, too.

              “Oh, wow, really? Water’s too cold for me up there. Anyway, yeah, we both surf. Professionally.”

              Lana dropped her hand to her hip. “Of course, sexy, tattooed blondie surfs.”

              “You think I’m sexy?” Wes cocked a half-grin. He
was
but he liked hearing her say it. He leaned against his SUV and crossed his arms over his chest.

              “I think
you
think you’re sexy!”

              “You’re thinking it, too, though,” he declared.

She laughed, showing off that neck of hers again. “Something tells me, someday, I’m gonna be really glad I hit you, Wes.”

             
“Damn
,” he whispered as she swung her leg over to the other side of the bike. He wanted to be in between her legs now, too. Tonight. On that very bike if she wanted. But his cockblocking parents were on their way. “What time am I picking you up
on Tuesday
? ‘Cause I’m serious about not getting on that bike with you.”
At least not while it’s moving.

              “You can meet me,” she corrected. “You know
Vices
in Venice?”

              “Yeah.” He nodded. It was his and Abel’s favorite sports bar. Damn, this woman was so fucking perfect. He thought he would lose it when she leaned forward on the bike, her back arching slightly.

              “Well, it’s a date then. Nine o’clock.” In a fluid motion, she hit the KILL switch, squeezed the clutch, put the bike in neutral, started it, and it was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen. If not for his jeans, he would’ve been fully erect right now, saluting her for the entire world to witness.

Yes, it
was
a date. Kinda.

But hopefully a whole lot more as well.

*

Lana: Nice meeting you yesterday. I don’t know if I should be admitting this, but I’m looking forward to Tuesday =)

Wes: Me too.

He smiled as he finished wiping down the kitchen counters. This was one of his favorite parts of the mating game, the thrill of anticipation during the early stages of getting to know a woman. She was gorgeous and she seemed to have a sense of humor and a sharp attitude, which he liked. What sort of things did they have in common? What did she like to do in her spare time? What kind of stuff was she into? And was she a screamer? A biter? A scratcher? His thoughts descended pretty quickly into the sexual realm, and warmth from an increase in blood flow soon spread across his groin. He needed to stop this. For now. Or the next few days with his parents would be torturous.

But his intrigue about her had exploded exponentially overnight, rooted in his fascination of how contradictory she seemed. Lace and leather. Soft hands and a hard bike. Wes wanted to know so much more about her.

Just as he turned on the dishwasher and started to slip into a daydream about what Lana’s legs looked like out of those leather pants and curved over his waist, two agitated voices flowed into an open window from outside.
Mom and Dad.
His stress level immediately heightened, pushing away the fantasies, and he blew out a breath. Nothing ruined a parents’ visit quite like parents visiting. He enjoyed being excited for them to get there more than when they were actually there.

              “Beau, you only took that spot because I suggested the other one. It’s just what you do when it comes to things I say,” their mother said, her sharp tone stinging Wes’ ears.

              “I saw that one first. Every choice I make isn’t about you,
Sylvia.
” There was frustration in his father’s response, but he had saved the most acidity for his wife’s name, dumping all the vitriol at the end of the sentence.

              “Every?
Every
, Beau? Try
none of
.”

              “Yeah, well, at least none of my choices involve drinking entire bottles of wine in one sitting. I had just bought that Chardonnay, you know. And it wasn’t for you.”

              “I know. You’d never buy anything for me, and that’s why I helped myself to it. And if I didn’t drink, how else would you be tolerable?”

              “Maybe Dr. Brown should up your meds.”

              “If he upped them any higher, you’d be getting a life insurance payout, and I suspect that’s something you’d enjoy.”

Wes inferred they had probably argued the entire trip to California from Oahu; he wasn’t even sure they knew how to interact any other way. It was only a few days with them, he reminded himself. He missed Oahu a lot, but refereeing his parents was draining, and it messed with his psyche too much, so it was better to live in L.A. where they only visited him and Abel sparingly. Long distance ignorance was the best kind of bliss.

The brothers exchanged serious, familiar glances. When they were kids, they would usually run into one of their bedrooms (Wes refused to live with Abel’s snoring) and talk to each other really loudly about comic books. And all these years later, Abel had seemed to reach some level of desensitization that was probably far worse than a childhood fear of arguing parents, but Wes found himself still internalizing all of it.

              “Sylvia and Beau are here,” Abel mumbled in a lilt as he walked by him. “Time to earn some therapy sessions, baby bro.” Abel always called him that, even though they were barely born three minutes apart.

              “Yeah, no shit,” Wes said with a humorless laugh, but being around his parents brought him far more anxiety than he usually displayed. He grabbed three glasses from the cupboard as Abel greeted their parents and cousin at the door. He chuckled when his mother made a comment about how long Abel’s hair was getting.

              “You look like one of the hobos on the Venice boardwalk making bracelets.”

“I don’t really have a legit career, so be careful what you wish for, Ma.”

She’d be on the tattoos next. Their parents had traded their conservative New Hampshire lifestyle for Oahu long before the two of them were born, but they still held on to a lot of beliefs from their upbringing, especially the part about marriage being forever. Wes had never understood it. His parents clearly didn’t like each other, so much so that he didn’t have a single memory, not even a hint of a feeling, of them ever being happy together. Abel had always tried convincing him that none of that mattered because they had been good parents by staying together for them. Wes thought the opposite. Good parents would’ve split up for their sake; their parents had stayed together because they were selfish.

“Wes!” Charlotte poked him on either side from behind before hopping up to sit on the countertop. They really could’ve been siblings. Her eyes bore the exact same shade of blue as his and Abel’s, and their identical blond hair was laced in a long braid down her back.

“Goddammit, Char!” Wes caught one of the glasses before it tumbled over.

              “Wesley, please watch
your
mouth
.” His mother pressed her lips against his cheek. “How are you, baby?” After they hugged, she gripped his tattoo-covered arm. “Have you ever thought about what this will look like when you’re forty? Or
eighty
?”

              “Yup. That’s why I keep getting them.” He hugged her again and offered her a glass of water once they pulled away.

              “Hey, Dad.” His mother ducked under his arm as soon as his father was within glaring distance. And she
had
glared.
No, seriously, you two should stop showing us just how in love you are,
he cruelly joked to himself, but Wes’ heart nosedived into the pit of his stomach as he watched her move to the living room. It was a weary stride, with her shoulders slumped forward and her head down. She was miserable and it was heartbreaking; she always looked like she was on the verge of a scream when his father was around. Or murderous rage. Probably that.

“How’s my favorite boy?” his dad asked, and Wes struggled to prop a smile on his face.

              “He said that to me, like, ten minutes ago. Don’t buy it! He meant it for me though, since I’m the one who brought the luggage in!” Abel yelled out before he joined them in the kitchen. Wes hugged his dad, and Beau Elliott attempted to pick him up. He always did that, and they were all waiting for the day, rather gruesomely, for his back to give out.

              “How long are you here for, kiddo?” Abel asked Charlotte.

              She frowned after picking up one of the glasses. “Kiddo? I’m only four years younger than you guys. Anyway, I’m here until you kick me out before school starts…” Her lashes fanned furiously as she pressed out an exaggeratedly innocent smile. “…Which Uncle Beau and Aunt Sylvie say you won’t do.” She sashayed past them and headed into the living room where her aunt was. As he watched her go, Wes frowned in annoyance because her shorts were way too short right now; the bottoms of her pockets were visible beneath the frayed edges of denim. He definitely wasn’t interested in babysitting Charlotte this summer. He had to focus on training for upcoming surfing contests.

              “Dad, you gotta check out my new Rebel board,” Wes said with excitement. Beau had surfed throughout his youth, and while he had never gone pro, he had maintained his affinity for the sport, which meant that he was completely behind their career choice. That was one thing their parents had united over: making sure to take his and Abel’s dream seriously and providing every resource available to enable them to pursue it.

              “Shortboard?”

              “Yeah. If the waves are good, I’ll probably take it out later. Oh, and there’s a new surf shop in Marina, too. Old guy runs it and he has
tons
of stories. You’ll love him.” It was an unspoken strategy between him and Abel. To maintain peace for as long as possible, Pa and Ma Elliott had to be separated intermittently or whenever the opportunity allowed. He gave a subtle nod to Abel, who nodded back.

Only a few days.

              “Sounds good!” His dad beamed and clapped him on the back. “I’m hungry. I’m sure your mother and cousin are, too. Lots of great restaurants around. Let’s go eat!”

              The rest of the day, Wes shuttled his dad around Marina Del Rey surf shops while remaining in close contact with Abel over text message to coordinate keeping their parents apart until the absolute last moment that they could not. That moment came late in the afternoon when his dad began to nod off and yawn even when Wes was blasting music to the capacity of his subwoofers. Wes released a breath full of dread when they got back home and he parked parallel to Abel’s car, but the day faded into night without an argument—or a word—between their parents. Wes ended up on the foldout couch that night, early, having given up his room to Charlotte until his parents left the guestroom. He awoke much later, startled by the dragging sound of the sliding glass door to the patio. After massaging out the sharp pain in his neck, he pulled on a shirt and walked to the door. His mom was out there, sitting in one of the chairs.

“Mom?” Wes said after he pulled the sliding glass door open, and her shoulders tensed. He saw her wipe her face before she turned around and smiled at him. “Are you crying?”

“No…” But he saw the slight tremble of her lip, and Wes didn’t know which of the emotions ripping through his chest would tear out first, sadness or anger. Crying parents were up there with dental work and small children in terms of things he loathed.

“Yeah, you are. What’s up?” He draped his arms around her neck and felt her body quiver against his. He sucked in a deep breath that sent the faint smell of wine into his nostrils. It was settled. Anger. Anger beat out the sadness.
This is bullshit. This shit they’re doing to each other is fucking bullshit. 

She pulled away, still shaking with sniffles as Wes sat. “Just thinking, sweetie. You and Abel have done really well for yourselves. I love that you two are so close. You’re still so young and the world…you have the entire world ahead of you at twenty-four…”

“Mom…” Wes picked up a half-empty wine bottle near her feet. It was from his and Abel’s expensive stash.

“I wanted to be a doctor. A pediatrician. And then…” She looked in the direction of the beach, and he caught the glimmer of tears. “I don’t regret you and Abel. You know that, right?”

“Of course.” Wes heard the staleness in his own voice, but she didn’t seem to pick up on it, thankfully. He had no doubt that she loved them; though, any time a conversation needed a disclaimer like that, he got a sinister feeling about what he
wasn’t
being told.