The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (179 page)

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “You
sold
Mary?”

“Had to, the cops had a description of her. Anyway, we could get a place near my sister Cora and bother her all the time like I used to when I was a kid. Her guy is a cop so that’ll be good for business. And if Eggs and Tabby are going to Atlantic City like they say then it won’t be hard to get together—”

Equally excited, I shouted over him until he stopped talking. “Okay!”

William’s brows knitted together. “Okay?”

“Very okay!” I laughed and proceed to explain. “I got into a great culinary school in the middle of the city. The semester doesn’t start until August, but that just gives me more time to earn some money—”

Then, once again, he smashed his lips into mine.

Epilogue

There are few things in this life better than fruity deserts.

Maggie O’Reilly understands this just as much as I do. Like her only son, she has a sincere appreciation for the deserts I create with them. Which was why I was happy to volunteer to do desert for the 4
^th
of July and—just maybe—go a little overboard in the process. I had known William’s sisters and mother for about four months, and although I was assured they liked (loved me even), I still occasionally felt the need to prove something.

So in addition to the orange cake and cherry pie, I had grilled peaches for a sour tort. On top of that, miniature cheesecakes had been topped with strawberries and blueberries for a patriotic feel and strawberries had been covered in white chocolate and blue sprinkles in a similar fashion. If everything came out the way I hoped, maybe I’d send a picture to Mom and Dad. I’d already wished them a happy 4
^th
, but considering Mom had only just started talking to me again and Dad actually acknowledged he missed me, I thought some extra communication couldn’t hurt.

“Lottie will you come out here already? It’s too hot to be in that kitchen!”

The sound of Cora’s voice made me stand on my tippy toes to look out the screen window. Under the umbrella on a worn out picnic table sat Cora, Shannon and Maggie. Meanwhile, too impatient too wait for the sun to go down, William, Declan, and Cora’s now fiancé Finn were playing with sparklers. Pie in hand, I watched them for a minute and laughed. If I thought William was perfect in California, he was even more perfect in Massachusetts. His smile was more pronounced around his family, more dedicated somehow, and once the spring came around his blond hair became even lighter, making him look more like a surfer boy than a criminal.

“Hey, hey Jumper!” William called to me. “Come and see this!”

I shook my head and laughed before headed down the small stairwell that led outside. Despite the surprise that the O’Reilly family seemed to know about me before I even left for Boston, William was the only one who still called me Jumper there and I was the only one who called him William. And even though months had passed, it still put flutters in my stomach when I thought about it.

“There you are!” William ambushed me the second I set foot on the grass. Taking the platters from my hands he set them in the shade and palmed his hand in mind. In vain, I tried to pull up the brim of his sunglasses and wipe a smear of sunblock from his forehead, but he pulled me along.

I laughed along with him, my eyes already spotting the display of duct taped sparklers that the boys had put together. Struggling to light a match, Declan swore loudly enough to get Maggie’s attention and she called out to all of us.

“Don’t you boys go and burn that lovely young lady!”

As usual, William called back and waved her away. “Don’t worry Ma!”

William released his hand from mine and stepped behind me to wrap his arms around me instead. Instinctively, I stepped back with him laughing when he said:

“Keeping you out of trouble is a full-time career.”

I frowned and tried to look at him from the corner of my eye. “How do you expect me to have any fun without trouble?”

Declan must have got the match lit because the tower of sparklers went off, crackling in the sunlight.

William grinned into my ear, his thumb intentionally but subtly stroking my abdomen. “I’m sure if we put our two heads together we could think of a few things.”

I squeezed him tighter against me. “There’s no doubt about it.”

Though it was easily ninety degrees, I shivered. “For example, what do you plan on doing with the rest of those strawberries?”

Laughing, I kissed the bottom of his chin. “I’m sure my syrup deity will help me think of something.”

MAVERICK

Anna Cruise

––––––––

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

MAVERICK

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2013

Mission Bay Publishing

cover design by Mae I Design Photography

––––––––

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.

PROLOGUE

Gina

I
stared at the papers and pictures spread out on the bed in front of me – advertisements, articles, candid shots. One person stared back at me.

Kellen Handler.

I tried to focus on the task at hand, the task I was being asked to do. No, I amended. I wasn't being asked. I was being told. Ordered.

I saw his sun-kissed hair, thick with salt and sweat from hours on the waves. I saw blue-green eyes that matched the color of the ocean. I saw tanned skin and the smooth, ripped abs and lean chest that screamed surfer.

The cocky smile as he hawked sunglasses or board shorts. The look of intense concentration captured in photo spreads as he navigated the waves or eased himself into the barrel of some epic wave.

I tried to detach from who he was and all that he represented. But I couldn't.

He represented everything I'd loved.

And everything I now hated.

I swallowed hard and repositioned myself on the bed. I tucked my hair behind my ears and stared down at the pictures again. I played with the gold hoop in my ear, fingering it with my thumb and forefinger, then shifted so I was toying with a lock of hair. Winding it around my finger, as tight as I could, then releasing.

It wasn't him, I told myself. I didn't know him. I'd never been part of the pro surfing world. But the locals? The boys I'd grown up with? My brothers and their friends...and my friends, too? Those were the guys I'd spent my life with. Following them to the beach and out into the water. Letting them try to teach me how to ride the waves when I was younger. And, when I was older, accompanying them at the crack of dawn to watch them shred and do their best to, if not tame the waves, at least ride them for a little while before being tossed to shore.

I'd spent my entire life a part of their crew. Cheering them on. Encouraging them. And loving them. My brothers. My friends. And Luke.

I felt the tears threaten and I blinked several times, trying to stem them.

Kellen Handler was not Luke. He would never be Luke.

He was a job.

ONE

Kellen

––––––––

S
omething – no, someone – was rubbing against my leg. Soft skin, silky smooth, gliding back and forth over my calf, then my thigh. Fingertips traveled from my hip to my stomach.

I grunted and forced my eyes open. A naked chick with blond hair was curled up next to me. A naked chick whose name I couldn't remember.

She bent her head close to my bare chest and her lips grazed my skin. She glanced up. “Good morning,” she said, her voice soft.

Her long hair was a mess of tangles and her mascara was smudged but she was still beautiful. Tan and thin, her tits the best money could buy. She looked like half the other chicks in Southern California. Hell, she looked like
all
the chicks in SoCal.

I yawned and the odor hit me. She smelled like cigarettes and stale beer. And sex.

Or maybe that was me.

“Hey,” I mumbled.

She smiled and lowered her head again. Her tongue danced in circles on my skin as her fingers trailed down my stomach. I should have felt something, some little spark in my gut, some twinge in my cock. But I felt nothing.

Chelsea?

Cheryl?

What was her name? Something with a Ch. I was pretty sure of that.

I swallowed. My mouth was bone-dry, like someone had shoved a handful of cotton down my throat. I rubbed at my eyes and glanced at the nightstand. Four cans of Bud Light littered the top, along with a flashing alarm clock and a discarded black lace thong. I pushed the panties to the floor and picked up a can. Empty. So was the next one. The third was half-full and I downed the warm, flat beer, washing away the cotton in my mouth.

I set the can back down and looked at the top of Ch's head. She'd stayed glued to me, her hand traveling lower, her fingers brushing the tip of my dick.

“Yo,” I said. “I gotta go.”

Her tongue licked at my nipple and she kicked at the sheet so she was fully exposed. My eyes traveled the length of her body and I drew a quick breath. At least I hadn't been so drunk that I'd brought some sea hag back to my room. I could have done worse. Much, much worse.

I closed my eyes, trying to remember. Chantelle? Charity?

“Hey,” I said, rubbing my temple and re-opening my eyes. “You hear me?”

Ch lifted her head and gave me what I'm sure she thought was an incredibly seductive look. “You can be a little late,” she said, tightening her grip on me.

The bummer part for her was that I'd seen that look a hundred times before. And I'd see it again the next morning. Same look, just different faces.

“I already am,” I said, easing out from under her. My legs were heavy, tired, as I set them on the floor. Wasn't gonna be good for the waves. “So I gotta jet.”

“Come on, baby,” she said, sliding her body across the sheets. “We can be fast. Get your blood pumping before your heat.”

I rolled my eyes and started searching the hotel room for my board shorts. I didn't need her to get my blood pumping. The only thing that got my blood pumping any more was the water. I'd probably said something to her in the bar the night before. Something clever, something that made her feel like I really wanted to be with her, something that got her excited, knowing she was going to get to fuck the best surfer in the world.

But I couldn't even remember her name.

I found my shorts, light blue and white, wadded into a ball under the desk. I reached down and pulled them out. I unrolled them and slipped them up over my legs.

“No time,” I said, tying the drawstrings tightly around my waist.

She sat up and tugged on the sheet, covering her ass but leaving her tits exposed. “Well, I guess we'll have to save it for tonight then.”

I could feel her eyes on me as I crossed the room. It was a nice hotel, the best Huntington Beach had to offer, but to me, it was just another place to crash. A place to sleep before I woke up and started the same shit all over again. I grabbed a container of mints sitting on the dresser and popped two of them in my mouth, feeling the mint burn away the lingering taste of alcohol. I rolled them around with my tongue, making sure I hit every spot. The tour frowned at alcohol on my breath at check-in. I kept thinking they'd get used to it, but it hadn't happened yet.

“Kellen?” the girl asked, pulling the sheet tighter around her, sort of like a topless toga. “We can hook up tonight? Right?”

I crouched down, looking for my t-shirt. I found more of her discarded clothing – a black lace bra, a skirt that looked like it hadn't covered nearly half her ass – but couldn't find mine.

I straightened myself and looked at her. “What?”

“We can hook up tonight, right?”

I frowned. What was her name? Cheyenne?

“We hooked up last night,” I said.

She smiled at me. “I know. So we should do it again. Because we, like, totally clicked.”

We hadn't. I knew exactly why she was naked in my hotel bed and it wasn't because I'd suddenly decided she was the one. I'd been drunk. I hadn't wanted to be alone. And she was beautiful.

I knew there was no way she could believe what she was spewing, either. She didn't give a shit about me. She didn't even
know
me. She wanted to do me because of who I was. She wanted to hang on. She wanted to tell her friends she was hooking up with Kellen Handler.

I tossed my stuff in the beat-up blue duffel flattened on top of the dresser. My boards were already on the beach, waiting for me. Along with about three thousand spectators. And Jay's ghost.

I slid my feet into my sandals, then ran my hand through my hair and offered her a half-smile. “Stay as long as you want this morning. Think checkout's at noon.”

Her face fell and I'd seen it before. Disappointed, mad, maybe even sad. Nah, I thought. Not sad. She just wanted the conquest, thinking she was the one who was finally going to reel me in.

“Don't you want my number?” she asked. “I'm not some psycho that—”

“I don't even remember your name,” I said, trying not to sound too harsh. “And I'm sure you're cool, OK? But it was one night. I'm outta here tomorrow. So there's really no point.”

She loosened the sheet, pulling it up over her breasts. She'd lost a little of her confidence. “Yeah, but next time you come through, you could call me. We could hook up again.” She offered a tentative smile. “Pretty sure you had fun.”

My temples throbbed, and it wasn't just from listening to her babble. I'd put away twice as many drinks as I'd planned to last night. Like usual.

If Jay had been there? He always cut me off when I was getting close to the line, especially during competitions. He knew when to stop me and he knew I'd listen.

But he wasn't around anymore and I didn't listen to anyone.

“Did I?” I asked. “Because I don't even remember.” I picked up my phone and checked the time. “I gotta roll.”