The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (186 page)

“Just talk about something you know,” she said, changing lanes, glancing in the rearview mirror. “You'll be more comfortable that way.”

“I'm not gonna be comfortable,” I said. “I'm gonna suck.”

“Maybe,” she said, shrugging. “But you might be okay, too.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She threw a quick look in my direction. “If you think you're gonna suck, you will. If you think you'll be okay, you will be. Pretty simple.”

I looked out the window at the other slow moving cars and tried to think about something that didn't involve speaking in front of a large crowd or sex with my public relations manager. I spent the next several minutes studying the cars that surrounded us on the freeway. Beemers, Mercedes, the kinds of cars my dad had driven over the years. Most were occupied by guys in suits and I imagined what their lives must be like. Commuting home after a long day stuck in a windowless office. No ocean, no air, just a box for a room. Like my dad. I'd figured out early on that I didn't want to end up like him, always busy, always working, stressed to the max. I'd found something to keep my centered – the ocean – and I'd been determined to make that my life. I'd gotten lucky.

But then I thought of Jay. I'd gotten lucky for a few years, anyway.

“Don't stress about it,” Gina said, snapping my attention back to her. “Remember, most of these girls are going to be starstruck when they see you. They may not even hear a word that comes out of your mouth because they'll be so busy drooling over you.” Her tone was still light but there was an edge to her voice.

I frowned. Did it piss her off that chicks were going to be drooling over me? Doubtful. My reputation with women was what probably pissed her off. I hated that I had the rep and I hated that it bothered me that it might bother her.

“Doubtful.”

She gave me a pointed look but said nothing.

“It doesn't change the fact that I'm gonna be dressed up like a monkey and forced to talk into a microphone. And say shit I don't want to say.”

“You'll deal.”

We drove the rest of the way in silence, down through Laguna and Mission Viejo, the traffic finally loosening as we hit Dana Point. We crested the big hill as we passed the harbor and I directed her off the freeway in San Clemente.

I'd lived in San Clemente for almost three years, finally springing from my parents digs in the hills above Laguna. San Clemente had a different vibe than the rest of O.C. It hadn't been polished and spray-tanned like all of the other cities in the county. It still felt old, a little rugged, a little sunburned. There was nothing pretty or cleaned up about it. At its core, it was still just an old beach town, what the other cities up the coast wished they were.

I'd found a small bungalow just off the sand, paid cash for it from endorsement money I'd saved up, and for the first time in a long time, felt like I'd found a home. The break out my back door was strong and Trestles wasn't too far to the south. But the best thing about San Clemente wasn't the waves. It was the fact that no one cared who I was. I was just another guy with a tan and a board and no one gave a shit about what I did.

I gave her directions to the bungalow and we pulled up just as the last of the sun's rays disappeared from the horizon.

She cut the engine in the driveway and surveyed the house. “Nice place.”

I watched her as she took in the weathered shake shingles, the concrete slab that took the place of a front lawn, the dwarf palms and hibiscus that didn't seem to care that I had two brown thumbs.

“Works for me,” I said. I sat in her car for a second, studying her. “I assume you're serious about taking my keys.”

“Completely.”

I sighed and opened the passenger door. I grabbed my stuff out of her trunk and she followed me into the house.

A small, black cat came skittering across the floor as soon as I stepped into the entryway. He let out a piercing meow and attached himself to my ankle. I picked him up and he was already purring like a machine.

“He's cute,” Gina said, reaching out and scratching him behind his ears. Her hand brushed my arm as she pet him. “What's his name?”

“Rip,” I said, dropping my duffel against the wall. “Found him in the water.”

“Seriously?”

I nodded. “We were on our way in from a crappy session. Riptide was destroying the swells, so we were paddling in. We hear this howling and he's just right there in the water, paddling like crazy, just soaked, his eyes bugging out.” I smiled as he pushed his head against my neck, his wet nose tickling me. “Jay scooped him out of the water and set him on his board and we came in. He's lived here ever since.”

She cleared her throat. “Jay lived here with you?”

I nodded as we walked into the kitchen. “Yep. Two bedrooms. One for me, one for him. Rip always slept with him. Think he was cool with Jay because he was the one who pulled him out of the water.” I swallowed. “He sleeps with me now.”

I set Rip down on the counter and he pawed at me, wanting to be picked up again. I ignored him, concentrating instead on collecting the empty beer cans that littered the countertops. I dumped them in the trash can under the sink and turned to look at Gina. Rip had climbed into her arms and was rubbing his face against her chest. Lucky cat.

She caught me looking and I averted my eyes. I pulled my keys off the counter and held them out to her. “Here you go.”

She took them with her free hand and stuffed them in the front pocket of her shorts. “Thanks. Not my choice, just so you know.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “Just part of the deal.”

I nodded. “Whatever. I'm not going anywhere.”

“And alcohol?”

I stepped over to the fridge and opened the door for her. She peered inside. The contents were minimal. A half gallon of orange juice, an opened package of American cheese, some deli turkey. And a six pack of Pacifico.

“Hard stuff anywhere else?”

I shook my head. “I'm out. Hadn't stocked up yet.”

She closed the fridge door. “Okay.”

“You're not taking the beer?” I asked.

“Do I need to?”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “No. I won't drink it.”

She shrugged. “So I don't need to take it.”

“You trust me?” I jerked my head toward the trash can. “Considering what you just saw me toss out?”

“Gotta start somewhere or it's going to be a long month for both of us.”

I was surprised, but didn't have anything to say. She was willing to trust me, to believe what I'd said.

“Can I see the view?” she asked, motioning to the back door and setting Rip down on the floor.

I nodded and made my way through the living room. I wished I'd picked up before Heath had whisked me away to the tournament. A blanket was tossed in a haphazard pile on the couch and surfing magazines wallpapered the surface of the coffee table. There were more empty beer cans in here, along with six months worth of dust. Sand crunched under my bare feet and I couldn't remember the last time I'd swept the floors.

I tried not to think about it. It wasn't like I was out to impress anyone. It didn't matter what Gina thought of the place I lived. She was there to help with my reputation, not remodel my goddamn house. But it did matter. I didn't know why but it did. I wanted her to like it, this place that had been both my solace and my own personal hell over the last several months.

I pulled the blinds and opened the glass slider and we stepped out onto the small patio. The sand was empty, the ocean almost a shadow, the whitecaps dancing in the twilight.

“Fifty seven steps to the water,” I said. “Give or take.”

She smiled. “You counted?”

“A couple times, yeah.”

“Sounds like something you would do,” she said.

“How's that?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. Just is.”

She folded her arms across her chest and we stood next to each other, watching the ocean. The silence wasn't uncomfortable. I was keenly aware of her presence, of the fact that her arm was only an inch away from mine, that the fabric of her shorts ruffled in the breeze and brushed against my leg. I leaned a fraction closer to her and I could smell her shampoo, some fruity scent that, on any other girl, I would have thought smelled ridiculous. But not on her. On her, it was just right. Perfect. I breathed in deeply, letting the scent wash over me.

“You okay?” she asked, turning toward me.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You were breathing heavy.”

I never blushed, ever, but I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. “Nah. I'm fine.” I wanted to kick myself. What the hell was I doing?
Smelling
her? Jesus Christ.

I needed to focus – and not on the woman next to me who was making me feel like some horny teenager. “Mind if I ask you a question?” I asked.

“Sure.”

What color panties are you wearing? How do you like to be kissed?

I shook my head. Focus. “How'd you pull this gig?” I asked. “I mean, babysitting me. How'd that happen?”

It was a good question, a safe one. Because it made me remember exactly why she was in my house. And it wasn't because she wanted me.

She waited a few seconds before answering. “Because my boss told me this was my gig this month.”

I stared at her, but she was locked on the water or the sunset or something far away, something I couldn't see.

“Yeah, but come on,” I said. “Why you? Why not some guy who could push me around if needed, who could pretend to be on my side? I mean, I've heard how this stuff works. You're about the last person I'd think they would want to send my way.”

She turned her head, staring down the beach toward the south. She stayed quiet for a long time, then pointed in the direction she was looking. “Because I spent a lot of time over there.”

I looked. She was pointing south, toward Trestles. But I wasn't sure that's what she meant. Beyond that was the power plant. Then Camp Pendleton. Then Oceanside. She could have been talking about anything. “The beach?” I asked. “Trestles? Or further south? You grew up here?”

“Something like that,” she said. Then she dropped her hand and snapped out of whatever reverie she'd been in. “Look, I should go. Suit'll be here at ten.”

“Wait,” I said. I wanted to know. She knew everything about me and pretty much the only thing I knew about her was her name – and that she was starting to get under my skin. In more ways than one.

She turned and stepped through the doorway, back into the house. “Put some thoughts down on paper about the speech. Email them to me tonight before you go to bed. I'll see what I can do if you need help.”

I followed her through my house, back toward the front door. “You aren't answering my question.”

She reached the front door and bent down, scooping up Rip. She held him close to her chest for a moment, smiling at him as he purred. Then she held him out to me and I took him.

“Maybe use Rip,” she said, opening the door.

“What?” I asked, totally confused.

She dropped the sunglasses over her eyes even though the sun was long gone. Before she did, I caught a glimpse of those dark eyes and I was surprised to see they were wet. “Maybe use Rip. As the subject for your speech.”

She turned and left before I could ask her anything else.

THIRTEEN

Gina

––––––––

I
pulled out of Kellen Handler's driveway, completely unnerved. I should've checked his address before I'd driven him home. I knew he lived in San Clemente but I hadn't given it much thought. I'd been too focused on being professional, on trying to keep my personal demons out of the equation. It hadn't even occurred to me that he might live right on the beach. I let out a frustrated sigh. Where else would the world's top surfer live – a ranch home in the foothills? Even still, it wasn't like I'd grown up down the beach. Encinitas was a good forty minute drive away. But it hadn't mattered. I'd stepped out on to that patio and the memories came flooding back. Not just because it was the beach; I could handle the beach. Sort of. I'd done alright at the surf clinic earlier that day. But night time? The darkness held too many memories and it stole in on me on Kellen's deck, unexpected and unwanted.

But that was only half of it. Standing with him in the house, watching as he hurriedly tidied up the kitchen. Seeing him with Rip, the shock of seeing his sweetness and sensitivity with the little cat. Watching the pain flicker across his face as he talked about Jay, his voice neutral, trying to give nothing away. And the deck. Standing next to him, so close I could almost touch him. I'd wanted to. I'd wanted to reach out and put my hand on his arm. But then the memories had come rushing in, of Luke and Leo and everything I'd tried to hide from. I'd been pretty successful at hiding. Until now.

I grabbed my phone, desperate for a distraction, and dialed Gavin. I gave him a rundown on the day.

“So overall it was good?” he asked.

“Yeah, it was,” I said as I drove. “He's not a bad guy.” He wasn't a bad guy at all. I'd figured that out the minute he'd caved in the hotel lobby, and I'd gotten further proof that afternoon, watching him with those kids in the water. “Think he just needs a little direction.”

“Alright, good,” Gavin said. “I'll call the tour guys and update them.”

I told him about the speaking engagement I'd lined up for the next night and he seemed fine with that, too. But his answers were quick, like he was anxious for me to finish talking so he could say something.

“I feel like you're about to drop a bomb on me,” I said. “Not sure why, buy my internal alarm is sounding.”

He chuckled into the phone. “I wouldn't call it a bomb.”

“What would you call it then?”

“I would call it a difficult task,” he said. “Okay. The guy Handler roughed up?”

The fight. Newspaper. I pulled facts as quickly as I could. “The Nike kid.”

“Right. The father is making some noise about going public, maybe pursuing damages with the tour.”

“That seems a bit far-fetched,” I said.

“Their attorneys think so, too,” he said. “But the attention and publicity wouldn't help the tour or Handler.”

“Right.”