The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (193 page)

And then she'd called me an asshole.

I sighed again. None of those things had been the reasons I'd kissed her. None. But she hadn't let me get a word in, just sat there and yelled at me and then tore off, her taillights disappearing down the road.

I'd never gotten so chewed out for one kiss. And it shouldn't have mattered. It was a single fucking kiss. And there were a million chicks who'd wanted to be kissed by me. Kissed and a whole hell of a lot more.

But those million chicks weren't Gina. And she mattered.

I tried to shift my attention to something else and looked out at the ocean. The fog hung like a thick shroud along the shore, almost like it was raining, and I couldn't see the water's edge even though I knew it was right there. Resigned, I grabbed my phone and opened the web browser. The surf report didn't give me anything to be excited about. I took a deep breath. I couldn't even go surf to try and forget what had happened.

I turned to my emails, scrolling through them quickly. There was one from Heath, asking how the speaking thing had gone. I replied quickly, a one sentence response. Matty just checking in. His warranted a single word reply. Some stuff forwarded from my website, people looking for autographs and pictures. Normally, I'd blow them off or pass them on to Heath. But then I flashed back to Gina calling me an asshole. I didn't want people to think I was a jerk, that I was better than anyone else. So I answered the emails myself this time. There was one from an eleven-year-old kid, telling me I was his all-time favorite. He'd watched me in Huntington Beach and he'd made up his mind that one day he was going to win The Open, too. He asked if I had any tips, anything that might help him.

I thought for a moment, watching the fog drift across the beach in front of me, sipping the water.

Then I sent him a long email, detailing some of the small things I'd learned about reading the water, positioning my feet, balance – anything I could think of that might help. When I was done tapping away on my phone, the email was eight paragraphs long. I couldn't ever remember sending that kind of reply to a fan before. I made a note of the kid's name. Nick Miller. Then I hit send.

I was not going to be an asshole.

I went inside and thought about making breakfast but I wasn't hungry, so I jumped in the shower instead. I tried not to think about Gina as I soaped myself. About the kiss. About what it would feel like to stand in the shower with her. She thinks you're an asshole, I reminded myself, and that quickly extinguished the thoughts I was having about her.

I toweled off and grabbed a clean pair of shorts. I was about to toss on a t-shirt when I stopped and stole a quick glance at myself in the mirror. I thought about where I was going and what I would be doing. The apology to the scumbag from the bar. I knew what Gina would tell me to wear, what she would tell me to look like. I turned to my closet instead and pulled out one of the few collared shirts I owned, a blue Quiksilver polo. I checked my reflection in the mirror, then after a moment, tucked the shirt into my shorts and grabbed a belt from my closet. I couldn't remember the last time I'd tucked my shirt in. Well, except for the suit from last night. It felt awkward, ridiculous even, but I knew what I needed to look like. I knew what Gina would want. And, even after the shit she'd pulled the night before, I didn't want her to be disappointed in me.

A thought hit me then, something I hadn't considered. What if she didn't show up today? What if she'd gotten so pissed, so bent out of shape, that she'd decided not to work with me anymore? I doubted she would do something like that – she was far too professional – but it still made me wonder. She had been that pissed.

Five minutes before eleven, there was a knock on the door and I didn't mean to but I let out a sigh of relief.

She was here. Just like she'd said she was going to be.

I opened the door. “Hey.””

Gina stood in front of me, sunglasses hiding her eyes, her face expressionless. “I'm sorry about last night.” Her tone was flat, emotionless.

“Excuse me?”

Her mouth twitched, like she was fighting a frown. “Last night. I'm sorry I went off on you.”

I held up my hand. “I was expecting a hello.”

Her eyebrows raised about her sunglasses. “What?”

“You know. When you see someone for the first time in the morning? You usually say hello. Not I'm sorry.” I smiled at her. I wanted her to know I was joking, trying to make light of what had happened. I just wanted to move on because not only did I not want her to be mad at me, I also didn't want her to be like a fucking robot.

“Oh.” She paused and swallowed. “Okay. Hello.”

“Hi.”

“And I'm sorry.”

I shook my head. “Fine. I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry I put you in an uncomfortable spot with all the questions.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. “And I'm sorry I kissed you. I was out of line.”

I waited for the telltale blush to bloom on her cheeks. It did, right on cue.

“I shouldn't have reacted the way I did,” she said, shifting her feet a little. “It was...uncalled for.”

I studied her for a second. She looked uncomfortable, like this was the last thing she wanted to be talking about. I admired her, though, because she was doing it, anyway.

“Okay,” I said. “So now that we have the apologies out of the way, can we go back to what it was like before?”

A smile played on her lips. “That would be nice.”

I let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Good. Was hoping you'd say that.” I pushed the door open and motioned her inside. “This was good practice, you know.”

She hesitated, then stepped into the house. “What was?”

“The whole apology thing. Pretty sure you fought with me on purpose last night. You know, to get me ready for today.”

She laughed then, a genuine laugh, and I smiled.

“No,” she said. “It wasn't planned. But if you think it helped, then that's good.” She paused, looked me up and down. “You're dressed up.”

“Two days in a row now I've had to dress like an adult. Can't say I'm liking it all that much.” I pointed to the belt. “Especially this goddamn thing.”

“It's good. It...sets the right tone.”

I was disappointed that she was being so formal with me. I didn't want her to tell me it set the right tone. I wanted her to tell me I looked good. Maybe I'd hoped for too much; maybe things wouldn't be going back to exactly the way they were before, after all.

She glanced at her watch. “You ready?”

I shoved my hands in pockets. “I guess. You'll tell me what to do on the drive?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Except you're driving.” She pulled my keys out of her own pocket and held them out to me.

I took the keys. “Why?”

“I think it looks better if we show up in your car, with you driving,” she explained. “Looks less like you're being dragged there.”

That made sense. “Alright. And do I get to keep the keys now?”

“Let's see how today goes,” she said.

But she didn't smile when she said it and again, I was disappointed. There was a distance between us now and it didn't look it was going to be closing any time soon.

We went into the garage, I hit the button on the wall and the door rose up. We both climbed into my black Land Rover.

“I expected a sports car,” Gina said, pulling her seatbelt on. “Or a motorcycle.”

“Motorcycles are death machines and a great way to end a career,” I said. “And I can't get my boards in a Ferrari.”

She chuckled. “All good points.” She glanced at her phone, checking an email or a note. “We're heading to Newport.”

I nodded. “You cool if I take the coast?”

“Anything's better than the freeway.”

I got us out of San Clemente and headed north on PCH through Dana Point and into Laguna. There was traffic, but it was nothing like the freeway. At the very least, we had a better view of the ocean as the early morning fog burned off, revealing a huge expanse of blue water as far as we could see.

“So this is how we'll play it,” Gina said, settling back into her seat. “We're going to try to be short and to the point. I think the dad is going to start with some pompous crap about how they're doing us a favor, even meeting with you. Listen, but don't listen. Meaning look like you're paying attention, but don't listen to his words because he'll probably just piss you off. Remember why we're there – to apologize and get out.”

The anxiety from stepping to the speaker's podium the previous night hit me full force again, but I nodded.

“If he gets too wordy, I'll cut him off,” she said. “I don't want you saying anything other than the apology. Any other questions, I'll answer them. You're going to stick to the message. As soon as you've apologized, I'll thank them for their time and we're out. If they want to talk some more, I'll get us out of there. My plan is to not be there more than twenty minutes, tops.”

I nodded again. “Okay. What do I say to the guy?”

She thought for a moment, tucked the hair behind her ear. “Be simple, be sincere. Don't qualify the apology, like hey I'm sorry I broke your face.”

I laughed. “I won't say that.”

“I'm sorry I lost my temper,” she said. “I'm sorry about the altercation and I'm sorry for any embarrassment it's caused your family. It shouldn't have happened and I take full responsibility. I hope you'll accept my apology.” She paused. “Something like that and then that's it. If they want to ask questions, you stick to the message. Just keep saying, 'I'm just here to apologize and I don't want to take up any more time than I already have.' I don't care what they ask. Just keep saying you're sorry. I'll end it and get us out of there.”

I shifted in my seat. I had no problem apologizing for things I'd done and things I truly felt sorry for. I'd apologized to Gina because I really did feel bad that I'd made her so uncomfortable with the kiss. But I just didn't think I'd done anything wrong at the bar and having to apologize for that was a lot to swallow.

“This will benefit you, Kellen,” she said, like she was reading my mind. “I know it sucks. I know this wasn't your fault. But just keep in mind that this is a really small thing to do to truly be done with it.”

“I won't be done with it if they decide to sue,” I said.

She waved a hand in the air. “They aren't going to sue. They're full of shit. Because if they do, then we have to pull in everyone who saw what happened and they're all going to say that you didn't start it and his kid will look like an asshole. They'll bring in the girl and she'll have to admit she came on to you.” She shook her head. “They aren't going to sue. He's just blowing smoke.”

I nodded, but I wasn't so sure.

She directed me up the Newport coast and into the Pelican Hill development. This guy was loaded because it was an elite area where the richest of the rich lived. Lots of sprawling mansions on the rolling hills, all pointed in the direction of the Pacific. Each house was worth millions and millions of dollars, with the best views those dollars could buy.

We stopped at the gatehouse, and after checking a clipboard, the security guard hit a button and the massive gates slowly swung open. He gave us directions as to how to find the house, and four minutes later, I was pulling into a huge, half-circle drive.

“Looks like they're expecting us,” Gina said, a grim smile on her face.

The guy I'd punched was sitting on the brick steps at the front of the sprawling home, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. His left eye was purple and swollen and his jawline matched. He wore shorts and a T-shirt, a Dodgers cap sitting squarely on his head.

A man was standing just to his left, hands on his hips, wearing gray slacks and a white golf shirt. He watched us as we pulled in. I pegged him as the dad. There were two other guys, dressed in similar dress pants and golf shirts.

“Not sure if the other two are lawyers or what,” she said. “Just address the dad and Mr. Branagan, alright?”

I cut the engine. “Got it.”

She glanced at me. “You ready?”

“Yep.”

“You can do it,” she reminded me. “No different than last night. Just focus.”

I nodded and we got out of the car. The dad strode down the stairs, eyeing me, then looking at Gina. “You're the P.R. woman?”

She extended her hand. “I'm Gina Bellori.”

“Ron Branagan,” he said, shaking her hand, then cutting his eyes toward me. “And I assume this is Mr. Handler.”

I extended my hand and nodded.

But he made no move to shake my hand, instead fixing me with a stare that was meant to scare me.

I let my hand fall to my side.

He placed his hands on his hips. “Mr. Handler, I hope you know that I'm still not sure this will do anything. My son took quite a beating at your hands, for no apparent reason.”

My gut tightened and I bit my tongue.

“And I was not inclined to allow you on my property for fear of what you might do,” he said. “My legal consultants advised against it. But I really wanted to hear what you had to say for yourself. So if you really intend to apologize, let's get on with it.”

For a moment, I visualized punching him in the face instead of his son. I had nothing to apologize for and now this guy was basically calling me out because his kid had acted like a prick to me, forcing me to defend myself. To use his word, I was 'inclined' to knock him the fuck out.

I glanced at Gina.

She nodded, expressionless.

Focus.

I walked over to Branagan's' son, who was still sitting on the steps. He looked up at me, his eyes full of hate and anger. It seemed pretty clear that he had been against this.

“I'm incredibly sorry about the other night,” I said, looking at him, forcing the words out of my mouth. “I lost my temper and there was no excuse for it. I'm sorry for the whole thing and any embarrassment or problems it's caused you and your family. It never should've happened and I take full responsibility. I'm sorry and I hope you'll accept my apology.” I held out my hand.

The guy looked at my hand like it was covered in dog shit. “Whatever, asshole,” he mumbled through clenched teeth.

I was in the perfect spot to kick him right in those teeth.