Giving In (The Sandy Cove Series Book 1) (8 page)

She shakes her head ‘no’.

“Well, whatever, just do it. It’s cool.”

She links her tiny finger with mine, and I pull
at it, startling her.

I start to think of a name, a really good name,
one that I know she’ll hate. I rub my temples, shut my eyes and
mumble, “A name, an un-sexy name, hmm.”

I peer open one of my eyes to see her becoming
more aggravated the longer I take.

“Would you just get on with it, please. I’ve
already wasted enough precious vitamin D sunlight because of
you.”

Ok, she’s had enough, and I think I’ve got
it.

I stand up. My body towers over hers. She’s not
short. She’s not tall. She’s right in the middle. I extend my hand
out to hers to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you, Turnip.”

A puzzled look shows up on her face, and I grin.
She hates it.

I, on the other hand, love it.

“Turnip?”

I grab her hand, place it in mine and forcefully
shake it up and down.

“Yep, damn glad to meet you, Turnip. I’m
Cruz.”

She pulls out of my hand, clearly aggravated by
the name, and it is the most un-sexy name to come out of one’s
mouth. That’s why I chose it. Before she gets a chance to protest,
I make my way to the door, planning my escape.

“You pinkie swore, Turnip., It sticks, no
backsies.”

“Fine.” She growls through gritted teeth. “You
are so immature.”

I stand there, very satisfied with my decision.
I could pat myself on the back right now if I could. I affected
her, again, in a different way. A non-sexual way. I’m not really
used to that, but I think it’s something new to try. Maybe I could
be friends with Harlow Hannum. I’m not really friends with many
chicks, but if I have to live next door to her for the summer,
maybe I should try. I don’t have to be a dick all the time.

I give her a glance over my shoulder and give a
quick wink.

“I’ll see you later, Turnip.”

“Later, Dickcop.”

Wait, what?

***

It’s been almost two weeks since Cruz and I
made our little deal. It’s okay so far. I just continue to do what
I’m doing, what he told me to do. I ignore him, pretend he doesn’t
live here, and go about my business. He works a few nights a week,
so I only see him at the beach during the day. He mostly sleeps
when he’s there. Not a problem for me, although the tattoos are a
distraction on occasion. I mean… What I mean is, they are there, so
you kind of can’t help notice them when he’s laying on his towel…
shirtless. I’m not blind. I know he’s good looking. I’d be a fool
not to notice. But in no way, shape or form would I entertain the
thought of being in an intimate situation with him again.

I know him now… well, sort of.

He keeps to himself and hangs with Max a lot.
When Cruz isn’t on duty, they go out and only one time, so far,
have I heard the moans and groans of one of the barflies they have
brought home. I can deal with it. I just stick my earplugs in my
ears and turn my iPod on, problem solved.

When we do see each other, it’s a polite nod.
Some nights when I’m alone and sitting out on the patio, which
faces the dock and the bay, I sometimes see him bring a bar floozie
home and watch as he tries to impress her by telling the trollop
that he owns the house. Then I may hear him tell one of them that
they need to be ever so quiet, because there may be spies listening
in on their conversations. I listen to him go on and on about how
he’s a spy for the C.I.A, or part of some undercover operation for
Homeland Security. It’s comical, really, bordering on ridiculous,
no wait… let me re-phrase that, it is ridiculous. Girls are so
gullible.

I don’t think I’ve been this relaxed in a long
time. My meds are helping, which is a good sign. I love sitting out
on this dock watching the soft ripple of the water on the bay.
Early mornings here are my favorite. I’m not a sleeper, so I’m
always out here with my coffee by six. Insomnia has its pros and
cons, you see. You don’t sleep much, but at least you don’t waste
your day in bed, and you get a few extra hours to be
productive.

The applications I’m filling out for positions
in the school district I student taught at ask for a lot of
information, and the teachers and mentors at the school gave me
glowing recommendations. I’d be thrilled with just a substitute
position right now.

I’m beginning to type away entering all the info
the schools are asking for, when I hear footsteps behind me on the
dock. I turn around and find Cruz standing there. He has a
fisherman’s hat on with things hanging off of it, a fishing pole
and a tackle box.

A smile as large as life is displayed on his
tanned face. There goes my peace and quiet, right out the door.

Stretching his arms over his head, he addresses
me, “Good morning, Turnip. Ahh, what a day.” He makes himself
comfortable on the dock, placing his items on a towel he has spread
out. He hooks his line, pulling out a worm for bait, and I
cringe.

“That’s really disgusting to look at this early
in the morning. Speaking of such, why are you up?”

He casts his line and dangles his feet off the
dock into the water.

“I just got home from my shift and I thought I’d
do a little fishing before my nap. What brings you out here?”

I take a long sip of my heavenly Starbucks and
go back to typing, ignoring his question. It’s really none of his
business what I’m doing.

“Well, okay then, be rude why don’t you.”

What happened to us ignoring each other? We did
come to some kind of agreement or did he forget.

I speak to him while reading all the fine print
of the applications, “I’m not being rude, I’m just… well I’m busy.
That’s all.” My tone drips of annoyance.

This mumbo jumbo I’m looking at can be quite
confusing, so I really need to take my time and concentrate on the
task at hand.

“Fine, I don’t want to know anyway. It’s
probably something smart, like an I.Q. test.”

“None of the above.”

“Fine,” he snaps.

“Fine,” I snap back.

Silence sets in as I go back to the tedious job
I was just performing. I sit. He sits. The sound of seagulls and my
fingers tapping the keys are the only sounds heard.

“Would you mind? You are scaring the fish.”

I roll my eyes. He can’t see me, but I do it
anyway and continue, this time I pound them just a little
harder.

“I don’t mind at all.” I smile to myself,
pleased with my comeback.

One down, two more to go. I somewhat have the
hang of it, all the information I type in is the same, so I copy,
paste and repeat.

Then I hear whistling. Annoying whistling. His
whistling. It continues, high notes then low ones. The tone is
obnoxious and infuriating, and as it continues, I no longer have a
grasp on my concentration. I slam the lid to my laptop shut with
fierceness.

I turn towards him against my better judgment,
and his back is to mine.

“Would you mind? What I am doing requires
extreme meticulousness, so I would rather you go whistle your tune
somewhere else.”

Cruz rotates his head over one shoulder slowly
to me.

“Was that English? What the hell are you talking
about?”

This man infuriates me. So I stand, laptop
tucked under my arm and clutching my coffee cup in the other.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, big words scare you? Poor
guy. It’s okay, Officer, your lack of knowledge of the English
language is hard to comprehend. I mean you being a caveman and
all.” I pat the top of his head and he shoos my hand away.

“You always have to talk like that? Why don’t
you loosen up a little? This isn’t college anymore.”

He mumbles something else about being a tight
ass as he goes back to focusing on the water.

“I am loose. I like to have fun like the next
person. I just choose to use a large vocabulary while doing it. It
suits me. It proves my intelligence, unlike some people.”

He pulls the rod out of the water, stands and
throws it on the dock, and now I know I stirred something up inside
him. His body stalks over to me. His hat is now flung off his head
and lands on the dock. His hair a wild mess of brown waves, and if
I’m not mistaken, steam is coming from his ears.

“You wouldn’t know a good time if it sat on your
face and did the Macarena.”

Oh, no he did not just say that. I can feel the
anger pulse through my veins like a high-speed train, and I’m not
going to allow him to affect me with his useless words.

“Really? Well, maybe if you didn’t always have a
party sitting on your face, then maybe you wouldn’t have to settle
for being a rent-a-cop at the age of twenty four. You uneducated,
unintelligent simpleton.”

He curves his lips into an angry hard line,
shutting his eyes tightly.

Oh, Lord, I pissed him off.

“Listen here, you snot nose, rich brat. You
don’t have to use big words to make people think you’re smarter
than the average person. I was an Officer in the Marine Corps as a
Staff Sergeant, organizing a platoon of men in Afghanistan and
Iraq. I’ve seen and experienced things you have only read about in
books or have seen on the news. So do not stand there and insinuate
that I am not intelligent because I don’t always use an extensive
vocabulary to explain myself.”

I’m rendered speechless. I swallow hard, feeling
like a fool. He didn’t deserve that. Maybe these meds aren’t
working. I feel bad. I’m really not sure what to say next. I stand
there, bewildered. I place my mug and laptop down on the dock, then
stand and place my hands on my hips.

He crosses his arms, looking quite satisfied
that I have no words. He inches towards me, his nose to my
forehead. His breath streaming across my face. He’s biting his
lower lip, waiting for me to look up. He takes my chin, raises it
up with his finger to meet his gaze. I feel my breathing pick up
its pace. I swat his finger away, and I’m not sure why I’m still
standing here.

“Cat got your tongue, Turnip?” He licks the lip
he was just holding between his teeth. His blue eyes brazen as he
asks the question. My jaw agape, I want to say something, anything,
to disturb his thoughts. He holds a stare like he’s summoning me to
talk without actually telling me to.

“My, my Miss Hannum, for once that pretty little
mouth of yours has nothing coming out of it. What a welcomed
surprise.”

I hear it in my head, my subconscious is telling
me to speak Harlow, say something, do something damn it!

“Since there’s nothing coming out of that
smartass, sassy little mouth of yours,” he growls sexily, hungrily,
“maybe I should put something in it?”

What?

My natural reaction to what’s about to
transpire, does not stun me; it frightens me and with all of my
might, all the strength I have in this body, I shove the pig off
the dock into the bay.

He crashes into the water, flailing his arms and
legs, gasping for air.

“You bastard! How dare you? You are nothing but
a self-righteous pig!” He sinks into the water, bobs up and down.
What is this game he’s playing?

“Help, Harlow, please, I…” Back down he goes,
then up again, coughing, splashing, then back down.

What is he trying to do?

Then he goes under again. And not resurfacing. I
wait, and I wait. I peek over the dock to see where he is. Nothing
but a few bubbles pop up.

Shit!

Did he drown? I look to the opposite side of the
dock, nothing. I feel panic in my chest, so I yell for help.

“Someone, help. Come quick!”

My anxiousness overtakes me, and I pull at my
hair, pacing until I see Max fly out onto the upper patio.

I get on my hands and knees and peer over the
old wooden boards.

Oh, no! I can’t see him. The water is too
dark.

I’m suddenly grabbed by my arm, thrown in the
water, and I’m confused, not breathing correctly, gasping as I feel
the water enter my lungs. I can’t stand, nor can I yell. I’m going
to die. This is how I’m going to die. I can hear muffled sounds of
people talking, yelling, splashing all around me, as I begin to
sink deeper and deeper into the salty water. I close my eyes,
wishing for a quick end and not a long, drawn-out, dramatic death.
Flashes of my past come to play. Weaving a movie about my life, the
good, the bad, the tragic. I don’t want that to be the last thing I
think before I die. I plead with God, not that, oh, please, not
that.

I feel my body jerk. There are arms around my
waist, hauling me up from the water, and I feel my body hit a hard
surface. I blink a few times after my cheek has been slapped and
hands turning my head towards the side of my body. I expel water
from my lungs. I shut my eyes again because of the sting from the
remnants of the salt due to the saltwater.

“She can’t swim. God damn it! How did this
happen!”

I can hear Willow yelling and hands making
contact with bare flesh, the slapping sounds, the cries, and then
two hands grasping my shoulders.

“Harlow, Harlow, can you hear me?”

I take a deep breath in. It hurts my lungs, but
I do so, and momentarily I cough and spit more water from my mouth.
Willow is looking at me, my face in her hands. She is focusing on
my face.

“Oh, thank God, Har. Are you ok? Do you want to
go to the hospital? What happened?”

There’s much confusion surrounding me. Lots of
faces, in my face. Willow trying to pull me off the wooden boards.
Her screaming at Cruz.

“You asshole. How could you do that to her? She
can’t swim. Never learned how and you go and do this. If I thought
you weren’t much of an asshole a week and a half ago, God, let me
tell you what I really think of you now.”