Lengths (4 page)

Perfect.

A wrong number at this hour.

I settle into the car and rub my eyes. It’s nearly 3 A.M. I have to be in class at 8.
I turn onto PCH and my ringtone screams through the quiet of the night again. I hit the speakerphone button and toss my phone into my lap, because wearing a Bluetooth is never going to happen.  
              “Hello?” The windows are down and the car is full of salty, damp air. It feels magnificent, but, damn, it makes it hard to hear.
              “Whit? Is that you?” a slurring male voice asks. Great. A drunk dial.
              “Indeed it is,” I sigh. “Who the fuck is this?”
              “The dude you didn’t eat lobster with.” It’s like I can hear his adorable-as-all-hell smile over the phone.
              I can’t help but laugh. I’ll cut him some slack for this douchebag move since it’s his birthday.
              “Sounds like you had a little more than lobster there, Deo.”
              “Indeed I did. Can I be honest?” His voice is deep and sexy, even in his inebriated state.
              “It’s your birthday, honesty is practically a requirement.”
              “I can’t stop thinking about you. The way you kissed me tonight—”
              “Back up there.
I
kissed you?”
              “That’s how I remember it,” he chuckles. “Anyway, since it is my birthday month—”
              “Oh, so now you get a whole damn month?”
              “I deserve it,” he says. Cocky son-of-a-bitch. Still, I feel my cheeks aching from the grin I’ve had plastered across my face since I answered the phone.
              “Right.”
              “Like I was saying. I know you had a hot date tonight, and I don’t know if it’s a serious arrangement or just casual or whatever. And it’s not really my business,” he says, kind of like he doesn’t care. Which he shouldn’t, because it isn’t any of his business. But the smile that had been making my face ache falls a little. “But I’d like you to give me a shot if that’s in the cards. So there. I put it out there on my birthday because I really like you, Whit. Whadda ya say?”
              I stare at the red light in front of me, waiting for it to turn green. I’m the only car for miles in every direction.
              “What’d you have in mind?” I ask. I know the answer to this already, of course. I saw the way he looked at me tonight. And after that kiss, there’s no mistaking what he wants to do.
              “I thought I could bring you by the house to meet my mom.” His slur has a playful tinge to it.
              Not what I expected.
              “I’m sorry, what?” I spit.
              “Lighten up, girl. I’m kidding. I don’t know. We can go to the beach. What’s your favorite one?”
              “Um, I haven’t actually been to the beach since I moved here. Or, um, ever.” I run my fingers along the steering wheel and try to imagine going to the ocean, listening to the waves, breathing that potent salt air deep into my lungs.
              Deo’s voice borders on horrified. “You haven’t been to the ocean? Really? Never? Well no shit! Then we’re going. Tomorrow. I refuse to take no for an answer.”

I’ve got to admit, I’m surprised he didn’t outright say he wanted to fuck me. Got to give him a little credit for that.

“Where are you from, anyway?” he asks with frank interest.

My fingers tighten on the steering wheel, and I have to let my foot up off the gas a little.               Thinking about the place I left makes me stress-speed. “Pennsylvania,” I answer through gritted teeth.

His laugh is loud and loose. “Ah, that explains the stick up your ass.”
I could be offended, but there’s something easy and fun about Deo, and it makes me relax a little.               “Well, we can’t all be professional beach bums.”
              “Who says?” he demands, and I can hear a smile I like picturing on his face curving over his words.
              It’s weird how this is the first time I’ve ever been on the phone with Deo, but we have an easy back and forth like we’ve been chumming around for years. “You’re obviously drunk, and I have class in the morning, so I’m going to let you go.”
              “Okay, what time should I pick you up, then?” He doesn’t try to hide the excitement in his voice. I kind of love that.
              “You don’t give up, do you?”
              “One o’clock it is!”
              This time, when I answer him, I’m pretty sure he can hear my smile over the phone.
 

-Five-
              Deo

“You called her?” Cohen’s voice sways and slides through the dark as he navigates pissing off the side of my grandpa’s deck. Grandpa is passed out on the couch, snoring so loud I can barely hear my friend’s question.

“Yup. Wooed her with my many charms.” I pop the dilapidated lawn chair on its back two legs and balance my feet on the deck railing, letting the sweet buzz of too much beer mix with the memory of Whit’s dark eyes and hot, sexy kisses.

I hear the up-pull of Cohen’s zipper. “What charms are those again?” He throws his body down in a sagging lawn chair recliner.

“Bad-ass charms, hot-as-hell charms, got-balls-of-fucking-steel charms. The usual charms that tempt the ladies. You may want to learn from my example.” I let the chair thump onto all four legs and throw a red plastic cup at him.

It hits him on the side of the head, and he groans. “You’re gonna be so damn hungover tomorrow, that poor girl’s gonna be stuck holding your hair back while you puke.” He burps and groans.

“You just can’t handle your cups, my friend.” He and I polished off a bottle of Sambuka in seventh grade and he puked on Kylee Chase’s shoes the next day when we met up with her in the park. Since then, he always has to be a tough-nut about how much he drinks, even though he can’t take it. “I have a genetically gifted liver.”

“No fucking joke. Your grandpa drank three times more than both of us, and that old fuck could have ridden a damn unicycle through an obstacle course.” He burps again, and I wish he’d just go throw up and put himself out of his misery, but he’s got pride about drinking.

“Like I said, I’m blessed with amazing genes. Which is why Whit was all over seeing me again.” Okay, maybe that’s a little bit of lie. Or a big ass lie. Maybe it was more like me forcing her to come out and hoping she actually shows up.

“So what’s the deal with this girl?” Cohen throws one leg off the recliner, so I know the stars are spinning like mad for him.

I rub a hand over my scruff. I need to shave pre-date. “I really don’t know. She’s hot as hell, but she’s kind of got a stick up her ass.”

Cohen turns his head and looks at me through one painfully squinted eye. “Stick up her ass? That’s so not your type. Are you losing your beach-bunny appetite? Going for responsible girls now? Are you sure you met this chick at a tattoo shop and not the bank or the DMV?”

“Fuck off,” I chuckle. “She may have had a stick up her ass, but she was definitely running to a booty call. And she’s all neat and proper, but sexy as hell. She has a tattoo behind her ear.”

“Behind her ear?” Cohen drums his fingers over his stomach. “That’s kind of rebel hot.”

“She’s all kinds of contradictions.” I roll my shoulders out. “And I gotta get to sleep so I have the energy I need for this date, if you catch me.”

“Cool. I’ll just chill out here for a while.” His voice calls to me before I’m in the house. “And happy birthday, old man!”

“Don’t fall asleep out here. The mosquitoes will suck you fucking dry!” I close the sliding door, but not before I hear Cohen sneak to the side of the deck and heave. Gross, but I’m glad he did it.

I head to the kitchen and rifle through the fridge for my grandpa’s anti-hangover remedy. The trick is, you have to drink it the same night you get shit-faced for it to work completely. I have no clue what’s in it. It tastes like tomato juice that went rotten with a side of sour, but that and two aspirins and I’ll be golden for my date, so it’s down the fucking hatch.

I collapse into my bed, and my dreams are populated by one very sexy dark-eyed, uptight girl who’s all about letting her wild side peek out just for me.

When I finally wake up the next afternoon Cohen is gone, Grandpa is outside in his overgrown vegetable garden pulling weeds like a maniac, and I get ready to meet up with Whit. When I go out back to tell my grandpa I’ll be gone for the day, he snickers.

“What’s so funny, old man?” I ask, dodging a dirt-clogged weed he tosses my way on purpose.

“You look so pretty. Who are you all gussied up for? Not a floozy.” He wipes wet dirt on the sides of his work jeans and tips back his old straw cowboy hat, grinning like a fool.

“Not a floozy,” I agree. “A nice, respectable girl I’m gonna try my best to corrupt.”

He shakes his head and goes back to his peppers, his shoulders shaking with his bouts of laughter. “Wear a rubber.”

“Will do. Don’t get sun poisoning. I don’t want to deal with your old ass peeling and crying for a month again.” I catch the pepper he throws at me and take a spicy bite.

“Get lost, pain in my ass.” He pulls one of my birthday cigars out of his pocket and lights up, knowing the smell will send me running. Those cigars were definitely for pros, and a pro I am not when it comes to tobacco.

I hop in my Jeep, and sail down the highway, driving too fast and whistling totally off key to the random sappy love song on the radio. I’m a shit whistler, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but seeing Whit. And then I pull in on the beach that I texted her directions to last night and see her.

She’s sitting on the hood of her LeBaron, her knees pulled up to her chest, her dark hair blowing back from her face in the salty ocean wind. She doesn’t notice me at first, and I take a minute to watch her, lost in thought, looking small and huddled with the backdrop of the waves crashing loud around us. She must sense my eyes on her, because she looks up and smiles.

That smile hits me low in the gut. I jog over and put my hand out, helping her slide off the hood and onto the sand next to me. Her hair smells like the ripe grapefruits my grandpa coats in sugar and eats for breakfast.

She eyes me suspiciously. “You look pretty damn chipper considering how drunk you were last night.”

Last night she was all dolled up, with dark, sexy makeup and glossy hair. Right now she’s scrubbed clean, her hair slightly wavy and tossed by the wind, and she’s wearing cutoff shorts and a practically see-through tank. Last night’s look was hot, but today’s is soft and touchable.

And I so want to touch her. All over. Without stopping.

“My grandpa has a secret recipe,” I confess. “When we go out and get sleazy drunk, I’ll bring you back to my place and give it to you before we…snuggle.” I box her against the car and she leans back with a lazy, sweet smile.

“You have pretty high hopes for our supposed future dates.” She narrows her big brown eyes at me, but she can’t totally tuck away a smile. “Snuggling, huh?”

“I’m an awesome snuggler. You have no idea. You know that bear on the fabric softener commercials?”

“Snuggle the bear?” She giggles. I notice she has a whole sweep of freckles on her nose and cheeks.

“That’s the one. I taught that fucker everything he knows, no joke.” Her laugh loosens something good and happy in me. I stretch my arms wide. “You want a little sample?”

She has one hand over her mouth and laughs so hard, she’s doubled over, but she doesn’t accept my hug invitation. “I thought we were supposed to explore the beach.”

“I’m a man of many talents.” I point to the ocean and the swelling, crashing waves that always feel like home. “You ready for this? It’s not a snuggle-a-thon, but it has its perks.”

She nods, walks to me with those damn sexy swaying hips, and traces her fingers over my arm while I focus on not hyperventilating. I clear my throat and try to keep things light and loose. “The deal is, I show you all the super awesome secrets of this particular beach, and you let me ogle you in your bikini. But it’s gotta be a super small bikini. If it isn’t small enough, I’m totally cool with hunting down a nude beach.”

She rolls her eyes and pulls her shirt over her head slowly. Two tiny red triangles and some string cover her smooth skin, and I feel like I’m twelve years old again, sneaking my grandpa’s Playboys in the crawlspace under the porch. As I’m doing my best to cover the beginnings of a raging hard-on with a well-placed beach towel, she lets the tiny shorts slide off her hips and there is a very limited amount of black fabric and some more string. My head spins like I bashed it hard. Super hard. All normal body functions shut down, and I am fairly sure I’m probably drooling down my chest. And I don’t give a flying fuck.

“Small enough?” she asks, but there’s a hitch in her voice, and I notice her arms stiff at her sides, like she’s resisting the urge the cover herself up with them.

“It’ll do,” I manage to get out. “So, did anyone ever tell you that you were made to wear a bikini? Because I’m going to go ahead and suggest you only wear them, like exclusively. The only thing I can imagine you looking better in is nothing, and I get that you’d be cold a lot of the time if you took that route.”

She laughs and her arms relax a little. “Um, no one’s ever told me anything about how I look in a bikini, because this is my very first one.”

A flare of possessive goodness flicks through me. “Your first bikini? Right here, today?” With me.
For me?

She nods. “I’ve had it for a few weeks, but I never actually wore it. Before.” She has no idea where to look, so she’s kind of letting her eyes dart on anything and everything except me.

“Right here, right now, we’re popping your bikini cherry?” I clarify.

She nods, and that shy way she moves her head mixed with those fucking sweet freckles set up against that sexy barely-there bikini knocks the fucking wind out of me. “What is it?” She wiggles her toes, painted a sparkly blue, in the sand.

“I’m just thinking that twenty-two is probably going to be the best year of my entire life.”

              -Six-

Whit

              His words twist in the air around us. How do you even respond to a statement like that?               Especially when he’s looking at me
like that?
So I don’t.
              I change the subject. “What do you wanna do?”