Giving In (The Sandy Cove Series Book 1) (12 page)

“Yes, I know. My mom was a huge Elton John and
Billy Joel fan. You gotta take what you get. I’m used to it.”

Harlow’s grin spreads so wide, her jaw is going
to hurt.

“I know exactly how that is. I was named after
an old movie star my mother loved.”

Elton Joel moves in a little closer to her ear,
and I inch a little more towards Harlow to listen in. It’s loud in
here, so I bend down a little. All I hear from him is, “Harlow’s a
beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” He picks her beer-free hand
up and kisses the top of it.

Oh, come on! That’s a line I use, and a move I
make. Can’t he be original? I’m the king of the pickup lines, and
that is by far one of the cheesiest. This guy is a grade-A ass. My
dilemma is do I intervene, or let Harlow step into his pile of
bullshit. I’m not going to think. I’m just going to speak.

“Hey, Turnip, Max’s band will be going on in a
few. He got us a few booths reserved so why don’t we go sit.”
Again, not eyeing me, she speaks in an even tone.

“Cruz, I’m perfectly fine right here for now.
I’ll come over in a bit.” All the while she’s still grinning at
this asshat like he’s Santa Claus or something. Then she shoos me
away with her hand, like I’m bothering her or something. Like I’m
one of the swarm of guy flies, but with me, I annoy her like a
typical fly. I guess I’m lucky she didn’t swat and smash me like
one.

I mutter out a ‘fine’, and I’m not really sure
she even heard me. Guess it doesn’t matter.

I reach one of the booths we have reserved, and
I’m surprised to see Porter sitting alone.

I throw my body in the booth, kind of pissed off
at Harlow, for which I’m not sure why, but even more angry that
Elton Joel is feeding her lines that she clearly doesn’t know are
lines.

I guzzle my beer as I sit, Porter is very
quiet.

“What’s up with you?”

Porter stares over my shoulder, obviously
perturbed about something.

“I’m fine,” he says with his mouth in a hard
line.

“Don’t look like you’re fine. What’s the
deal?”

He snorts, “I guess I could ask you the same
thing. Looked like you were burning a hole right through that guy
talking to Harlow. You use your x-ray vision to see if he was a
jerk? We all know you have Superman-like powers.”

I glance back to them, watching as Harlow
continues to laugh at Elton Joel’s come-on’s.

“Nothing,” I say, feeling offended he would even
ask me such a question. It doesn’t bother me she’s talking to him,
why should it? I can just smell a load a crap a mile away, and
Elton Joel is full of it.

“Girls seem to be having fun and making new
friends. Good for them. You see some of the chicks in here? We
should be doing the same stuff, instead of sitting here with our
dicks in our hands.”

Porter just shakes his head.

“I’m fine. I need another beer.” He signals a
waitress to come to our table.

The lights dip, and Max’s band takes the stage.
The kid is so damn talented, and the girls have never seen him
play. This was the perfect opportunity for them to watch Max and
the band, but as they began to play, the girls’ interests appear to
be on other things. The guy flies move to the beat along with the
girls, and by the looks of it, the girls like the music, but could
give a shit less that it’s Max up there.

Max plays his heart out, singing backup on some
vocals. The crowd pushes towards the stage, some dancing, and some
even gyrating to the beat of the music. Hands up, swaying back and
forth, beer bottles raised, with some patrons singing along to the
covers the band performs. I stay in our booth because we have a
pretty perfect view of the stage from where we are. The waitress
keeps the beers coming, and we throw them back like they’re bottled
water.

The band continues to play, and I’ve been trying
to keep an eye out for Harlow, but I don’t see her. Porter looks
like he’s going out of his mind for some reason, and my head, my
poor big head goes from one shoulder to another, searching for her,
wondering if she’s ok with Elton Joel. And now I spot her.

Her sundress-clad ass rubbing up against Elton
Joel’s khaki panted front.

Fuck me.

Harlow’s arm is draped around his neck from
behind, she reaches up running her fingers through his hair. His
lips graze her bare shoulder, his one arm resting across her belly,
pulling her in closer. Their rhythm matched, step by step, never
seeming out of sync. She eases her head to the side so he can have
better access to her neck, as he plants a row of kisses from behind
her ear, down the length of her neck. Harlow’s eyes are closed, her
hair swinging from side to side to the charge of the electric bass.
I bite the inside of my cheek, hard. I taste the coppery-flavored
blood, feeling the sting of it. I wonder why watching her move
makes me angry. Her moving with him, against him.

I’m willing myself to turn around, to look away,
but this girl is stepping outside her shell. She seems free, moving
her body in ways I have never seen. The fluency of her arms and
legs, the way she dips her knees down, gracefully messy with the
sway of her hips, grinding into him as she rises up again.

She moves like a swan, not like the stiff,
too-large-of-a-vocabulary girl, who tolerates me.

The night we were together, she moved like a
hungry tiger, feral and cold, waiting for the kill. Tonight, her
body is relaxed, no weight of the world bearing down on it. It’s
just freeing her to move without worry, without stress, just to be
a sexual object, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it one fucking
bit.

My knee won’t stop shaking. My head is foggy
from the beer. My body, tense and ready to strike at a moment’s
notice, and that time may be now.

As the beat of the music pulses through the air,
and the sound of drums beating within my ears, I see Elton Joel’s
hand snake from around her waist. It languidly makes its way down
to her thigh, and she doesn’t seem to notice or care. He inches her
dress up when he reaches the hem. Her hand is still resting on the
back of his neck. His fingers make their way to her inner thigh,
while he licks the side of her neck. Her eyes are still shut, and
her lower lip is sucked in, as she is enjoying whatever it is he’s
doing to her. When I don’t see his hand any longer, as it
disappears under her dress and out of my sight, my body betrays me
and it makes me fly to her.

I push my way through the sweaty crowd, towering
over the bodies, not caring who I’m shoving until I stand in front
of them. Elton Joel looks up at me with his face buried in her
neck, sensing me watching them, and his face grins, as he pushes
his hand further up her dress.

I don’t have time to react because Harlow does.
She pushes his hand from underneath her dress. Not really looking
anywhere but at his arm.

“Hey, not here, ok,” she says, and it’s not a
good enough answer for him. He has guts. I’ll give him that. With
me still standing in front of them, Harlow’s eyes shut again, he
tries it again, and now I know this cocksucker doesn’t have the
sense he was born with.

My reaction has to be swift. I’m not hesitating.
My hand grabs onto his wrist, the only visible part of his hand so
to speak, and I yank it down.

“I’m pretty sure she said not here, so I suggest
you get your fucking hands off of her.”

Harlow looks up, hair sticking to her
sweat-soaked forehead, the sheen of it covering her chest,
shoulders, and neck. Her eyes sparkling in a beautiful blue haze,
but it turns into fury.

“Cruz, I can take care of myself. Get lost.”

“Yea, you heard her, leave us alone. She’s in
good hands.”

Oh, I bet she is.

Elton Joel should keep his fucking trap
shut.

“See that’s where I think you’re wrong, Elton. I
know guys like you ‘cause I am one. I know what you want from her,
and you ain’t getting it.” I grab Harlow’s arm and pull her to me.
She resists, and she yanks her arm back.

“How do you know what he wants, and maybe, just
maybe, I want the same thing tonight. You do it all the time, so go
away, Dickcop.”

Her speech is slurred, her attitude unlike
herself, and I’m pretty sure the alcohol is giving her the liquid
courage to defy me. She grabs Elton’s face and smacks her lips onto
his, forcing her tongue between his lips, parting them, and he
doesn’t resist; it only brings her closer to him. Watching their
tongues mingle forcefully, his hands snaking down to her ass,
grabbing a hold of it enrages me even more, but she made her
decision. Fuck it.

“Fine, Turnip, it’s your life.”

I turn away from them and run into Willow and
Thea dancing.

“Hey, Cruz. Max’s band is great. This is so much
fun. Where’s Harlow?” Thea asks.

I thumb in Harlow’s direction, and she’s still
making out with Elton Joel.

“She’s all yours, girls. I tried to get her away
from that guy, but she’s being stubborn as usual.”

They look at each other, then back to me, and
laugh, wiping the sweat from their heads.

“Cruz, maybe she doesn’t want you to get him
away from her, maybe she wants him to get under her?” Thea laughs
at what Willow says, and it’s so obvious they’re drunk, falling
into each other and laughing like maniacs.

“Whatever, I’m out of here. Have fun.”

I walk away from them and go back to the booth
where Porter is. I finish what’s left of my beer.

“I’m leaving,” I announce to Porter.

“What do you mean, man? The night is just
getting started.”

“Well, my friend, mine is over. I’m going back
to the house. Let Max know where I went when he’s done. Later.”

I walk away from him squeezing my body through
the crowd. I feel someone grab my arm and tug. It must be Harlow
coming to her senses, and she’s done with Elton, but when I look in
the direction of the pull, it’s the exotic looking chick from the
bar, and I already forget her name.

“Hey there handsome. Going somewhere?” She
smiles at me and licks her lips. I feel her nails graze my skin. I
don’t really look at her. I’m too preoccupied with finding a
parting in the crowd to make my escape.

“Home,” I simply say. My tone is flat.

“Aw, well what a shame. I was hoping I could see
where the rest of that ink is.” She winks at me, and my head is
suddenly clouded with thoughts of seeing if those tits of hers are
as gorgeous as I imagine they are. “Wanna get out of here?” She
whispers into my ear.

Now, as much as I want to say yes, and take her
somewhere and fuck her into oblivion, I’m choosing not to. This
decision shocks even me, and as horned up as I am, the more I look
at her, the more I sense trouble… and I don’t know why.

I take her hand away from my arm, knowing when I
get home I’ll probably regret my decision, but something in my
fucked up head tells me here and now that I should leave.

“Maybe some other time baby.”

She backs up, looking disappointed as she
adjusts her shirt, and pushes out her breasts even more.

“Suit yourself, hot stuff. I’ll be around.” She
spins on her high heeled feet and slowly walks away. I get a
glimpse of her heart shaped ass in that skirt, and I suddenly feel
bad. Not for me, but for Morty.

This house has never been so quiet. Usually
it’s filled with people. Either my roommates are here, or the girls
come over to play a game, or just sit around having a few drinks
with us. I welcome the silence as I make my way outside to the
deck, and crack open my beer and my laptop, so I can do a bit of
work for the online class I’m doing this summer.

There’s a shift in the air temperature. It’s not
as humid as it has been, which means a storm is coming. Laying on
this lounge chair with just the illumination from my laptop screen,
I begin typing swiftly on the keys, reading, and gathering the
information on the screen into notes. It’s only midnight, and I,
Raphael Cruz, am home doing homework. What’s wrong with this
picture? I should be banging that chick from Jax right now, and
making her all sweaty as she screams my name. I’m still not sure
why I did what I did. I walked away and came back here, alone. That
jerk dancing with Harlow had some balls grabbing her the way he
did. She’s a different girl with a few drinks in her. Case in
point: last summer. Sometimes when she’s around and we are just
sitting here, talking with the others, the memory of that night
comes to mind. It’s like she has split personalities or something.
It’s not that I don’t like her personality… well, sometimes I
don’t. I mean the more we talk, the more I do like it. It’s just
that if what happened last year didn’t happen between us, would I
still want to get to know her?

Ah, fuck, I should have taken that girl home
from the bar.

I slam down my beer and pull at my hair with my
free hand. Frustration makes its way to my brain, and I feel like I
need to relieve this pressure building up in my pants. How could I
have let this happen? I do make some pretty shitty decisions, and
this one by far, was the shittiest of the night. I need to
concentrate on what I’m doing, figuring I’ll take care of my
business with my hand and a bottle of lotion later.