Giving In (The Sandy Cove Series Book 1) (4 page)

“Is it wrong that a haircut can turn me on?”
Willow says dreamily.

“A haircut?” Thea looks at Willow in
disbelief.

“Do I stutter?”

I look at Thea and we watch as Willow’s head
resumes its position in the clouds.

“So you are here for one day, and already in
love? Seriously, Wills?”

“Well… Then what about you, Thea? Got your eye
on anyone in particular?”

Willow takes a long sip from her cup and points
directly at her.

“Doesn’t matter,” Thea responds quietly.

“And I didn’t say I was in love. He’s just got
that, ‘I’m a bad-boy, rock and roll, mohawk wearing, sweet as pie,
hot as sin, smart as a whip attitude’. I dig that, and that act of
him annoying me, just exactly the way I want it to go,” Willow
adds.

“You dig everyone.”

“That’s irrelevant.” I give her a look of
disgust.

“You’re drunk.” Thea tells her, jokingly. “Not
denying it.” Slurs a drunken Willow.

I shake my head and rub my eyes with the heels
of my hands. My exhaustion is swiftly taking over my body.

“Oh, God, I need to get to bed. It’s been a hell
of a long day, and I have to get some sleep, so I have the energy
to have a cop fired tomorrow.”

“He really made you do the Macarena in the
street? And you went along with it?”

“I didn’t have a choice, Thea. I needed to do
what he said so I could get here before Willow put my face on a
milk carton.”

Willow gulps down the remaining liquid from her
cup and gives me an agreeable eye roll, something she is famous
for.

I grab my suitcase and leave the box in the
living room that houses my shampoo, makeup and other girly
items.

“Point me in the direction of a bed,
please.”

The girls stand up from the table, shut off the
lights and lead me to my room. I notice the decor of the home.
Beach scene portraits line the walls of the hallway leading to the
bedrooms. Pale blue paint is the backdrop and light colored plush
carpets under my feet. Willow shows me to one of the four bedrooms
with the same decor as the hallway. A seashell embossed comforter
on the bed, a million decorative throw pillows, and a nice, cozy
queen size bed sits there begging for me to lay on top The girls
decide to flop on it. Pillows fly off the bed from the force of the
‘kerplunk’ of their bodies. I unzip my suitcase and begin to place
my clothes in the drawers of the nearby chest. My friends lay
there, watching and giggling from intoxication, and I’m jealous of
their cloudy brains.

“You guys had a party tonight?”

Thea twirls her hair, yawns, and looks towards
me. “Not us, Porter and Max. They know a lot of people.”

“Porter’s been coming down here every summer for
as long as our families have owned these homes, so he’s made a lot
of friends.”

Willow’s mom and her sister, Porter’s mom,
bought the twin homes when their father left them a hearty
inheritance when he passed away. The sisters decided to buy the
homes so their families could enjoy them summer after summer.
Willow and Porter are two years apart, and might as well be brother
and sister, rather than cousins.

“How do Porter and Max know each other?”

“According to Porter, Max’s band played at the
same bar Porter worked at when he was in college. They became
friends, but Max travels now with his band and goes to school for
engineering.”

See, I knew he had a big brain. Looks and brains
are a big turn on, and totally Willow’s type. I have a type as
well. Assholes. Write that down. Harlow Hannum has a thing for
assholes. I guarantee one of the girls is about to bring up the
biggest asshole of them all.

Wait for it, wait for it… It’s coming. Which one
will say it first? I’m taking bets.

“Well, at least you don’t have to see Cha…”

Ding, ding. Leave it to Willow.

Thea doesn’t even let her get his full name out
before covering her mouth with her hand.

“Willow, he is a name we do not speak. He’s like
Lord Voldemort from Harry Potter. You know better.”

She shoves Thea’s hand away from her face.

“Fine. We do not speak his name. So maybe you’ll
find that guy you got banged by in the bathroom last year.”

I reach over and smack her.

“Ow. What was that for?”

“Because, it’s something I’d like to forget, and
if it wasn’t for the constant badgering and questions like did I
have diarrhea or something because I was in the bathroom for so
long, you would never have known. It’s embarrassing enough, and I
hold myself 100% accountable for my actions.”

Willow takes her hands away from her head and
lays her head back on the pillow.

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say you were all to
blame for it. I’d say Jose Cuervo was also responsible. But all in
all, it was super hot!”

The thoughts of that night make me nauseous. I
swallow hard thinking of how later that night I expelled the
contents of the Jose Cuervo from my belly into the porcelain God. I
never get that drunk, and I mean never. But I had just seen the one
whose name we do not speak, making out with a girl in the corner of
that bar. All the while he was flashing his infamous, sexy glare at
me, while his tongue probed the inside of the trollop’s mouth. I
sat back down at the bar, not returning to where my friends were
playing pool with some guys they met and that’s when I saw him. He
was sitting four stools away from me, ordering a beer, as I was
ready to consume my sixth tequila shot of the evening. A totally
detrimental decision on the part of a smart girl like myself.

I bounce off the bed and pull each girl up by
the hands.

“Time for bed. Summer starts tomorrow and I plan
on making it a day of fun and sun, after I get a cop fired. Now,
get out.” They trail off to their rooms one by one with
half-hearted waves. I slip into my tank top and pajama bottoms. I
retrieve my toothbrush from my knapsack, find a bathroom, brush my
teeth, and I know sleep will claim me in no time.

I wake up to the sun beginning to shine in my
eyes. I had forgotten to close the blinds before I fell asleep. I
look at my watch on the bedside table. 6:45 a.m. This is only
fifteen minutes later than I get up for student teaching. I roll to
my back and punch the mattress. Coffee is calling my name, I
suppose. I rise and head to the bathroom, run a brush through my
hair, splash some water on my face, and brush my teeth. The house
is quiet. I seriously doubt anyone is awake. They are normal,
unlike myself. I tiptoe into the kitchen. The living room is bright
from the sun’s rays, and as I go to fill up the coffee pot with
water at the sink, I look out the kitchen window to see the calm
waters of the bay. There is a large dock that extends outward
towards the back. It appears to be in the middle of the two homes.
I see a small boat on Porter’s side. It’s so peaceful.

I need peaceful.

I need relaxing.

I need stress-free.

I need not to be reminded of him. The one whose
name we do not speak.

I make the coffee and stalk the consistent drip,
drip of the savory grounds, working their way through the filter
and pouring into the pot. I tap my fingers on my cheek, as I hold
my head in my hands. The anticipation is a killer. I shut my eyes
momentarily in the hopes that the coffee will miraculously brew
faster if I will it to, and I hear something. A high-pitched squeal
of some sort. Sometimes muffled, and I know it’s not the sound of a
seagull. I walk around to investigate. I hear it again. Where is
that coming from? I look out a window on the side of the house,
nothing there. I look out the window to the dock, nothing. I walk
to the sliding door which leads out onto the front deck. I hear it
again, and jump back. Oh, God, someone is being murdered right
outside this very door. I run to the kitchen, grab the house phone
and a large, sharp knife from the butcher block on the counter. I
once again approach the door. 911 is about to be dialed, and now
I’m waiting to see the murderer. I rip open the drapes, and swing
open the sliding door with the force of a Trojan solider. And I
jump, knife in hand, ready to stab, and I scream.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I… I’m so sorry. I had
no idea what that noise was. Oh, my God.” I turn around after I see
in front of me, not a murder, not some kind of sick crime, or a
robbery, but a leggy, dark-haired, tanned girl riding a guy on a
lounge chair… reverse cowgirl style. Nude. I mean, butt-ass naked.
I couldn’t see his face, because it was covered by Miss Big Tit’s
head. All I can see is his big hands grasping her hips, and the
unrelenting moans coming from both of them. And do they stop when
they see a twenty three year old woman in her Minnie Mouse pajama
pants, wielding a butcher knife? No. They continue. Bouncing before
me, like my existence has no bearing on their activity. With my
back still turned to the couple, Willow and Thea run out the door
apparently after my blood-curdling screams were heard. They come to
a complete halt and scream themselves. Enter Max and Porter running
onto the deck from their house, Porter running over to cover Thea’s
eyes, (no idea why), and Max yielding an uncontrollable laugh.

Mass confusion surrounds the deck. I still have
my eyes covered. The knife I held and dropped sticks up out of the
wood on the deck, and I’m annoyed. Thea tries to knock Porter’s
hands off her eyes, and Willow, well Willow is just plain
staring.

“Well, I’ll be damned, take a look at those
tattoos.”

I slap Willow, again, but I don’t turn around
until I hear Porter yell the one name that has been imbedded in my
brain since last night… Cruz.

Son of a bitch.

“Cruz, man, what the hell? Get her off of you.
We have girls standing here.”

I will myself not to turn. Don’t do it, Harlow,
most of all, do not pick up that knife and stab that man to death.
And I don’t. My mind is strong. I try to have complete control. I
will have complete control over this situation. I hear some
rustling of clothing, and I look to Willow, who has a smirk on her
face. I ask Willow, “are they done, Wills?” She nods.

That’s when my body swings around, and I charge
forward, bracing myself to tell this bastard what I really think of
him.

Dickcop.

And there it is. The bile I suddenly feel rising
up in my throat, the jaw dropping moment, the head-spinning,
mind-blowing enlightenment when I realize I have seen those inked
arms before. I have seen that face. I have seen that wavy brown
hair. My hands have been through it, felt it, pulled it, and those
striking blue eyes. They have crossed my path, and bore into me
like some kind of a hypnotizing coercion. I’ve looked into them. I
know I did.

Those hands, they were on me.

Those fingers in me.

Those lips upon me.

That tongue inside my mouth.

And his… His…

A flood gate of memories sweeps through my
head.

Bar.

Tequila shots.

Eye contact.

Head motion.

Bathroom.

Against the wall.

No last names.

Pure, raw, uninhibited, unlawful hot sex.

He knows it. He knows it’s me by the cocky smirk
on his face. I’m frozen. My legs are locked, my muscles not
allowing me to go any further.

“Hello, Miss Hannum, enjoying your time at the
shore?”

From the moment he speaks, it suddenly all makes
sense. He’s the cop who pulled me over last night, and the guy I
had my little tryst with at the bar last year. Things like this
happen to only me. That’s when I see it.

I see red. Yes, it’s true, when anger gets the
best of you, you do see red. Flaming red. I am an educated, smart,
well brought up woman. I ooze class, but the way he bites his lip,
grins at me, and winks, makes all the years of charm school want to
fly out the window. The need to claw his face, have my knuckles
collide with his chin, overtakes me, but I must keep my
composure.

Everyone just stands there, and tall, tanned,
and leggy Dickcop-rider whines after she dresses.

“Cruz, you said you would take me home. This
scene is creeping me out.” She stands there, arms folded, tapping
her stiletto-clad foot, while six pairs of eyes stare at her.

“Sure, baby. Give me a few minutes. Why don’t
you go grab yourself a cup of coffee in the house. I’ll be right
there.”

She exits, and the staring contest begins, until
Willow breaks the silence.

“How do you know her last name is Hannum?”

My fists clutching my sides, I move a bit
closer. There’s a panic in Max’s eyes as he moves when I do.

“You… You… You?” My last ‘you’ is a
question.

He rises up from his chair, shirtless, boxer
briefs staring me in the face. He towers over me, smirk still
present on his face. He licks his bottom lip and invades my
personal space. He’s so close. I can smell the sex on him. How
repugnant. He leans in towards my ear. “Me, me, and yes, me.”