Authors: Sabrina Lacey
“My eyes are up here.”
He doesn’t stop eating my skin with his
mind. I feel dizzy at the way this kid looks at me. He’s about 6’1”
and has forsaken a shirt so that the morning sun shines down on his
skin like a spotlight on a party I can’t miss. Most guys would look
embarrassed if I called them on what he’s doing. Not this guy. It’s
like he isn’t interested in my objections. My breath comes shorter
and my chest rises to his call. I want to cross my arms and turn
away but that want is only a habit of thinking I’m taken and
therefore off-limits. But there’s another part of me that is on
limits. Very, very, very
on
. So I get up the nerve to be a
little naughty. “You like the view?”
Those blue eyes finally slide up to meet my
eyes. Without blinking, he nods. “Better than the waves or the
sunlit sky.”
Is this guy a poet or was he just born that
smooth. Oh my.
Brendan
Ocean Cliff. Not alone.
Slope difficulty: just went from black
diamond to solo green circle.
Go.
______________________
“You here alone?” I ask Wildcat. She turns
to the ocean and gives me a great view of her profile, her dark
hair blowing back to just below her shoulder blades. Her back is
straight and dignified. She’s a thoroughbred, this one. She’d win
the trophy and ride the jockey all the way home. But she’s angry.
It’s in her eyes. You spot it, you got it – that’s what they say.
I’m spotting it all over the place. I see what I see when I look in
the mirror… detachment.
“I am. You?”
I nod, but I’m thinking about that wall of
hers, how high up around her it is. There’s something wild about
looking at a person who’s in the same mental place you’re in. It’s
like I know her more than I should. I look away… because suddenly
it feels too intimate. “Yeah. I just finished college.”
“Shouldn’t you be partying in Cancun or
somewhere with your buddies?”
I stare at the ocean, thinking of Mark,
Tommy and Ross in Hawaii. I didn’t go with them because I was
supposed to be in New York celebrating with my girl. I’m supposed
to be there now. By the time she broke it off, my friends were
already gone.
Mark had ribbed me about not going. For four
years he’s been trying to get me to join him for mayhem and
parties. He and I both started school late – after a couple years
of working to save for it, and that gave us an instant bond when we
met. We both weren’t from rich families. My parents made me earn
it, which was good. I’m better with money now. I know its
worth.
Do I wish I was with him and the guys now?
Now that I think on it, no. The sanctuary of this secluded place,
bereft of tourists, feels perfect. I don’t want to party. I want to
ache. The crashing water down below this cliff feels right. I feel
in sync with the darkness of it. I can’t see the bottom, just like
I can’t see the bottom of the pain of losing Sara.
Wildcat’s voice breaks through my thoughts.
“Hey…I’m sorry. You want me to leave you alone?”
“What?” I ask her, turning and drawn in by
her stare. Those brown eyes are smoking. We say nothing until her
thick, dark eyelashes shyly flutter to the ground. Something just
happened inside her and I don’t know what it is – but somehow I got
past that wall to where the vulnerability lies hiding. To see it is
exposed like that is intoxicating.
“Don’t go. Stay with me awhile.” It’s the
hurt in me that’s asking. “To answer your question, I didn’t want
to go with them. I needed to be alone for the weekend. But not
that
alone. Please.” It’s the truth, just not all the
truth.
She looks back up at me and holds my eyes.
Her bottom lip gets a tiny nibble and she frowns. But after a
second of thought, she nods. In silent agreement, we turn to the
water again, the wind blowing through our hair. We stare at the
ocean, spread out before us, so big and
forever.
It will go
on with or without us, and will be here long after we’re gone. That
makes our problems seem small, and we love it for that.
Rebecca
Suicide: put off. Eyes: misty.
Mind: slowing like a terrifying carnival ride
finally coming to a stop.
______________________
There’s something about the ocean that gets
me. I feel small around it, which means my problems are small, too.
Is this why I came here alone when I’ve never flown without Jack in
my entire life?
I was raised in Arizona and my parents were
Think Inside The Box types. To be fair, Sedona is a beautiful space
if you’re going to live in a box. It’s surrounded by red rocks, and
inhabited by mystics, the supposed psychic epicenter that it is.
But there’s no ocean.
With the gentle sunlight heating up my skin
and the saltwater infused wind whipping back my sundress, I turn my
head and look at the person who just ebbed my uncertainty about the
future by saying,
stay with me awhile
. I’d wanted to crawl
into his arms when he’d looked at me like he did; like he’d lost
something precious to him, something he couldn’t explain to me, a
stranger.
His dark, short wavy hair blows back and the
light massages his bare chest. He’s stunning. His hands are stashed
into the pockets of his slightly baggy blue jeans and his Converse
shoes remind me of his youthful age. Jack would never wear shoes
that cool. He wears white sneakers and I didn’t know it until now
but I never liked them. White sneakers are not sexy. Not like
these.
The naughty thoughts swirling around my
lower regions must be ignored – I know. But that doesn’t mean I
have to spend the day alone, if he wants to come. Before I even
know I’m speaking, I hear the invitation slipping off my tongue.
“I’m going into town. Would you like to join me?”
I can’t believe I just said that!
He looks at me from the corner of his eyes,
head only slightly turned.
My heart speeds up as I wait. Oh God. What
if he says no?
Who’s the old lady trying to pick up on me,
he’s probably thinking. I’m a fool. Good job. Well done.
But how can I blame myself for trying?
Brendan
Planned: A day of beer drinking, alone.
Blood: racing at this unexpected question.
______________________
I cock my head toward her, checking her out.
“What’s your name?”
She smiles and looks toward the sun, eyes
lighting up like fire. A small laugh escapes her, like she forgot
we don’t know each other or something. I guess I forgot, too. The
ocean – it’s tricky.
“Rebecca.” She stops, doesn’t add her last
name. I will look back on this and realize she didn’t want me to
know she was married. Didn’t want me to search for her on the
Internet. Didn’t want to know me past this one weekend. But today
I’m a naïve kid who’s only ever had one real girlfriend and who’s
playing at being a smooth-talking-swanky-ass-mother fucker. I don’t
expect slyness or withholding. I will learn.
I pull my hand out of my pocket, hold it out
with a smile. “I’m Brendan.” We shake hands and I hold hers a few
seconds longer than I would anyone I didn’t want to nail. I hold
her eyes, too, and remind myself to keep it together. Inside, I’m
nervous, an open wound that will not heal for a long time. “Let’s
do it.”
“What?” Her eyes open with surprise.
I grin, realizing where her mind had gone.
“Let’s go into town.”
She steps back and puts her arms around
herself. “Oh! Right. Yes.” The way the sun lights up her skin makes
her look like an angel. I’m wishing I was those arms right now. She
glances at me and the electric charge between us can’t be just in
my head. She smiles, like she’s thinking the same thing. “Let’s do
it.”
I feel a movement in my groin as the blood
rushes there. A sexy smirk I didn’t know I had in me, finds its way
onto my face. I hold out my arm. “Lead the way.”
She turns to the road, her eyes sneaking a
peak at my chest.
I saw that, Rebecca.
I really like that name.
Rebecca…
Rebecca
Gallery Bookshop: Corner of Main and Kasten
St. Face: shoved in “The Invention of Wings” by Sue Monk Kidd.
Arms: stacked with five other novels. Me: In heaven.
______________________
“Have you read this?”
I look up to see Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged
held up in Brendan’s hand. His entire body is in halo from the
window’s light behind him. Since I’m already above the clouds, my
breath catches and I nod. “I read it in college. My friends and I
were into Rand back then.”
His eyebrows rise up above twilight-blue
eyes deepened by the navy blue of the shirt he grabbed to come
here. He walks closer to me, lowers the book waist-level. “What did
you like about her?” I flick to it, pretending to check out the
cover, but really I’m looking at his stomach. Knowing what’s under
that shirt, from having seen his bare chest all morning, is sexy,
like I know a secret… a chiseled, kissable secret.
I close my book and lay it on top of the
others. “Her books to me are about studies in excellence.”
He looks at my lips. “What do you mean?”
Self-consciously, I watch his eyes drinking
me in. My heart beats faster and I struggle to focus. “Um, well,
the main characters in her books strive for a transcendence of
quality that surpasses excellence. But they don’t look for
accolades.” I stop and wait to see if I should say more. His face
is a steel door without explanation of opinion. So, because I don’t
know what else to do, I continue. “They do it because their souls
demand it. Dagney. She’s superiorly intelligent and capable and
only cares about the railroad. But her brother, he cares about
parties and how he looks to society without any concern that he’s
running the company into the ground with his incompetence.
Excellence battling mediocrity, that’s the plight Ayn Rand
presents. She’s criticized for selfishness, but I believe she
believed we should be all that we can, without regard to what
others think of that.”
Oh my God, Rebecca, shut up. Shut up
right now.
Brendan’s eyes narrow and he looks at the generous
stack of books I’m holding. I’m waiting for him to tease me about
how many I’m buying, like my husband does. Or… did.
Brendan’s eyes glide back up to latch onto
mine. “Is that the author of The Secret Life of Bees?”
My jaw drops open. I shut it. It drops back
open. “Yes!”
“Ah.” He smiles. “You ready to go?”
I nod, speechless. He holds out his hand and
moves to make room for me to pass him in the narrow aisle. Our
bodies brush against each other. I don’t move as quickly as I
should. Invisible sparks connect our skin and I glance up to him to
find him intently staring at me. I look away.
At the register, I put my card on the
counter. Brendan’s arm comes around me from behind and he lays his
hand on it. “Let me get those for you.” His body, it rests against
me and my eyes fly up to the bespectacled man ringing up my novels,
expecting judgment from this stranger, and getting it. Did the
stodgy old guy think I was Brendan’s mom until he touched me?
Oh
come on now
, I remind myself.
I’m not THAT old.
Just because I’m feeling rebellious, I lean
against Brendan and purr, “Thank you, honey.” Brendan’s chest
shakes with a silent laugh as the old stooge’s lips tighten and his
eyes meet ours again, never.
“This one, too,” Brendan tells him, laying
down the mammoth thousand-plus paged Atlas Shrugged. An inner smile
glows in me. Is he just trying to impress me? Because it’s working.
A guy who buys me books has my heart. A guy who wants my advice on
books, actually listens when I speak, and then buys the book? Well,
he has my heart, mind, body and soul.
“Enjoy Mendocino,” Captain Crusty dutifully
grumbles.
“Oh, we will,” Brendan smiles. “After you,
gorgeous.” He holds open the door for me. I know he’s only playing,
but I touch his chest and lightly brush my lips against his as I
pass, causing an explosion of tingles all over both of us.
I murmur, “What a gentleman,” like I’m
saying
I’m going to rip you apart and eat you.
A sexy smile turns up his soft lips. He
looks to the old guy again, waves, and shuts the door behind us. We
both break out into laughter ten steps away from the door where he
can no longer see us.
“That was fun,” he grins.
“It was.” I haven’t kissed anyone but my
husband in twelve years, until now. The feeling is unreal. So, so,
sooooooo good.
Brendan
Tent: popped. Mind: blown. Food: still
needed. Drink: it’s 5 p.m. somewhere, isn’t it?
______________________
This woman is not only a wildcat from whom I
want claw marks – she’s also wicked smart which makes me hotter for
her than I thought I could be. When she was talking about the book,
I wanted to push her up against the bookshelf and hike up that
sundress, traveling my lips along the nape of her neck. I want to
hear her moan. I want to be the one who makes her moan, and
soon.
At the same time – as she was talking – it
suddenly occurred to me I might be playing out of my league. That
kiss was a light caress against my surprised lips, but it did
something to me. It scared the living crap out of me. She’s no
girl. Rebecca is a woman. She would make girls avert their eyes,
knowing they couldn’t compete
I have to keep my hopes down. I’m probably
making an ass out of myself. She probably just doesn’t want to be
alone today, so she’s hanging out with me.
I’m definitely in over my head.