The Red Bikini (25 page)

He groaned and rubbed his face. He didn’t know why he’d done that.

Of course, it beat the alternative. It beat leaving her standing on the curb in front of her apartment. It beat feeling like a cad, who’d played the singular role of unlocking a gate for a sweet woman to start living a life of meaningless sex. It beat knowing Lia was never going to speak to him again.

But he knew that was not why he’d invited her.

He just wanted to see her.

And yet no sex would be involved, since she’d have her little girl. . . .

He took another sip from his mug and wondered what was happening here. He tried to think of another situation—another woman—he could compare this to, but came up with no one. He
liked
Lia and Jennifer the same way—always respected them and cared about them. But they never turned him on every moment he was in their presence. And Veronica and Catalina were just the opposite—he was attracted to them, and the feeling seemed to be mutual, which was a turn-on—but he didn’t worry about them or concern himself with what they did when they weren’t with him.

But Giselle . . . she was a mixture of both. He liked her
and
respected her
and
was turned on by her. She was really everything he loved about every woman he’d ever known. . . .

He took another sip. It was a good thing he was leaving in two days. If he stayed, he might find himself actually chasing her. But he’d be chasing a woman he couldn’t have: She had a sophisticated life in Indiana that she wasn’t interested in leaving, and was much too smart for a guy with barely a GED. And he, of course, had a career that took him around the world.

A career he was going to lose, in fact, if he didn’t get his mind in the right fucking place . . .

Concentrate, man
.

The swells weren’t great. They looked a little mushy out there. But there were a few good lefts. Trestles was a long drive. And he had to pick out the boards he’d be bringing. Definitely the new Channel Islands Red Beauty . . .

His mind drifted to what Coco might like for dinner. Maybe he could borrow his neighbor’s fire pit and let Coco roast marshmallows after dinner. Kids still liked s’mores, didn’t they?

He rubbed his forehead and forced his thoughts back: The Red Beauty would fit in the same bag as his shortboard, if he detached the fins. Maybe he could bring five boards. . . .

He took another sip of coffee and counted his patio chairs. Coco could hang out on the patio with him and Giselle. He suddenly realized the situation he’d just put himself in: He was going to have Giselle in front of him all evening; he was going to be lusting after her; and she was going to be 100 percent off-limits. . . . This was going to be a rough night.

Maybe, in the back of his mind, he’d invited her over thinking he could get one more night of awesome sex—Coco had to fall asleep sometime, after all.

But that would be slimy. He needed to behave.

He would simply enjoy Giselle’s company. He liked laughing with her. He liked talking to her. He liked seeing her with Coco. He liked how she smelled, how she smiled, and how she left him feeling whole, and absolved, and smart, and . . . like he
mattered
, somehow. He wanted Coco to like him. For whatever reason. And, despite all he’d told Giselle about himself—which was embarrassingly a lot—she hadn’t left. Or died. Or abandoned him.

The last two thoughts took him by surprise.

Damn.

He scrutinized the day’s waves, took a long sip of coffee, then pushed the thoughts away and walked into the garage to find the Red Beauty.

 • • • 

From the kitchen, Giselle heard the
whoosh
of the entryway door. As excited as she was to see her little girl, her stomach constricted as she waited to hear Roy’s footsteps. She brushed her palms along her slacks and pushed her coffee mug forward.

“Mommy!” Coco threw her arms around Giselle’s waist.

“Hey, baby.” Giselle stroked Coco’s hair and kissed her part. Someone had brushed it into cute ponytails this morning. Giselle wondered whether it had been Roy in a sweet act of fathering, but then she thought of Kimber. Her stomach clenched as her eyes swept the entryway for oversized sunglasses and oversized breasts.

“Did you have fun at the park?” she asked shakily.

“Yes, I showed Daddy the monkey bars. I can go all the way across now!”

Giselle continued to stare at the marble entrance but no one else emerged. “Where’s Daddy?”

“He dropped me off. He had to go see Kimber.”

She said it so matter-of-factly, like this was her new world, that Giselle was taken aback. She couldn’t quite believe her little girl was stating the name of her husband’s mistress with such nonchalance. She couldn’t believe Roy was moving on. Couldn’t believe there would be another child, and another mother, sitting here in Lovey’s kitchen, taking their place.

She glanced up at Lovey, but Lovey didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. She was, instead, gazing at Coco adoringly.

“Why don’t you get your things, sweetie?” Lovey prompted. “Show Mommy the new stuffed animal we bought you.”

“Oh! Ninja Zebra!” Coco galloped up the stairs.

Giselle allowed a shaky breath to escape.

As the kitchen clock ticked away the silence, Giselle tried to wrap her mind around her new circumstances. She was overcome with gratitude for Lovey—how much she loved Coco, how much she would help them make things work, how she would not abandon Coco like Roy might, with the new baby.

“Thank you for everything,” she blurted.

Lovey gazed at her for half a minute; then her silky robe sleeves brushed the countertop as she reached over and cupped Giselle’s hand. “It’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

Giselle nodded as tears pricked her eyes. She hoped so.

A
s Giselle’s tires made the rumble over the railroad tracks again, she wasn’t sure what she was doing.

She didn’t feel easy in the new jeans she’d slipped on—a pair of Lia’s, from the bottom drawer, a much lower cut than she was used to. She didn’t feel easy parking near the piano-key row of white trailer homes, or grabbing Coco’s hand and hustling across the street with the Tupperware in her arms. She didn’t feel easy walking up Fin’s sidewalk as the sun began to set behind his house, or as she listened to the rush of the crashing waves come down between the homes. She didn’t know why he’d invited her, or whether it was strange to bring Coco, or what the rules were for morning-afters, afternoon-afters, evening-afters. . . .

But when Fin opened the door—rubbing his jaw and grinning down at her, wearing faded blue jeans—she felt instantly, completely at ease, as if he’d been waiting like this forever.

“Come in,” he said.

Giselle drew a relieved breath and stepped inside the warmth.

“We brought you a cake!” Coco bounced up and down on the patio. “For your birthday!”

“Coco!” Giselle exclaimed.

Coco giggled and pressed her hand against her mouth. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” she said in a stage whisper.

Fin laughed, but his eyes cut to the covered bakery plate with a degree of nervousness.

“Seriously?” he asked, following her into the kitchen.

“I did.” She unsnapped the Tupperware lid and unveiled the simple two-layer round that she and Coco had frosted. Across the top, they had piped “
Happy Birthday, Fin!
” in blue cursive. Coco had sprinkled the whole thing with confetti candies.

Fin stared at the cake for an unreasonable amount of time, a sense of wonder and confusion etching his features.

“Do you not like cake?” Giselle asked, bewildered at his reaction.

“How did you know it was my birthday?”

“You told me. You said you were turning twenty-nine this weekend. . . . Right?”

“Yeah. I just . . . didn’t think you’d remember, I guess.”

“You look like you’ve never seen a cake before.”

“Not with my name on it. More used to beers and bongs, I guess.” He glanced at Coco and cleared his throat. “But this . . . this is . . . really nice.”

“You’ve never had a birthday cake with your name on it?” Giselle couldn’t keep the incredulousness out of her voice.

“Surfing bros aren’t really the type.”

“Your mom?”

“Ronny’s mom might have once.” He frowned, as if he were trying to remember. He threw her a little smile, seemingly wanting to console her, but he couldn’t keep his gaze off the homemade confection.

“I put the sprinkles on!” Coco bounded up beside him. “See? I put a lot right by your name, because Mommy always lets us eat that piece—the piece with our name, that’s what we always do—and then you get a
lot
of sprinkles.” Her eyes widened. “You like sprinkles?”

“I love sprinkles, Coco. Thank you.”

“See, I put
those
by your name.” Coco pointed dangerously near the frosting.

“Coco,” Giselle warned. “I know you’re trying to get some on your finger.”

Coco giggled and leaned in toward Fin’s arm.

He smiled, still staring. Giselle thought she saw his eyes dampen, but he looked away before she could tell. He turned toward the elaborate telescope that stood in the center of the room.

“Do you know what this is, Coco?” he asked gruffly, rubbing the side of his nose.

“A . . .” Coco put her finger to her lips, as if thinking. “A tever-scope?” She knew it wasn’t quite right.

“Telescope. Good! Do you want to look through it? This is the best time—while the sun is low in the sky. But don’t look at the sun, just the reflection in the water.”

He hauled a dining chair toward it, and helped Coco balance on the chair as he adjusted the viewfinder to her height.

Giselle covered the cake and put it away, trying not to dwell on this latest fact of Fin’s isolation. Although his life seemed glamorous and exciting, she could see how he’d missed out on some of the warmer parts, the parts that made you feel part of a family.

She listened distractedly as he instructed Coco to focus on a point on the horizon, and how sometimes you could see dolphins.

“You see
dolphins
?” Coco gasped.

“Almost every day,” he said.

Giselle wandered toward them, crossing her arms and leaning against the dining table, watching the two of them look excitedly for pods. The setting sun threw its rays through the windows, bathing her baby and Fin in shades of copper. It was fun to see Fin acting almost like a child himself, giddy at each discovery. As they took turns looking at sailboats, ships, and surfers, it was as if they’d forgotten she was there.

“I see them!” Coco finally squealed. “Dolphins!”

He showed Coco how to keep them in the viewfinder without holding on to the telescope, then stepped back and crossed his arms, smiling as if he’d just presented the ocean to her as a gift. After a few moments, he threw Giselle a look over his shoulder, then backed toward her, leaving Coco to her dolphins.

He scooted Giselle back into the kitchen.

“How did it go today?” he whispered.

“With Roy?”

He nodded.

“He wasn’t there.”

“Good.”

A liquid heat ran through her, to all her extremities, as he stared down at her. She wanted nothing more than to melt into that baritone voice of his right now, let his hands slip around her, let him stroke her, let him take her against the glass like he’d done last night. . . . But they were following some strange set of rules she didn’t understand now. Instead, he stood too close, staring at her intently through a lock of hair falling down his forehead, but hooked his thumbs on his pockets.

“Did you two have dinner yet?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Already?”

Giselle smiled. “She’s a child. She eats at six.”

“Oh . . . yeah.” He glanced over his shoulder and peered at Coco as if she were a strange zoo animal. “Does she like dessert? I bought stuff for s’mores.”

“Oh, Fin, that was sweet. You didn’t have to—”

“And I borrowed a fire pit. Outside.” He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “I didn’t know what to get her to drink, though. Does she drink milk? Or I could—”

“Fin.”
Without thinking, she rested her hand on his arm to stop him. He stared at it until she removed it quickly.

“She’ll be fine,” she uttered quickly, stepping away. “Do you need to eat? You can go ahead. Don’t let us interrupt your dinner.”

“I can eat later.”

“We won’t stay long. I just wanted to bring you the cake.”

“No, stay.”

An awkward silence fell as he stared at her intently.

“I’m not sure what to do, though,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

He glanced at Coco, who was holding Ninja Kitty up to see the dolphins.

“Am I allowed to touch you?” he whispered.

Her body responded before her brain. Tingles shot straight through her arms, her legs, at the memory of what exactly that meant, and—like her life flashing before her eyes—a series of vignettes floated behind her eyelids of Fin’s naked body in the sheets last night. She bit her lip against the betrayal of her own body. A quick glance around Fin’s shoulder at Coco served as a needed bucket of cold water.

“I don’t think so,” she choked out on a whisper. “But I don’t know. I’ve never done this before. You’re the one who knows the rules. What would Veronica do?”

He frowned. “Veronica?”

“I’m always thinking of what Veronica would do—what are your rules with her?”

His frown darkened. “This has nothing to do with Veronica.”

“I’m just saying I know there are rules to this kind of thing—you said so yourself—and Rabbit mentioned you have some kind of arrangement with Veronica, so I thought maybe you two had . . .”

Fin ran his hand down his face and seemed to reset his jaw. “Giselle, this isn’t even the same—”

“Mommy? Come see!” Coco called.

Giselle whipped her head toward Coco, snapped back into reality. The bucket of water emptied: She was here with her little girl. She did not have a relationship with Fin. They had had a one-night stand. It was over. End of bucket.

With a brief apologetic glance at Fin, who was staring at the kitchen floor, Giselle slid out of the kitchen to see the dolphins.

 • • • 

Fin lit the tiki torches and got to work on the fire pit. After rummaging through his coat closet, he came back with three wire coat hangers, which he twisted into sticks with handles. Giselle watched his forearm muscles dance under his skin.

“Giselle? You okay?”

“Yes. Yes. Fine.” She snatched the wire hanger he was holding out and tried to focus on what he was instructing them to do.

“You can do two at a time,” he told Coco, stringing a second marshmallow on her hanger and handing it over. “Okay, I’ve got one: Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?” Coco dipped her head dramatically.

“Who.”

“Who who?”

“Is there an owl in here?”

Coco collapsed into a fit of giggles, and Fin seemed as if he couldn’t keep from laughing from her delight. He ran through “Orange you going to open the door,” “Lettuce in,” and “Water you doing here” while they dipped their marshmallows into the flames and blew out any mini fires. By the time they got to “Turnip the volume,” he told Coco he was going to get something and asked her to hold his hanger until he emerged from his bedroom with a small wooden game, along with her Boo Boo Buddy.

“I owe you this, little grommet.” He traded her the hanger for the Boo Boo Buddy, taking his seat back near the fire pit.

“How did you get it?” she asked.

“Your mom let me borrow it. When I hurt my nose.” He motioned toward the cut that had mostly healed.

Coco laid her hanger on the paper plate, the way Fin had, then stepped up closer and leaned against his knee for a better look at his nose. He looked briefly startled by her nearness, then simply stared at her, a wave of compassion sweeping across his face. The light of the flickering shadows danced across their matching old souls’ eyes.

Coco touched the light line shimmering across the bridge of his nose with her forefinger.

“Mommy healed it. It looks good now.” She leaned back to give him another few inches of breathing space.

He seemed to still until she’d moved, staring at her as if she were something he’d lost and then found again. He frowned as the waves crashed behind them, then rubbed his face. “Let’s play this game,” he said.

Giselle looked away. It was almost painful to see how easily Fin was moved by simple acts of connection. She wondered whether all his years alone made him further isolate himself, or if he simply isolated himself because it was all he knew.

“You’re going to have some cake, right, Fin?” Coco asked.

“Will your mom let you have s’mores
and
birthday cake?” The smile returned to his face as they both looked at Giselle.

“Just a
small
piece,” she acquiesced.

He and Coco raised their eyebrows at each other in joy and surprise.

As their plates sat empty on the patio concrete, and the fire became just a glowing ember, Giselle ran her fingers along Coco’s sleeping profile and snuck glances at Fin’s lazy smile. She thought about how she could spend every evening like this, lounging with a man who could surf near sharks, swim against tides, haul a drowning woman out of a midnight riptide with one arm, but whose eyes could soften at Coco’s tales of Christmas mornings, or turn moist at the simple gesture of two females singing “Happy Birthday” off-key. He wanted to know all about Coco’s class, what the “Teddy Bear Journal” was, and all about her and Coco’s Friday night ritual of fish sticks and swimming lessons.

She sighed. Fin would’ve made a perfect husband. Too bad he wasn’t interested. Too bad he lived a life that took him around the world most of the year, keeping him from claiming a real home. Too bad he chose a life of isolation.

She shifted, plates in hand. She needed to leave. Staying here a minute longer was just reminding her of what she couldn’t have. As she stood, Fin looked panicked. He grabbed her hand and stared at her, as if memorizing her face. With a brief glance at Coco, he nodded Giselle into the kitchen, following behind her with the mugs and mismatched forks.

In the darkened kitchen, he took the cake knife out of her hand, then backed her against the wall and covered her mouth with his, kissing her until her knees were going to buckle.

“I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he said huskily. “Damn, Giselle, I don’t know what the rules are to this.”

She gripped his biceps—they were helping to hold her up—as he made his way down her neck and toward her breasts. She’d thought she would escape this evening, her heart cracked a bit at what she couldn’t have but at least in one piece. But his kisses were shattering her. He managed to make her feel sexy and seductive, but cherished, upon a pedestal, all at once. And this was exactly what she needed. But couldn’t have . . .

Except . . .

Maybe, just once more . . .

She threw herself into his arms, knocking him back against the refrigerator, and kissed him with every ounce of energy she had in her body. She couldn’t get close enough—she wanted to be in him, absorbed by him, wrapped into the center of his attention and care and passion. . . .

“Damn, Giselle,” he breathed, but he met her, pulse for pulse, and flipped her around so she was against the narrow kitchen wall and he had better access to her breasts, her hips, her thighs. She knocked over a board that was hanging on the wall, and it crashed to the floor as he nudged her legs apart, breathing heavily into her cleavage.

“Do you want to stay?” he asked, his lips against her left breast, where he was fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. “We can set her up in the guest room.”

“Mommy?”

They froze.

Fin moved first, meeting Giselle’s eyes with something of an apology in them, then made a brief attempt to straighten her blouse as he blocked Coco from any dishevelment.