Summer's Temptation (6 page)

Chapter 6

I
’m in the parking lot of Lakewater Marina, leaning against my car and waiting for Dylan to finish applying sunscreen to Hannah’s back. I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but they’re only a few feet to my left, so it’s hard to avoid overhearing.

“You know you’re the prettiest girl at Vandeveer, right?” Dylan asks Hannah while rubbing lotion onto her shoulders.

Her lips tip up at the corners as she raises her hair so he can get at her neck. “You really think so?”

She’s not stupid. She knows that other girls are better looking than her, but she wants to be the prettiest to Dylan. I understand. I wanted to be the prettiest to Wyatt too.

Dylan leans in and whispers so low I can’t hear what he says, but his words make Hannah giggle. She spins around, wraps her arms around Dylan’s neck, and kisses him, long and soft. Just watching them makes me blush, so I pivot and grab my beach bag from the backseat of my car.

After a rocky couple of days, things seem back to normal between them. Hannah forgave him for not telling her he’d had a fuck buddy, but she’d been mopey for a few days, wondering if Dylan was keeping other secrets. He’d finally convinced her his fuck buddy wasn’t a secret; he’d just forgotten about the girl.

“You coming to the beach with us?” I ask Hannah as soon as she stops sucking face.

She shakes her head, her lips a little swollen. “I’m going to help the boys with the boats.”

I nod, and Liz and I stroll toward the manmade beach next to Barnacle Bob’s Boat Storage and Pier. Hannah and the boys leave to gas up the boats and the jet skis. During the summer, Hannah practically lives at Pete Lake with Dylan. His dad is an executive at Mercruiser, and the company keeps a half dozen watercraft at the lake. They want as many hours on the boat motors as possible to help detect reliability issues. Enter Dylan and his friends,
reliability-testing experts
as Hannah likes to call them. They’re relentless in their pursuit of finding defects by taxing boat motors to their limits. That usually involves long days of wakeboarding and jet skiing.

I’ve only joined Hannah and Dylan once, during the summer last year when I demanded a weekend break from waiting tables. Wyatt and I had driven down from Dallas and enjoyed a day on the lake with them. The outing had been small. Intimate. Perfect. Today’s outing is going to be a shindig, with lots of girls I doubt I’ll know and Josh’s buddies. Plus Liz, Hannah, Dylan, Tyler, and probably a few of Tyler’s friends. I cringe at the thought of so many people seeing me in a bikini.

Ever since ninth grade when my breasts grew three cup sizes, I’ve hated swimsuits. I know millions of women fork over
beaucoups
bucks for big boobs, and afterward they flaunt them in string bikinis with little triangles to cover their nipples. I’m here to say real boobs cannot be supported by bits of fabric the size of a Starburst wrapper. They need industrial strength underwire and fabric as thick as drapes to keep them in place. I can handle all that. What I can’t handle is the way boys stare, eyes wide, tongues hanging from their mouths like starving puppies eying a meaty bone.

When I wore a bikini after the boob explosion in ninth grade, I learned that when presented with a larger-than-normal rack, boys go brain-dead. I was no longer a girl; I was boobs with a girl attached. Guys no longer cared if I was smart, had pretty eyes, or could speak in complete sentences. All they wanted was to see them, touch them, and taste them. Boobs became my identity. I was so upset by the way boys treated me that I stopped wearing swimsuits altogether.

My mom sat me down and told me to be proud of what God had given me and to stop letting body consciousness dictate my life. Now I refuse to be influenced by the orbs attached to my chest and I go to the pool or lake whenever I please, but I still hate the way guys won’t look me in the eye because they’re too busy staring at my ta-tas.

Liz stops a few yards from the water’s edge and drops her beach bag. Without hesitation, she tugs her shirt over her head, revealing perky lemon-sized breasts. I pause with my hands on the hem of my T-shirt, the apprehension an old habit. Swearing off men is turning out to be liberating in some ways. If a guy hits on me today, I no longer have to worry about his motivation. I remove my shirt and push it into the beach bag at my feet.

Liz is already sprawled on her towel and soaking up rays. I join her after slipping off my shorts and flip-flops. My purple bikini has a turquoise paisley print. The top covers more than most swimsuits, but the underwire pushes my breasts up, causing lots of cleavage. We lay there for ten minutes, and I’m half asleep when Liz startles me.

“I think Tyler’s your man,” she says.

“My man for what?”

“He’s fuck buddy material,” she says in a sun-drowsy voice.

I groan, bringing my hands to my face. “Not this again.”

“I’m serious, Cassie. Think about it. He’s not your type at all. I see no presidential elections in his future.”

I roll my eyes, but she’s right. Someday in the far, far future, if I ever decide to put myself on the market again, I’ll probably marry a guy who needs a scandal-free wife since he’s running for the House of Representatives.

“He doesn’t fuck and tell either,” she adds.

I roll on my side so I can see if the sun has scrambled her brain. “He’s not exactly private about it. Just last week I saw him hook up with a girl.”

“Where?”

“At his house. He led her into his room, and thirty minutes later, she walked out bowlegged.”

“That was at a party,” she says as if a get-together is a valid reason to publicize his liaisons.

“So?”

“Have you ever heard him carrying on about the girls he’s sacked?”

I roll my eyes. “He wouldn’t brag to us. It would sort of defeat the purpose of being a player if he boasted to the herd he’s playing with. We’d all get skittish.”

“I know. That’s why I asked Hannah to get the dirt from Dylan. According to him, Tyler never dishes about his ladies. Don’t fuck him at a party, and no one will ever know what you’re up to. ”

“Oh, God, Liz.” The woman has everything figured out, and I haven’t even agreed to take on a fuck buddy. “You’re going a little too far.”

“I have my motives.”

I should have known. “Like?”

One side of her mouth quirks up in an ornery grin. “I want to know if he’s as good a fuck as they say.”

“Then why don’t you take him for a spin?”

Her face screws up with disgust. “We’re neighbors. That could get awkward.”

“But you’re willing to sacrifice me?” I poke a finger between two of her ribs and wiggle it.

She squeals and bats my hand away. “Stop it!”

“You stop trying to pawn me off on some random guy.”

“Oh, come on. Tyler’s not random, and he’d be convenient. He could sneak over whenever you needed a refill. Then you could tell me all about it.” She lowers her sunglasses, and the soberness of her gaze says that she’s serious. “He’s got it all, Cassie. He’s hot, he’s next door, he’s not relationship material, and he’d be discreet about your fuck buddy status.”

I shake my head. “Not gonna happen.”

“Don’t shit on my idea so fast. Think about it. What would you do if Mr. Hot-As-Hell Westbrook asked you on a date?”

“I’d so say no?” Could I sound any more wishy-washy?

“Stop playing coy. We both know you’d turn into a whore for that man.”

I lower my gaze to the beach towel and pick at a thread. “If you saw Mr. Westbrook, you’d know there’s no way on God’s green earth he’d be interested in me.”

She sits up, legs crossed. “I hate Wyatt—I’d love to yank his balls off and braid them—but he’s probably one of the best looking guys on campus. You’re like a homing beacon for hot men. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Westbrook asks you out at the end of summer session.”

My stomach twists when I think of the way he blushed when I nibbled on my lip. What if she’s right? How would I react if he asked me out? If the man’s interested in me as more than a student, I’d probably run gleefully into his arms.

“A fuck buddy, huh?” I say, frowning.

She smiles smugly. “The perfect defense against hot, smart dudes with English accents.”

She opens her mouth to speak again, but the sound of revving motors carries across the water, distracting her. Determined to enjoy my day at the lake without a cloud hanging over my head, I push aside all thoughts of Mr. Westbrook and fuck buddies.

Two motorboats with wakeboard bars pull up to the boat dock. Tyler and another guy I don’t know show up on jet skis and close in on the pier. Liz and I take this as our cue to get up and get on board before they leave us behind. We grab our stuff, load it into our beach bags, and head down the dock. Beefhead Josh ties off his boat and jumps onto the wooden planks. He strolls toward us, and as expected, his gaze goes straight to my chest. I’m positive from this day forward, he’ll never look me in the eyes again.

Liz elbows me in the ribs. “I used to hate girls with big tits. Then I met you, and I’m perfectly content with my B cup.” She tilts her head toward Josh. “How do you put up with that?”

I sigh deeply. “I’ve gotten used to it.” Though really, I haven’t.

Liz straightens. “Hey, Josh.”

His gaze stays locked on my cleavage, and Liz waves her hands, trying to get his attention.

He blinks a few times and seems to come out of his boob-induced trance. “You two are on my boat.”

I don’t care whose boat I’m on as long as there’s beer and snacks. He puts one hand on my back and the other on Liz’s to guide us toward the last boat where a couple of tattooed guys I don’t know are passing around Heinekens. The boys are huge, probably friends of Josh’s from the football team.

Liz hops on, but I stop by the edge of the pier, not ready to board yet. Tyler’s on the jet ski behind the boat, and I watch his eyes slide from my face down to my calves. His gaze travels back up, making my insides feel gooey like melted caramel. He doesn’t linger on any one place, and I’m a bit surprised. I could have an ass the size of a pontoon and most guys would never get far enough to notice, but Tyler seems to notice everything. I can’t help but wonder what he thinks of it all.

In a moment of brashness, I reciprocate the once-over, admiring the way his broad shoulders taper down to a trim waist and hips. The kind of hips that would slip perfectly between my thighs. I bet he could satisfy me in ways my vibrator would never be capable of. Heat races to my face, and I flick my eyes to his, hoping to God he can’t read my naughty thoughts. He smiles haughtily and winks.

Damn.
I stiffen, clutching my beach bag, but I try to play it off by rolling my eyes. In the distance, car doors slam and feminine giggles ring through the air. Tyler looks over my shoulder. Thank heaven for the distraction.

I peer behind me at four girls striding toward us in bikini tops and micro-shorts. I recognize one of the girls from freshman year English. Back then, Miranda had been a sweet Kansas girl with honey-blond hair and a smile made of sunshine. Sometime between freshman and sophomore year, she traded silk blouses and full skirts for skin-tight jeans and painted-on T-shirts. Her hair has gone from natural blond to platinum, and her makeup has thickened by a quarter-inch.

I turn to Tyler, wondering if Miranda will be the one who draws his eye away from me. She seems his type, with soft curves most girls would kill for. Sure enough, his gaze goes straight to her, and when he rakes his eyes over her body, he stops at her chest.

A stab of emotion, something akin to worry, pierces my gut. I don’t like the idea of Tyler touching her. She’d been so innocent a short time ago, much like I used to be. His heated gaze lingers on her breasts, never bothering to travel farther south. I know it’s ridiculous, but I feel slighted. He has no qualms objectifying her. Why not me?

Oh, God. I’m losing it.

“Hi, Cassie,” Miranda says.

I tear my gaze from Tyler and study her, noting her genuine smile. I’m positive the sweet Kansas girl is still in there. She’s just covered with a façade to attract male attention.

I smile. “Hi, Miranda. I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Her eyes light up. “I know. We have to catch up—”

“Hey, Miranda,” Tyler calls out, cutting her off.

She turns to him, and if the way she licks her lips is any indicator, she doesn’t mind his rudeness.

“Ever ride a jet ski before?” he asks.

She flutters her long lashes, and her lips curl up. “A couple of times, but it’s been a while.”

“Want a refresher course?”

She shrugs. “Sure.”

Before she steps toward Tyler, her eyes flicker to the beefy boys in Josh’s boat. Most girls would have been by Tyler’s side before he finished the invitation, but she’s taking her sweet time, sizing up the other guys. Tyler’s eyes sharpen as though she’s just presented a challenge. He’s by far the hottest guy in the bunch, but I think for a second, she has him worried. The girl’s got game.

“Speed it up, Cassie,” Josh says, holding out his hand.

Liz is already making herself comfortable between two muscled men. She smiles coyly from one to the next, and I can tell she’s deciding which guy is worthy of her attention. I take Josh’s hand and hop onto the boat while sparing a peek at Tyler. His grin widens as Miranda sashays his way.

Josh sits at the helm and pats the seat next to him. With all the other seats taken, I plop down. Eyes bore into my back, making the nape of my neck prickle. I turn, expecting Liz to wink at me; she’s fluffing one of the muscled guys’ short blond hair. Behind them, Miranda straddles Tyler’s jet ski and presses her body against the length of his back. He possessively places a hand on her knee, but his eyes lock on mine. I shudder under his intense stare. His motor kicks up, and he’s gone, leaving me with the unsettling epiphany that I’d like to feel his skin pressed against mine too.

I settle my attention back on Liz. She smiles at me then mouths the words, “Fuck buddy.” I shrug, but I think she might be on to something.

“Let’s go,” I tell Josh, not wanting my mind to go there right now. I’ll have plenty of time to think it through later.

He smiles at my chest. “I’m on it.”

The wind whips my hair into my face as we take off toward the other side of the lake.

Three hours later, we leave happy hour at Rockin’ John’s Boat Dock and Bar and head back to the boats. I gorged on hot wings and a Lone Star beer while being entertained by Josh winning a bet to drink a side of hot sauce. He ran to the bathroom three times while we were eating and he’s sweating like an Olympic sprinter, but he’s smiling because his buddies owe him a case of beer. Tyler spent the break at another table flirting with Miranda and her friends. Not that I paid much attention. Okay, maybe I peeked at him a little.