Summer's Temptation (8 page)

“How?” I know it’s none of my business, but if he has a tattoo memorializing the date for all to see, he has to expect questions.

He watches me for a second, head cocked as though deciding how much to divulge. “Car wreck.” He drops his focus to making a perfect dome shape out of the top of the mound.

It’s my turn to swallow hard. “How old were you?”

He sweeps his palms over the sculpture. “Sixteen.”

I swallow again, and it’s grainy and bitter, as if I gulped a mouthful of the sand in my hand. “Sheesh. That completely blows.”

Surprisingly, his lips tip up. His smile is so beautiful, it thumps me right in the gut. Before I know it, he’s chuckling, his eyes sparkling like usual. “You’re so eloquent.”

“I’ve been told that a lot.”

“I bet.” He cuts his finger through the middle of the mound, forming an irregular circle, and swipes away sand to create small trenches.

While he’s distracted, I grasp for a less depressing question that’s not too out of left field. “What was your favorite game to play with your brother growing up?” Okay, that was totally out of the ballpark, but his smile grows brighter. I love the way his eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Dissect the dead frog.”

“Eww! That’s disgusting.” But it totally fits Brian since he’s a budding doctor.

His hands move quickly through the sand, forming a tangle of trenches that make no sense to me. He pauses to go to the lake and bring back water cupped in his hands. He sprinkles it over his creation. While I watch him carve away damp sand, he launches into a story about the time his brother left a dead toad under Tyler’s mattress as a joke. It stunk up his whole bedroom. I learn about his childhood, and I tell him about the time I broke my arm climbing the neighbor’s fence to retrieve my sister’s Barbie. Never mind that she’d been the one to toss the doll over.

We take a break to beach the jet ski and grab some bottles of water from the campground vending machine. It’s not until we head back to shore, and our little patch of sand, that I see what he’s made from the mound. When I sat next to the sand sculpture, it just looked like a rolling landscape of valleys and hills, but standing directly over it, I see the unfurling petals of a rose.

“It’s beautiful.” Is there anything this man can’t turn into a work of art?

He smiles, and if I didn’t know how deep Tyler’s cockiness runs, I’d say he’s a little shy. “A rose for a rose.” He runs his hand down my arm lightly.

Now I’m suddenly shy too. I drop my gaze and dig my toe in the sand next to the flower. I have no idea how to respond. The comment was almost romantic, and romance isn’t something Tyler does. He nudges my arm playfully, probably trying to lighten the moment, and I peer up at him. The sun glints off his eyes, making them so blue, they shine like aquamarines.

His smile shifts to ornery. “I can sculpt some hooters if you’d prefer that. It’s easy to make realistic nipples out of sand.”

I shake my head. Leave it to Tyler to turn a sweet gesture into something crude. But I’m oddly relieved. Thinking Tyler has a soft side doesn’t fit with his image. “I take it you’ve sculpted a lot of boobs?” I sit next to the rose and take a sip of water.

He nods, his expression totally serious as he sits beside me. “Some call me an expert at boob sculpting.”

I’m about to teasingly punch him in the arm when my stomach growls too loudly to ignore.

Tyler pokes my belly button. “Someone needs to get fed.”

He has so thoroughly distracted me with childhood stories, I haven’t noticed how hollow my stomach feels. “I’m starving. What time is it?”

I search the horizon for Dylan or Josh’s boats. Only a small catamaran glides across the lake, the sun hanging low behind it.

His brow furrows as he scans the sky then the lake. “Shit.”

My stomach growls again. “Based on the sun, I think it’s around seven.”

He curses again and stands, dusting sand off his behind. “Did you drive?”

I nod, and he seems to relax. “But my keys are in my bag on the boat.”

“Shit.” He holds his hand out to me. “They’ve probably left by now.” He pulls me to my feet.

“Liz won’t leave me,” I say to calm him. “But she
will
be pissed. Come on.”

Ten minutes later, we pull up to the dock. I jump off the jet ski and hurry toward Liz. She’s waiting by my car, eating a granola bar.

“’Bout time,” she growls through a mouthful of oats. “I’m starving.”

“Sorry.” I point over my shoulder at the pier. “Tyler’s putting away the jet ski, then we can leave.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What happened to you two?”

“We got to talking and lost track of time.”

“For over three hours?” She eats the last bite of granola and stuffs the wrapper in my beach bag.

I take the bag from her and dig for a snack. “I said I was sorry.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened out there?” She seems to have forgotten her annoyance because her eyes have brightened as though she expects a scandalous story.

I grab a granola bar and unwrap it. “Well, Liz, we stripped each other naked and made hot monkey love on the jet ski. While we were getting it on, a boat of male models came by, and I did them too. It was awesome! Have you ever had sex on a rocking boat? Totally worth being a whore for.”

Liz smacks my arm. “You’re such a bitch.”

“Nothing happened.” I take a bite of the bar.

“Did you want something to happen?”

I shake my head, but my denial is half-hearted at best. “He’s not my type. At all.” That’s the honest to God truth, but he’s still delicious to look at.

She needles my arm with her elbow. “You might be able to talk him into running for state legislature. I doubt he’d want to go any further than that, but he’d probably win based on looks alone. Maybe the cocky smile would do it.”

I can’t believe what I’m about to say, but I’ve been thinking about it ever since Tyler called me innocent. “I’m considering what you said at the beach earlier.” I take another bite and chew slowly.

Her brow scrunches and she worries her bottom lip, a typical Liz thinking pose. “About how I used to hate girls with big tits?”

“You said that on the pier, not the beach. I’m talking about the other thing we discussed.”

Her brow is still furrowed, then she must finally remember. Her eyes widen and light up at the same time. “No! You’re shittin’ me!”

“Shhhh!” I peer behind me to make sure Tyler isn’t in earshot. Besides a father-son duo loading fishing gear, no one’s around.

“Are you serious?” Liz asks.

I shrug as if it’s no big deal even though just thinking about a fuck buddy is monumental. “Maybe.”

She leans against the car, folding her arms over her chest. “What made you change your mind?”

What I won’t tell her is that I hate my vibrator. It’s impersonal like she said, and the orgasms it wrenched from my body sucked compared to the ones I’d had with my high-school boyfriend and Wyatt. Those had been earth-shattering mega quakes. The ones with my vibrator had been aftershocks, barely registering on the Richter scale. I also crave the touch of warm flesh, feeling kisses and hearing moans. I miss the slapping of bodies and driving toward the peak. The bottom line is my body craves sex. Since I’m not getting into a relationship anytime soon and relationships define sex for me, I’m scared I’ll never feel a man’s body against mine again unless I learn to redefine my sex life.

“I’m not as ready to give up men as I thought,” I answer. “But I don’t want a boyfriend, and I’m not willing to sleep with multiple guys. If I pick one guy and take him to bed whenever I want, I’m compromising. Finding the middle ground. Getting my cake and eating it too.”

She cringes, leaning her chest against the car and folding her arms onto the roof. “You make it sound so clinical.”

“It has to be. If it’s not clinical, it’s ripe for emotions, and I’m not going there.”

I won’t tell her Mr. Westbrook plays a part in my decision too. He’s enticing enough to tempt me into giving love another shot, and I’m so determined to protect my heart, I’m willing to play all angles.

Liz raps her short fingernails on top of my car. “I’m okay with you having a fuck buddy, Cassie. I think that’s a good idea, but I’m not sure Tyler’s the right man.”

“You’re the one who said he’s perfect fuck buddy material.”

She casts me a nervous look, and her fingernails tap faster. “You’ve really thought this through?”

I nod, finishing off the last of my granola bar. “I also don’t have to worry about him getting a girlfriend and ending our arrangement, since he doesn’t do relationships at all.”

“You were with him for almost four hours today.” The crease between her eyebrows deepens. “Did you have any idea how much time had passed?”

Seemed like twenty minutes to me. “Not really.”

“Caleb was the last guy who made me forget the time.”

We both groan. Caleb, a short little guy with more game than Adam Levine, broke poor Liz’s heart. He’d been a player just like Tyler, but a dishonest one. Tyler’s upfront with his women, but Caleb had claimed to love Liz and went so far as to tell her he’d stop with the womanizing.

The next month, she’d found him making out with a Phi Beta Nu. He promised he’d never do it again. The next week, she found him in a bar bathroom with a Delta Theta Alpha. He promised never again; he loved her too much to risk losing her. The next day, she heard rumors he’d been making the same promises to another girl in
our
sorority, and Liz finally came to her senses. Liz had bought into the saying, “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” Only, he’d fooled her three times before she let him go.

“Point taken,” I say, “but Tyler’s totally not my type. If by some crazy act of God, pigs start flying, the clouds part and baby Jesus descends to earth, and I get feelings for Tyler, I’ll end it. I promise.”

Tyler rounds the corner of a boat bay and heads toward us. He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, Liz.”

“Whatever,” Liz says, her annoyance back. “We’re having a cookout at your house. At least the food should be ready by the time we get there.”

I snag a granola bar for Tyler and hand it to him, then we all hop into my car. The lake is fifteen minutes from Lakewater proper. After only five minutes on the road, soft snoring drifts from the back seat to the front. I peer in the rearview mirror and see Tyler slumped over, head resting against the door. He’s put on a baby blue T-shirt with dark blue edging, and his golden skin is luminous against the soft fabric.

Liz stares at him, nibbling her lip, then turns toward me. “If you two have good chemistry, like Caleb and I did, it’s not always easy to keep your emotions in check.”

“I’m not getting hurt again,” I whisper back. “Self-preservation is the strongest thing I have going for me right now.”

Her bottom lip turns white where she’s gnawing on it. “I hate Wyatt for doing this to you.”

“Me too. Me too.”

We’re quiet for a few minutes, miles of road passing beneath our tires. I’m lost in my thoughts, she in hers. The beautiful boy in the back sleeps softly, and I can’t seem to keep from peering in the rearview mirror to watch the way his hair falls across his temple.

The farther from the lake we drive, the more my resolve solidifies. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to ask him.”

“Sleep on it.”

I nod, but I’ve made up my mind. The only question is will he be interested?

Chapter 8

P
hilosopher Dan’s leaning against his lamppost, hands tucked beneath his armpits. He smiles when he sees me and pushes off the pole. “You bring my mustard, pretty girl?”

I hold out a brown paper sack with his breakfast. “In the bag.”

He takes the sack, peers inside, and smiles wider. I’m sure he’s eyeing the two yellow packets at the bottom of the bag. “Good job, pretty girl.” He looks back up, and his smile falters. He regards me more seriously than usual. “Something’s on your mind.”

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Class is on my mind. That’s all.”

His eyes narrow. “Nay, that ain’t it.”

I shift uncomfortably. I guess I have been a little uneasy since deciding to ask Tyler to be my fuck buddy. The idea of having causal sex is ludicrous, but it’s been revolving around my head all morning. I’m curious what a loveless affair would be like. Probably hot. And disastrous.

He taps his temple. “You keep thinking real hard, you figure out what to do before the week’s over.”

I hope I’m not
that
transparent. “It’s nothing, really.”

He smiles. “Big changes don’t come from nothing.”

Big changes?
There are no big changes on my horizon. I open my mouth to protest, but there’s no point in arguing with a crazy man. I shrug and wave good-bye. As I head toward class, he chuckles as though he knows something I don’t. I’m halfway up the steps when the laughing stops.

He says, “I don’t like bananas, pretty girl. Where’s my apple?”

I pivot toward him. “They were out. Do you like oranges?”

He nods. “Sure do.”

“I’ll bring you an orange the next time they run out of apples.”

He tosses the banana toward me, and I catch it. “Keep it. I won’t eat it.”

I salute him with the fruit and hurry inside. The class is half-f when I walk in, and Mr. Westbrook is standing at the podium, looking incredibly hot as always.

“Anyone want a banana?” I ask, directing my question to the boys in the front row.

They all shake their heads, but Mr. Westbrook holds out his hand. “Missed breakfast.”

I throw the banana at him. “All yours.”

He snatches it out of the air. “Thank you, Miss Faye.”

“No problem.”

He smiles at me, and his green eyes shine more vibrantly than usual against his emerald sweater vest. “May I ask why you’re bringing unwanted fruit to class?”

“Philosopher Dan doesn’t like bananas,” I say as I stroll to my seat.

“I’m not really sure that answers my question.”

“I usually bring him a sandwich and an apple, but they were out of apples at the bakery.” I settle into my chair and drop my book bag on the floor. “So he got a banana he didn’t want.”

“Ah, I understand now.” He unpeels the banana, staring at me while he does it.

I think he’s going to say something else, but he takes a bite instead. I direct my attention to finding my notes from the last class, and a few seconds later, Freddy saunters in.

Before he sits, he leans down to whisper, “Why is Mr. Westbrook staring at you?”

I glance up from my notes. Mr. Westbrook is watching me while he takes another bite of banana. He blinks rapidly when our eyes meet and averts his gaze to his laptop. One-handed, he begins to type.

“I gave him a banana?” I say, not sure why his eyes are on me.

I don’t have time to ponder it though, because Mr. Westbrook calls class to order and breaks us into pairs to work on a team assignment. Toward the end of class, he walks through the rows of desks, handing back our homework from last week. I hold my hand up as he passes by. When he slips my paper between my fingers, his hand accidentally grazes mine. At least, I think it’s an accident because he pulls back when I’ve securely clutched the paper. I peer up at him, brushing my bangs from my eyes.

He leans down, pinning me with a gaze that makes my stomach do a little flip-flop. “See me after class, Miss Faye.”

As he walks away, Freddy whispers, “Ooooh, girl, you’re in trouble.”

After I check to make sure I got a decent grade—an A—I slap his arm with it. He shuts up with an irritating smirk. While waiting for class to end, my stomach tumbles around, making me a little sick. What if I am in trouble? That’s highly unlikely, but I heard about a guy in tech writing a few years ago who got expelled for plagiarizing. Turned out, he’d just cited an article incorrectly, but he lost a semester while it was all sorted out.

I glance at the clock, wondering what Mr. Westbrook wants with me. He continues handing back papers, gliding from desk to desk. The clock hits noon, and everyone darts for the door.

Freddy pats my back. “Good luck.” He strolls out with the rest of the class.

I stay seated while Mr. Westbrook grabs a manila file. When the last person leaves, he sits at Freddy’s desk. The scent of sandalwood and mint drifts the mere foot between us, and I draw in a deeper breath though my nose and feel my nerves ease. If I had to conjure the smell of heaven, his scent would be darn close.

He slips off his glasses, sets them on the edge of the desk, and smiles, making my heart melt a little. “I need your signature, Miss Faye.”

“Signature?” I sit up straighter.

He pulls out a piece of paper from the file. “For permission to use your economic forecasting graph in the book I’m writing.”

I blow out a long, relieved breath. “Oh, right. The book.”

“I finished the outline last week.” His smile widens as he passes the paper to me. “Did you think you were in trouble?”

“No.” I lick my lips nervously. “Well… maybe.” I shrug. “I don’t know.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Have you done something I need to know about?”

My shoulders snap tight. “Of course not!”

He chuckles, humor filling his eyes. “Relax. I’m only teasing.”

I’m anything but relaxed. Between the hotness of the man and his query into my ethics, I’m strung as tight as a bow poised to shoot an arrow. With a stiff hand, I sign the paper and slide it back to him.

He slips his hand over the paper, pauses with his fingers touching mine, and leans in. “At the end of the semester, I’ll take you to dinner as a thank you.”

His touch sends a thrill shooting up my arm, and for a long moment, I’m unable to do anything but stare at him, my lips slightly parted. When he cocks his head to the side, waiting for my answer, I come to my senses and jerk my fingers away from his as if I’ve been burned. Instantly, blood pools beneath his fair cheeks. I don’t know if he’s embarrassed because he wasn’t aware we were touching or if he thinks I’m repulsed by him. Either way, my heart hammers, and my fight or flight response kicks in.

“That’s not necessary,” I say, gathering my book and papers in a panic. I’m afraid if I don’t get out of here, I’ll say yes. “I’m just flattered you thought something I did was useful to you.” I’m surprised by my cool and collected tone, because my heart has turned into a hummingbird.

He helps gather my notes and holds them out to me. “I want to take you out. You’ve been a tremendous help.”

I take the papers, careful not to let our fingers touch again, and stuff them in my bag. I’m sure he’s only asking me to dinner as a polite gesture for helping with his book, and I’m reading way too much into the invitation. He’s a teacher. He’s not allowed to have inappropriate relations with a student. What worries me is how much I want it to be more than politeness.

“Are you allowed to take students to dinner?”

“If it’s done for professional reasons, yes.”

Just say no!
“Um… okay.” Damn his irresistibleness.

The corner of his mouth turns up in a Tyler-esque smug smile. “Wonderful. I’ll see you in class on Monday.”

“Of course.” I scurry to gather my things and nearly tip the desk over in my haste to leave. He must think I’m a lunatic, but that doesn’t stop me from bolting toward the door. “I’m going to be late for my job.” I hope my words will explain my odd behavior. If I can’t survive five minutes alone in class with him, how will I make it through an entire dinner? Thank God I have a month to weasel my way out of it.

Late Friday evening, after the sun has set, I lie in my backyard gazing up at the darkened sky. The city lights make it too bright to see much more than the Big Dipper and Orion’s belt, but staring at the dim constellations is comforting just the same.

I have a special spot at Pete Lake where I used to go every Sunday to stargaze, weather permitting, but it holds too many memories of Wyatt. We always went there together, and I’m afraid if I revisit it, I’ll end up in tears. So for now, it’s best if I stay away. My telescope will remain tucked in its case all summer, and that makes me ache. I feel as though another piece of my heart has been taken by Wyatt, but I’m still too fragile to fight for it back.

I hear the back door open. I figure it’s probably Liz, but then I catch a whiff of Clinique’s Happy carried on the warm breeze.
Hannah.
I hadn’t known she was coming over. Her footfalls make crunching noises in the grass, and from my peripheral vision, I see her lie next to me.

“Liz told me you were out here.” She pauses then adds, “She also said you seemed especially melancholy today.”

“She used the word melancholy?”

“Well, not exactly. She said you were being a depressing bitch, but I thought that was a little harsh.”

I grimace at the truth behind Liz’s words. If I keep moping because of Wyatt, everyone’s going to get tired of me, and I’ll be out on my ass without a friend who cares.

“What’s wrong?” Hannah’s voice is full of real concern, not the polite kind I’ve heard so much of lately. She finds my hand and squeezes. At least one person isn’t annoyed by my sulking yet.

I sigh as I search for the Little Dipper. “I miss my stars.”

We’re silent for a moment, listening to the crickets chirp.

She asks, “How long since you’ve been to the lake with your telescope?”

“Wyatt and I went in April.”

A few weeks later, he dumped me. Hannah’s never visited my spot—trekking through the forest isn’t her thing—but she knew I looked forward to my visits each week. They recharge me in a way nothing else can.

She sits up and takes both my hands. As she stands, she pulls me up with her. “Follow me.”

Hannah’s never pushy, so when she asks me to do something, I know it’s important. I trail on her heels into the house. We meander into my room, and I know exactly what she’s up to when she opens my closet and pulls out my telescope case.

Clutching the black box, she turns toward me. “It’s time to take back the night.”

“Isn’t that a song?”

“Yes, Justin Timberlake sings your new theme song. Now grab some flashlights and come on.”

I shake my head. “I’m not ready.” Seven weeks isn’t long enough. Hell, I’m not sure a year will be long enough to exorcise the demons of Wyatt.

Hannah sets the telescope on the floor, kneels, and fishes around the bottom of my closet. “You’re never going to be ready, Cassie, so you might as well go tonight, with me.” She comes up with baseball hat that has an LED light strapped to the brim. She frowns at the contraption. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Wyatt had bought the light for me after the second time I’d dropped our flashlight and busted the bulb. Hiking through the woods in the middle of the night without a light is a bitch. “It’s functional.”

She rolls her eyes while handing the hat to me. “And incredibly dorky.”

I click on the light. “Still works.”

“What else do we need?” she asks, standing and scanning my room.

Am I really considering doing this? I should. My grandfather bought the telescope for me two years before he died. He instilled my passion for astronomy in me, and he’d be so sad to know I’d given it up because of a no-good boy.

“We need water,” I say. Trekking through the thick forest is thirsty business. “Are you sure you want to hike in the dark? There might be spiders.”

She shudders but gives me a convincing smile. “Absolutely.”

If Hannah’s willing to brave spiders for me, something she’s deathly afraid of, I can brave memories of Wyatt. Right? She might not offer to come again, and having a friend with me might make this bearable. If I can regain my hobby, confronting my demons will be worth it.

Mind made up, I say, “Okay. Let’s do this.” I glance around the room, trying to remember where I put all my stuff. “We’ll also need a snakebite kit and a walking stick to scare away any vermin on our path. Oh, and bug spray.”

Hannah’s convincing smile falls away, and she wraps her arms around herself. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind. Let’s just lie in the backyard. There’s less chance of dying out there.”

I stroll to my dresser, open the top drawer, and pull out the snakebite kit. “No, I think you’re right. I need to get this over with. Grab the walking stick in the left side of the closet.” I can’t let Wyatt take everything from me. The time has come to make my grandfather proud by burying old ghosts and getting on with my life. “Let’s take back the night.”
Half an hour later, we’re hiking through the forest to the light of my nifty hat-LED. Behind me, Hannah wheezes and desperately tries to keep up. Twice I’ve matched my gait to hers, but she keeps falling behind. Either I’m speeding up, or she’s slowing down.