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

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.”

He pulls away. I feel my blood pressure rise, and my pulse quickens at the same time. I lunge forward, but Max, who is next to me grabs my arms to hold me back.

I struggle to get myself out of Max’s grasp. The girls are rushing towards me, and try to pry his hands off my arms.

“You son of a bitch. You made me look like a fool last night. I knew what you were up to and I am going to get your ass canned for it!”

The look on this brute’s face energizes my madness. He crosses his arms and is watching as I struggle to try to claw at his perfect face. He smirks. He’s smirking like he knows he got me, that he’s proud of what he did to me.

“What the hell are you smiling at, you bastard?”

He comes closer to me, knowing Max won’t let me go at him. I stop my struggling, and now we are practically nose to nose.

“I was getting my revenge on you, for not giving me your last name. You know who I am, baby. How could you forget?”

He licks those God damn lips of his.

Oh, now he’s done it.

So what do I do since my legs are not seized, no longer bound to the ground?

I knee him in the testicles.

Take that, Dickcop. Those self-defense classes I took in college just paid off.

“And don’t call me baby,” I scream.

He falls to the ground. Max releases me, and bends down to see how the asshole is.

Dickcop holds himself in between his legs, gasping for air, rolling around on the deck like some kind of wounded animal.

Good.

Max looks up at me, obviously horrified.

“What the hell did you do that for?”

Dickcop still can’t catch his breath, and I’m suddenly hit with a case of guilt. Did he really deserve that?

Let me think…

Yep!

“He’s pissed because I never gave him my last name.”

And the confusion between my friends and Porter continues.

“Har, he called you Miss Hannum. How did he know that if you just said you didn’t give him your last name?”

I don’t want to tell Porter. What would he think of me? I’m like a sister.

Dickcop raises his head enough to speak, gruffly, “She’s the girl from the bathroom last summer.”

Porter, God bless him. He shakes his head and studies the air in front of him to try to get around what Dickcop just said.

And just like that, the recognition in his eyes says he knows.

“Holy shit! Cruz? Harlow? Last year? Bar? Missing for a long time? No clue where you went until you came back looking like you returned from a war? I’m going to be sick.”

Willow smacks his chest.

“Oh, please. She’s still a woman with needs Porter. She’s not a baby.”

“I know she’s not a baby, but I know what went on that night and Cruz said she… and then he said they…” Porter stammers for words, runs his hand through his hair and down towards the stubble on his face. “And then he was like, and we were like… oh, God, never mind. It’s Harlow.”

He looks exhausted.

Dickcop rises, barely, off the ground, and he’s angry. I mean really angry.

“You bitch. I need my balls. Why would you do that to me?”

Now I feel tough as nails, stronger than strong. I’m not afraid of him or his flaring nostrils.

“You made me look like a fool. You made me dance that stupid dance on a street, in the middle of the night. Then you have the audacity, the… the impudence, the insolence to smirk?”

He contorts his face in a confused way and crosses his arms across his chest. He looks to my friends as to say ‘help me out here’.

“Does she always use big words like that?”

They nod in unison.

I’m so out of here. I turn on my heels and head for the door.

Thea turns to stop me.

“Where are you going, Har?” Flustered, I turn back to look at her.

“I can’t look at him anymore. Porter, I suggest you get your friend to leave and let him go back to whatever rock he crawled out from.”

“Yes, Porter. Tell me to go back where I came from. Please. I beg you, dude.” Dickcop clasps his hands together as to plead with him. I have one foot almost in the door. I never want to see him again, and I cannot believe that Porter actually hangs with someone this ignorant.

“Cruz, maybe it’s better if you did. It’s only the beginning of the summer and it will be a long one if you don’t.”

The big jerk nods, agreeing and starts for the slider. As I wait for him to exit, I begin to feel a bit of relief. He turns, still in those tight boxer briefs and as much as the sight of him repulses me, I ponder the reason for the sudden dampness in my underwear. Willow has drool seeping from her mouth, and before I have a chance to, Thea wipes the corner of it, near her lip, and whispers, “Close your mouth, Willow. You’re salivating.”

“No shit. I’m surprised you’re not.”

He suddenly turns to me.

“I apologize, Miss Hannum. My balls and I do, actually. I hope you have a very enjoyable and unforgettable summer. Nice knowing ya.”

With that, he’s gone, and thank the sweet Lord.

Now I just wait for the questioning, but it never comes. It’s just a constant state of confusion on the faces of the people surrounding me.

Max glares at me, then makes his way back into the house.

My frustration seizes me. I grumble and go in the house. The remaining people on the deck follow behind.

I go into the kitchen to finally have my caffeine fix. I stand in front of the coffee pot, pour myself some of the dark, smooth liquid goodness, spoon a half pound of sugar in it, and take a long, well-deserved sip. I shut my eyes, savoring the moment it reaches my taste buds. I lean on the counter and feel a presence behind me. Actually, several.

Without turning around I address them.

“What? I feel you all staring at me. You want the run down?”

Three well-orchestrated yes’s make their reply.

I shake my head and make my way to the dining table. They crowd me, like hungry dogs waiting for a meal. The events of last year and this morning are things I don’t care to repeat, or revisit, but I know if I don’t address it, it’s going to be a long summer.

“Fine. But first things first. Do not ask questions, do not ask for details, do not pass go, and do not collect $200.”

They nod like Stepford wives.

“Last year we went to that bar. We were all having a good time. I had just seen the man whose name we do not speak of making out in a corner with someone. He looked at me and continued the deed. I felt devastated and decided to go to the bar, order something to try to numb what I was feeling and that’s when I saw him.”

They are looking at me, waiting for the next chapter of the story. They know the rest. I just wish he wasn’t part of it. He, I mean the one whose name we do not speak.

“I really don’t feel like discussing this. You know what happens next.” I bow my head and pass through them towards the sofa. When I think about the events leading up to my bathroom rendezvous, my heart hurts.

It’s only been fifteen months, only fifteen. The pain, the mistrust, the lies. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did. I’ll never forgive him for allowing it to happen. I’ll never be the same. The walls are built up. No one can tear them down now. No one. They can try, but I’m just bricks and mortar at this point. When it comes to matters of the heart, that best describes me.

Porter comes and plops on the sofa next to me.

“I’d like to kill that bastard, you know that right?” He grabs my hand in a brotherly sort of way, like he always has and winks.

“Killing him would do no good. I think he’d be more of a God to his disciples if you did, but thanks for the offer, Porter.” I give him a half-hearted smile and rise from the sofa. If I stay in this house any longer, tears may come, and there is no way on God’s green earth, I’ll let anyone see me do that. I need the sun. I need to feel the warmth of it on my face. I need to feel the salt on my skin and not by tears on my face.

“I’m going to the beach. Who’s in?”

A show of hands is displayed before me. Porter comes over, kisses my forehead, and whispers, “You are a strong girl, Harlow, and you can handle anything bad that is thrown at you, and I’m proud of you for that, but there’s something I need to tell you. Cruz, well, he…”

I hold up my hand in front of his face to stop him.

“Porter, no. He’s gone, I don’t have to see him if I don’t want to. I know he’s friends with Max and if he comes to hang out with him, then I will just avoid his presence. Simple. Now off you go. I’ll see you at the beach.” I shove him down the hall and I hear him calling my name as I enter my bedroom and shut the door.