Giving In: The Sandy Cove Series (Book 1) (9 page)

“Oh, I should say the same about you, Mr. Grown Up. I’ll enumerate that when I see it.”

He gives me the proverbial eye roll.

“And let’s start with that, Ms. Loosey Goosey. Women who are fun and carefree don’t use words like enumerate. Believe me, don’t believe me. Just try to sound a little less stuck up, okay?”

He knows what enumerate means. Interesting.

I sigh. “I suppose I can try. Loosey Goosey is the name of the game. Soon enough I’ll be in a job where I have to be serious all the time. No better way to give myself a break from it than try to loosen up.”

He rises from the bed and begins to walk away, leaving me with my thoughts.

Cruz turns back to me. “Oh, I almost forgot. I went and got you this.” He hands me the cardboard box. “This is my first attempt at being a grown up.”

I slide my nail over the strong tape holding the box shut, and I stick my hand in and pull out a brand new laptop.

He replaced it.

I’m transfixed on it, relishing in his thoughtfulness.

“Porter told me what you were working on when it got wet. I’m, uh, really sorry all your work was ruined, but hopefully it won’t take you too long to get your information together again, and you can submit your applications again in no time.”

I run my hand across the sleek black cover of the laptop, and I realize that there’s hope for Raphael Cruz.

“Listen, I’ll let you get to it. I just wanted to do the right thing.”

I look up at him and give him a toothless smile.

“I’m glad you did, thanks Cruz. It was a real grown up thing for you to do.”

He winks at me and turns the knob for the door. He says over his shoulder, “I’m glad you’re staying, Turnip. See ya later.”

Yea, there’s hope for Raphael Cruz yet.

CHAPTER 6

So you’re the King of the Douchebags?

Cruz~

I need to get laid. It’s been over a week. This job is a killer when it wants to be. All this overtime is worth the cash, but I feel so bad for poor Morty. He hasn’t gotten enough exercise. I need to change this and fast. Tonight I’m off, and we are all going out, so I’ll hold out hope.

It’s hard to believe that it’s almost 4th of July. The last few weeks have been great since my neighbor and I have been getting along.

Harlow’s not so bad. She’s thawed a bit, snickers at my inappropriate jokes, acknowledges my existence, and actually has conversations with me. She’s still using the ‘big words’ now and again, but I give her a look, and she gives me one of her infamous eye rolls, and a knowing look to turn it down a notch. We hang out at the house, having drinks on the dock with the rest of the crew. As everyone swims, she sits with her toes touching the water, just a little. Maybe I should give her a few swim lessons. She doesn’t know what she’s missing.

I found out she’s not really a snot either. Her parents, Joe and Annabeth, have money, and she explained to us one night when we were all sitting around how her mother was some sort of a hippie. Harlow’s mom worked for social services, grew her own vegetables and shit like that. Her dad, on the other hand, came from money, old money, and lots of it. He’s a lawyer. Had to do the whole ‘follow in daddy’s footsteps’ type thing. They met when her mom was a social worker tending to a case her father was part of. She said he was a free spirit like her mom. Telling us about them being soulmates and shit like that. One pussy for the rest of your life. Yea, that’s a no-no.

Harlow’s grandparents hated the fact that their son was going to marry a commoner or whatever, and they had a set of conditions, which her mom made her father abide by because she didn’t want any trouble, or lose him.

The conditions? Send them to private schools, make them go to charm school, and be raised with class. That’s so different than the way I was brought up. My crack-head mother’s idea of class was sitting at the dinner table, (when we actually ate dinner) with a shirt on.

My mom, not us.

So Harlow grew up having an after school job at a diner and paying for things on her own. It sounds like just being raised to work for things you need, not things you want.

Good motto.

I want to save as much as I want to spend, but I need to live on my own. I can’t live with my brother Antonio and his wife, Bella, anymore. There’s a spawn on the way for them, and there isn’t enough room for me. If I don’t save, I’ll be forced back to the old neighborhood with the crack-head, and that’s not an option.

Max and I talked about getting a place, but he’ll be traveling a lot with the band this coming year as well as finishing up engineering school. Porter is going up to Boston this winter to get his Masters.

So it’s just me. But that’s okay. I’m sort of used to it.

I like mornings on the dock when I don’t have to take a nap as soon as I get home from my shift. This morning, I take my coffee outside, go sit in one of the Adirondack chairs, watch the boats go by and wave to the people on them. I walk down and see Harlow on the phone. I don’t want to listen in, but she knows this is what I like to do in the mornings, and I’m not budging, so I can’t help it if I do hear her conversation.

“Yes, Greta. I know, Greta. Relax. It will… Greta, it’s not a big deal. No, no I’m not saying that it’s not a big deal, of course it is.”

She rolls her eyes, points to the phone and brings her hand up to her throat like she’s choking herself. I laugh because I know she’s on the phone with her crazy sister about her wedding.

She motions for me to give her a sip of my coffee. She must be out. I hand it over to her. We take it the same way. So much sugar that the spoon stands straight up in the mug.

She takes a sip and closes her eyes, like it’s the first time she’s ever tasted it. I laugh.

“Ok, well Craw is coming for the 4th, so I’ll give him what you need. No, Greta. I didn’t… ok, ok, fine. I’ll speak with you next week. No worries. Ok, I love you, too. Bye for now.”

Bye for now? She’s so formal sometimes. But Greta is not like her. From what Harlow tells me, she’s like her grandparents where Harlow is like her mom.

She throws the phone on her chair and lets out a growl.

“More wedding planning fiascos with your sister?”

She drinks the rest of my coffee like she’s doing a shot of Jack Daniels. She hands me the empty cup. I turn it upside down to see the slightest little drop fall on the wooden planks.

“How’d you guess?” She smiles.

“Well, over the past few weeks you get this look about you when you’re speaking to your sister. You chew on your already chewed down nails so they bleed.”

She’s doing it now. She pulls them out of her mouth as soon as I say it.

“Oh, well thanks for noticing.”

She plops on her chair, exhausted, and her body acts like it has run a marathon.

“So what’s the deal?”

“You really want to hear this?”

Not really, but I’ll let her talk.

“Sure, shoot.” God, I wish she didn’t drink all my coffee.

“Well Greta doesn’t like the fonts I sent her for her invitations. I found them on a website, and I picked several out for her to try. She hated them and wants me to search for new ones.”

“Can’t she look on her own? Why’s that your responsibility?”

“Because she’s too busy with other things.”

I straighten up in my chair, lean over the arm rest and look at her confused.

“Wait, didn’t you tell me she doesn’t work, that her fiancé said it wasn’t necessary? So why doesn’t she have time?”

“Because she’s extremely busy with her wedding planner. What’s the word you say when I appear to be clueless about something… duh, is it?”

Smartass.

“Fine. I get it, she’s nothing like you. She’s the one who never got out of that bratty rich kid routine no matter how hard your parents tried to sway her away from it.”

Harlow winks and points at me. “Ding, ding. Correct answer, sir.”

“So you’re stuck with the dirty work. Too bad. You need to stand up for yourself, Turnip.”

She stands up and sits on the dock, toes inching towards the water.

“I’m working on it. I told her I’d give the samples to my brother when he comes next week. I’m not jumping on it immediately.”

I get up and go to sit next to her. I land my feet in the water with a small splash that reaches her.

“Oops, sorry.”

“Caveman,” she mutters.

“So beach volleyball game today? Guys versus girls?”

She doesn’t answer. She’s focused on the water.

She sticks her big toe in, pulling it out immediately. Her fear is crazy to me. I take her foot and try to ease it into the water, very carefully. She flinches, not fully understanding what I’m trying to do. She tenses under my hand, pulls back, and gives me a look of warning.

“It’s just water. Put the rest of your toes in, not the whole foot, it’s not going to bite you, neither will I unless you ask.” I wink at her knowing that when I talk like that it gets her in a tizzy.

She creases her brow, smacks my arm and her expression’s not anger, just worry.

I grab the instep of her foot and slowly ease it in, a bit at a time until all her toes are submerged. She looks at me, trusting me, but with caution, great caution. She doesn’t fully trust me yet, and that’s ok. We’re working on it. It’s not going to be cotton candy and clowns right from the start, but we’ll get there.

“That’s it, it feels good, right? Now just a little more.”

I lower her foot a bit until the top and all of her toes are under. I can feel her relax, the tension starting to dissipate.

“Good, Turnip. Now just lower it a bit more, like you’re getting into a bath. She does what I suggest, and struggles, but does it.

“See, not so bad, now try the other one.”

Harlow pulls her foot from under her and painstakingly dips the toes of her foot in, like the other. I have to encourage her, bit by bit. She tenses up again, and I don’t feel bad. She has to try to conquer this fear a little at a time. Her foot eases into the water. Her eyes, tightly shut, but she does it. Her body is stiff as a board, but she does it.

She leans back a bit, still with her eyes shut. Once her foot is all the way in, she peeks one eye open, looks to me, and I give her an encouraging smile.

“You did it,” I whisper.

She grins back at me, and she’s pleased with herself.

“Now move your feet around. Just a little to get a feel of the water.”

Slowly, she does it, just an inch or two, and I can tell it’s still hard for her.

Her eyes aren’t focused on the water, there’s still fear there. However, she looks to me when she sways her feet back and forth, letting the water surround them.

“Thanks,” she says quietly and without glancing my way.

Ok, tender moment over. Back to being me.

I stand up, and she does the same, carefully.

“Well, I’m outta here. Gotta go surf the internet for porn.”

She groans, and it’s glorious.

“Ugh, just when I think you’re actually attempting to be a human being, you go and screw it up with your mouth. You. Are. Gross.”

I have to laugh, ‘cause she still doesn’t get me. I wonder if she can hear me banging my random muff when I bring one home?

I should ask her.

Nevermind. I’m trying to be a grown up.

“So why do you say I’m gross? You didn’t think I was gross about a year ago. I just so happen to have a large sexual appetite, and if I just so happen to bring home a little company to help satisfy it, then so be it. I’m twenty four, not forty four.”

“Do you have to remind me that I fed into that sexual appetite? I would rather you not.”

Aw, that makes me sad. I gave it to her good if I remember correctly. It was certainly memorable to me. May I remind you how many times Morty stood at attention and found his happy place with that memory?

I place my hand over my heart and act like it’s breaking. I turn my mouth into a frown.

“You hurt my feelings, Turnip. I thought it was something you’d never forget.”

Cue eye roll…

There it is!

“Don’t flatter yourself, you incorrigible ass.”

I shake my finger at her.

“Tsk, tsk, Miss Hannum. Using big words again. What’s a guy going to think when he tries to pick you up and you go all smart on him. He may not understand what you’re saying.”

She starts to walk away from me. I see the hard line her mouth was in before she turned. I yell out to her as I watch her stomp up the dock to the house. I laugh. She hates me.

“Where ya going?”

She doesn’t turn around fully, but she yells to me over her shoulder.

“You are impossible.”

Oh, my how I love to get this chick all riled up. It gives me great satisfaction. But I only try to kid with her. She needs a sense of humor.

Poor girl.

Her stomping away is like an open invitation to apologize.

This grown up things sucks the life right out of my balls.

So, after I apologize for the umpteenth time, she forgave me, and now we are all at the beach, soaking up the rays, and playing a mean game of volleyball. I hate to admit this, because I am in no way, shape or form a fucking pussy, but the girls are actually good. We finish the last game (we won, by the way), and I’m in need of some sort of refreshment in the style of one with hops and barley. I motion for Porter to hand me a beer from the cooler he’s sitting on, but he is involved in some sort of deep conversation with Thea. Maybe he’s trying to dazzle her with his vast knowledge of draft beers. Who knows? Don’t care.