Lovely (20 page)

“Okay.” She saunters up to get a ball, her hips swaying from side to side.

I bite the inside of my lip hard when she bends over to pick it up. Her ass is heart-shaped and perfect in those jeans; the only thing that would make it more perfect would be my hands all over it. I feel my cock pushing against the zipper of my pants so hard I think it’s trying to escape. It’s going to be a long night.

“Ahhhhhh!” she squeals and jumps up and down when all the pins fall.

“A strike on your first turn.” I shake my head in disbelief. “You’ve bowled how many times?”

“A few,” she responds with a coy smile.

“A few my ass.”

She laughs, gives me a quick high five and takes a seat, brushing her hair over her shoulder. She seems so relaxed, and I can’t help but think I may be playing a small part in that, and that makes me happy.

“My turn.” I strut over to pick up a ball, hoping maybe she’s checking out my ass, too. When I look over my shoulder at her, she’s smiling. I grab a ball, haul back, and throw it down the lane, dropping only four freaking pins. Raising my hands up in the air, I mutter, “I’m a bit rusty.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say, Ash,” she taunts, dropping her eyelashes in a flutter.

By the time the game’s over, she’s taken my sorry ass to the cleaners by a score of 156 to 90. I return our shoes to the desk and we weave our way through the group of teenagers crowding our path. “You’re not pouting are you?” she asks with sympathetic eyes, as we walk out to the car.

“Oh, you mean because you whipped my ass. No, not at all.” She giggles and I grab her hand.

“So are you hungry?”

“Not really,” she replies.

The night can’t end yet. I have to spend more time with her. What else can we do … “Feel like taking a walk on the beach?” I suggest.

There’s a gleam in her beautiful bronze eyes as she swings my arm. “Yup.”

We’re both quiet on the drive to the beach. When we get there, we pull off our shoes and throw them in the back seat. We walk hand in hand down the beach, the warmth of our fingers wrapped around one another, the sand tickling our feet, the stars reaching out to light our way.

“I’d never seen a beach before we moved to California,” she says, as I enjoy the feel of her hand in mine.

“Really?” I ask, surprised. I just assumed everyone had seen the ocean at least once as a kid. I grew up here, so for me, it was more about spending entire summers at the beach.

She stops for a second and faces the ocean, inhaling the salty air, the breeze tangling her silken strands. “We didn’t go on a lot of family trips and for whatever reason it wasn’t somewhere my parents were particularly interested in going. My favorite book as a child was
The Little Mermaid
and I remember wishing that someday I could swim like that in the ocean …” She giggles. “Without the tail, of course. When I finally did see it for the first time, I was in awe of its beauty.”

I know the feeling
.

She pushes a smooth lock of hair away from her face. “Everything about it. The way the wind whispers to the waves as they crash upon the shore, the intoxicating smell of salt mixed with the sea, the sunlight beaming off the water.” She lets out a happy sigh. “I love the way the sand feels between my toes.”

I dig my feet in and turn to face her. Cara’s eyes sparkle like chocolate diamonds, brilliant and flawless hues of brown that look magical in the moonlight. The breeze blows some wispy strands of hair across her face and I brush them away with my fingers. She stares up at me, her long, thick lashes fanning her cheeks, and I’m lost in her. I stretch my eyes up to meet hers, my heart pounding fiercely inside my chest. “I think about you all the time. I think about the way your eyes twinkle, the curve of your lips when you smile, and how absolutely incredible I feel when I’m with you.” My gaze drifts from her eyes to her mouth. Her pink, full lips are soft and slightly parted. I want to slide my tongue inside and taste her. God, I want to kiss her, desperately, but … I’m afraid. I feel my chest rising and falling rapidly and for the first time in my life, I’m afraid to kiss a girl …
this
girl, because I know how I’ll feel once I do, and there won’t be any turning back. I bring her face to mine and hover over her lips, her scent teasing me, our breathing intertwined. Leaning in closer, I circle her nose with mine, whispering, “I think about what it would be like to kiss you.”

She breathes my name in a sigh before my lips find hers. “Ash.”

Nothing could have prepared me for this moment, for what it feels like to finally kiss her. Her lips are tender and wet, warm and fucking delicious. She tastes like spring rain and drizzled caramel and I can’t get enough of the sweetness that’s now surging through my veins. My tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip and I find myself lingering there, sucking and nibbling on it before dipping inside and devouring her. Our tongues dance and curl around one another, tasting and exploring. She caresses my mouth and takes possession of it, just like she does my soul. I wrap one hand behind her nape and press the other to her lower back, tugging her body snugly against mine. She moans into my mouth and it sets me on fire, so I go deeper, plunging my tongue further. When I break the kiss, her eyelids flutter open, her cheeks flushed pink.

“Jesus, Cara.”

“Yeah,” she replies, staring down at my lips, winded.

We rest our foreheads together, our breathing and heartbeats rapid, and I drop a kiss on her nose. Placing my hand in hers, she lays her head on my shoulder and we continue walking. We stroll in comfortable silence, just enjoying our fingers toying with one another and the sand under our feet. That is, until I open my mouth.

“So tell me more about you as a little girl … I want to know everything about you.”

She stops abruptly and lifts her head, her fingers tightening around mine, her body instantly tense. “No, you don’t. It’s just a whole lot of broken and ugly.”

I shift my body towards her, placing my hands on her shoulders. “Cara, whatever you’ve been through, all those pieces of your life, broken or not, come together to make you who you are. I don’t expect sunshine and roses … shit, I don’t have that, either.”

She relaxes her hand in mine and we continue walking. “It was miserable. My dad traveled a lot. I already told you how my mom ignored me.” She sighs. “I never had that many friends. I remember always wanting my house to be the one where everyone congregated,” she says, letting out a sarcastic laugh, “but no one was interested in hanging out at the neighborhood drunk’s house.”

I take her arm and link it through mine. “I’m sorry, Cara.”

“It’s okay, really. I just didn’t have a lot going for me, you know, or at least that’s what my mom always told me when she
chose
to speak to me. I was awkward, insecure, and apparently, not all that likeable. Then there was Nadine. She’s four years older and ‘the popular one.’ Everyone wanted to be friends with her and all the guys wanted to date her. I never knew what that felt like. No one ever noticed me.”

She seems distant now, far beyond the ocean that lies in front of us. I want to chase away all her pain and send it out to sea. I want to hold her to me and bury all those yesterdays for the promise of happier tomorrows.

“But then things changed. I got taller, I started, well, developing … and then I started trying to do things to get noticed, like attempting to wear makeup. My mom always told me how frumpy I looked and I remember thinking maybe that would help me look pretty. I craved attention … I was desperate for it, and well …”

I’m about to interrupt, to tell her she’s anything but frumpy, but she holds up her hand, halting my words.

“One day when my mom went out, I locked myself in the bathroom and took out her makeup case, trying on everything from blush to eyeliner to lipstick. When I came out, I ran right smack into her. She told me I looked like a whore and to take it off.” Cara looks like she’s trying to shake off the memory. “Let’s see …,” an obnoxious laugh leaves her chest, “do I want to look frumpy, or do I want to look like a whore? At least looking like a whore I’d get noticed … That’s exactly what I told my mom. And she slapped me.”

My stomach twists and anger burns deep within me. I can’t begin to fathom what she went through with a distant, drunk mother and an absentee father. She deserved so much more. I stop walking and face her, determination to make her understand filling my eyes. “I can’t imagine anyone ever thinking you’re anything but beautiful … in here,” I place my hand on her chest directly over her heart, “or here.” I cup her face in my hands and press a gentle kiss to her lips.

Cara leans into me, her eyes glistening with tears, a warm smile turning up her lips. “Thank you,” she says hoarsely.

We continue to walk in silence until I see her yawn. “It’s late, I should probably get you home.” I nestle her close, sheltering her, wanting to keep her safe. I already feel a need for her … for more.

The whole ride home, my fingers are latched onto hers. She has her head back on the seat, staring at me while I drive. She’s actually looking at me, not like she used to look past or through me.

“What?” I finally ask.

“Nothing,” she says with a smile. A really big smile.

That’s the only answer I need.

We walk up to her door, my feet slowing, not wanting this date to end. I know her sister isn’t home, but I also know this is our first date, and as much as I want her right now, we need to wait.

She turns around, lifts the palm of my hand, and presses it to her cheek. “Thank you for tonight. I had a really nice time, Ash.”

“Me, too.” I close the unwelcome gap between us and seal my lips over hers, sliding my tongue inside so I can commit her to memory. My mind’s conjuring up so many places I want to go with her, things I want to do with her. “I want to take you somewhere tomorrow, do you have plans?”

Her gaze drops to the ground and she begins twirling her hair. “Yes.”

“Oh,” I respond, disappointment evident in my voice.

She reaches up at me from the ground. “With you.”

I smile and brush my lips against hers. “Great … then I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow. Goodnight, Cara.”

“Goodnight, Ash.” She inches the door closed, peeking at me from behind it until I can no longer see the sparkle of brown in her eyes.

When she closes the door, I back up against it, my heart racing wildly. Everything about her—her smile, her laugh, her lips, her heart. She’s a jolt to my system. An awakening. And I’m fucking wide awake now.

It’s after midnight when I get home and the house is completely dark with the exception of the light leaking out from the kitchen, the one Mom always leaves on. I grab a drink of water and the last chocolate chip cookie, and take the stairs two at a time to my room. I hear a door creaking and look up to see Mom standing just inside of it.

“How was your date, sweetie?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep.

“It was amazing, Mom.”

“Good,” she says with a smile followed closely by a yawn. “Goodnight, honey.”

“Night, Mom.”

I strip down to my boxers and get in bed. My dick is so hard and it wants Cara, badly. I’m in quite a bit of pain at the moment, the term blue balls zooming around in my head along with the thought of her lips. My hand slowly moves down my chest, and I’m about to reach for my cock when I stop. I can’t do it. My hand no longer has any appeal. I consider taking a cold shower but I know it’s no use, either. There’s only one thing that can cure what ails me. I need Cara’s hands and mouth all over me. I let out a severely frustrated groan, roll over, and fall into a restless and extremely uncomfortable sleep.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Mom says when I stumble into the kitchen the next morning.

I rub my sleep-filled eyes and block them from the sunlight flying through the window.

Mom’s sitting at the island with paint swatches in every color of the rainbow sprawled across the surface.

“Are we painting something?” I ask, opening the fridge and grabbing the carton of orange juice. I gulp down what’s left and throw the carton in the garbage.

“
We’re
not painting anything,” she laughs. “The salon is getting a makeover and I’m trying to choose from hundreds of paint colors that are all starting to look the same.”

I settle down on a chair next to her and pick up one of the swatches, holding it up to the light. “Unfortunately, my design skills leave a lot to be desired.”

“That’s okay. I’ll figure it out.” Her lips curl at the edges. “You know, if I didn’t own the salon, this is what I would’ve done with my life. Before I met your dad, I started taking design classes.”

“So what happened?” I question, surprised that I don’t know this about her.

“I began cutting hair for friends, that’s what happened, and I discovered I was pretty darn good at it. I guess I ended up falling into it.”

“How come I didn’t know that about you, Mom?”

She smiles, prodding me with her arm. “Your mom had dreams, too. I suppose there are a lot of things you don’t know about me from my younger days.”

It’s funny how we don’t think of our parents ever having a life before us. If I consider it, I can totally picture Mom young, wild, and free.