Page 4 of Tossing It

Chapter Two

Malena

“I saw Caroline and Tahoe in the parking lot,” I tell Shirley after taking a large swallow of my tonic water. The lime is just for looks. I have to sleep with one eye open tonight. The night nurse called in sick and the last thing I need is to have my mind clouded by alcohol. No one has time for that. I have a couple of hours before I need to get back to relieve Mom’s daytime caretaker. “That man is really something to look at, isn’t he? Caroline was all flushed,” I add. Shirley loves to talk men. She likes to talk about them in any form. Even if they belong to someone else. From what I’ve seen, it’s mostly harmless. Everyone knows she’s secretly hung up on Caleb, the cook from the diner she is a waitress at. They have torrid sex, see other people, and end up back in bed together.

Shirley shakes her head while gulping down her beer. She wipes her mouth on the sleeve of her fishnet sweater and shakes her head before saying. “His name is Tahoe for fuck’s sake. That girl isn’t going to know what to do when he kicks that thing into four-wheel drive.”

I giggle. “She’ll manage I’m sure.” It will be a relief if she finally loses her virginity. Maybe the appeal of Caroline May will dull a touch. We all reside inside of Caroline’s shadow of innocence. After this long, you can’t help but think she’s doing something right.

Alternatively, Shirley tells me a story about a fling last night, all the while casting glances at the bartender slinging drinks to customers—his pants baggy and his shirt wet with sweat. Shirley’s bleached blonde hair has black roots creeping up a few inches from her scalp, and her makeup looks like she put it on three days ago and forgot it needs to be washed off or redone on a daily basis. I love her, but the woman doesn’t love herself. Not enough, anyway. But isn’t that the problem every woman faces in different aspects?

“His friends are here,” she says, flying from one subject to another as I nod along. “The SEALs.”

I’m not sure who she means until I glance in the direction she tilts her empty glass. Bronze Bay has some handsome locals, don’t get me wrong, but these small town waters don’t produce the type of handsome that the SEALs rolled into town with. They look out of place in surroundings so quaint. Their muscles on display without being ostentatious. It’s not like they’ve cut the sleeves off of T-shirts or something, they have serious bulk and there’s no hiding it regardless of what they are wearing. I’ve seen them sulking around in uniforms, and from a distance in their wetsuits getting off their boats and heading up the docks. Every time it takes me back a bit. It’s one thing to hear about the SEALs and what they’re doing on the news, it’s another thing completely to view them up close, in our local bar, infiltrating our world in all ways. I hone in on one guy in particular, right away, because of the color of his hair.

It’s blond. Light blond. Like the surfers in my favorite movies from years ago. He’s broad and tall like the rest of his friends, but he’s leaner—a self-confident swagger to his walk as he surveys the bar in a wide sweeping glance, not taking in any one thing or person longer than another. He’s indifferent, and little does he know, that’s one of the main qualities I’m looking for right now.

“The tall one,” I whisper under my breath to Shirley, glancing away before his gaze sweeps over us.

She clicks her tongue three times in a rapid succession. “The tall one,” she repeats. “If my research is thorough, which when is it not when it comes to hot dudes with muscles who bleed testosterone? His name is Leif,” she drawls, and then spells his name to explain the difference between what it sounds like and the letters that form it, and then continues, “He comes into the diner with Tahoe a lot. I haven’t heard any gossip about him bed hopping like his friend there on the left. The brown hair and deep dimple,” she explains, using her eyes to talk as much as voice. “That’s Sutter. He fucks like the Energizer bunny and doesn’t spend the night.” Shirley laughs when she sees my expression. She shrugs. “What? Not from personal experience, that’s what the girls said at the diner. I overheard it,” she says, smiling sheepishly. “They really should have kept their voices down if they wanted it to stay a secret.” I glance at Sutter and automatically see him naked, and fucking like a jackhammer.

Swallowing hard, I shake my head. “Nothing about the blond one, then? Leif?” I ask, trying out his name. I haven’t heard it before, but that doesn’t mean much. I have spent most of my years in Bronze Bay where the residents have simple, ordinary names. My name was always the weirdest and I hated it. When I was a baby, my parents moved us to this small town to get out of the city. After my father left, I thought it was because he missed the city and Mom’s dementia was just the excuse. It’s easy to hate him even more that way. Drop me off here with my city ass name and then disappear. I hate him for too many reasons to count at this point.

“Nothing. He’s clean at the moment,” Shirley says. “I need to go give Britt this card.” She pulls an envelope out of her purse. While this is a bar and we’d all be here anyway tonight, it’s also a couple of our friend’s engagement party. Britt is one of my good friends, but her fiancé, Whit, is absolutely rotten to the core. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s come on to me. He is a red-headed demon that Britt is too comfortable with to release into the wild. It’s a sad state of affairs. With my track record, I’m in no position to tell anyone how to drive their relationship though. I steer clear of anything serious, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a man naked, let alone been touched by one. My friends assume I’m prolific like Shirley, and I don’t care to correct them. It makes it easier to explain why I have to skip out on plans. Taking care of my mom is only an acceptable answer for so long before those that care about me try to give me advice. I know she needs more care than I can give her and I feel awful about it.

Shirley and I walk over to where Britt and Whit are talking to Caroline and Tahoe. After a few tense minutes of Whit being an annoying, weaseling asshole we all move our separate ways. I’m lingering in front of the jukebox, my quarters already inserted, when I sense someone waiting behind me. With my last song selected, I move out of the way, toss a friendly smile over my shoulder, and freeze.

“Hasn’t been updated in a decade or so, huh?” Leif asks.

I wasn’t prepared for conversation. Especially with this man. “Yeah. Probably a few, honestly,” I reply, sliding another step away. “It’s all yours.” I smile wide and check my watch. “There’s gotta be something you see that you like,” I add as his eyes scan over the choices, and then flit over to meet mine.

He grins. “I’m Leif,” he says, extending a hand. A massive, freaking, whopper of a hand. My own gets lost inside his firm shake.

“Malena,” I say, my voice wavering. I didn’t expect a proper introduction with handshakes and name exchanges. That can’t be his normal, can it? “Tahoe’s friend?” I add quietly, letting him know I’ve heard of him.

He nods, taking his hand from mine and clasping them behind his back. The picture of a perfect gentleman. His demeanor is unnerving. The swagger he entered the bar with is replaced by polished poise. “Indeed. Are you having a nice time tonight?” he asks. “It’s quite a place. This Bobby’s Bar,” he says, raising both brows as he glances around the small dusty room, lit by old colored lights. The music is loud, but not so loud that I can’t hear him, though I do notice when I said my name he leaned toward me to hear me better. “You’re the first person who has stopped to chat with me.”

Why? What game he’s playing at? “I wonder why,” I say, flicking my hair over one shoulder. “Get turned down a lot tonight?” I know he arrived to the bar recently, but I don’t want him to know I noticed.

“Turned down?” The corner of his eyes slide down, and he frowns in confusion. “I didn’t know I was trying to turn anything up.” When he’s not wearing his smile, I can see how perfect his bone structure is. His cheekbones are high, and his jaw is square and masculine. Blue eyes peek out from underneath thick, blond lashes. The gentleman front slips as he grazes his top teeth over his bottom lip. Leif shows me how shrewd and calculating he is—how utterly mouthwatering he is when he tries.

I tear my gaze from his mouth and pretend to be wildly interested in the jukebox. “I don’t want to assume anything, but bless her heart, my friend Shirley knows everything about everyone, and I know about you guys—you SEALs. You don’t have to play at the nice guy thing to try to talk to me.”

“No? So, if instead of introducing myself I grabbed your perfect ass while you were selecting music you would still be talking to me right now?” Leif bends an arm and posts himself up against the jukebox, his gaze lighting my body on fire.

“No,” I reply, letting my shoulders sag. “Probably not.” Shirley catches my eye and waves goodbye. I nod back, and she shoots an exaggerated wink.

Leif clears his throat to draw my eyes back to him. “What you’re saying then, because you’re definitely talking to me right now is, I win,” he says, lips pulling up in one corner. “Your ass is perfect, by the way. That was the truth.”

I try to catch my breath. Men don’t dazzle me, but Leif is paralyzing my thoughts. “Thanks. I think. You’re proclaiming your victory in one breath and complimenting my ass in the next. I can’t be sure if you want my number or if you’re bored,” I say, glancing over his shoulder to the hodgepodge of random bar patrons. “You’re probably used to places far more stimulating than Bobby’s Bar.” I meet his eyes and run my fingers through my hair. My song comes on, and I sway my head back and forth while I wait for him to respond.

He groans. “You’re right. This place is dead. Want to get out of here?” While he’s distracted with thoughts of leaving the bar with me, and what that entails, I study his body. His arms are strong, blue veins cutting ridges across the tops of his hands and forearms. They show a touch more than on a normal person because his skin isn’t as dark as a Bronze Bay native. It’s more of a creamy beige, the color after you’ve been outside, but not too long. I bet he burns easily. “This is an awful song, by the way,” he returns after several long seconds.

“Why would I leave here with you? You don’t like my music choices, and I know nothing about you. What if you’re a Ted Bundy copycat?”

His smile is broad. “Are you calling me hot?”

I furrow my brow. “He was a serial killer, Leif. A psycho.”

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