Page 2 of The Guy from that One Summer
“I’d try anal,” I say aloud with a shrug.
Yup. I need to drink. I’m starting to sound like a maniac fresh out of her straight jacket.
When I pull up to the house, it’s already dark out, and the only light is coming from my headlights. If there’s a serial killer lurking in the bushes, it’s all free range at this point.
Have at it, sir. Or miss. I don’t discriminate. I will take either just swimmingly.
I turn off my car, open the back door, and grab my suitcase. I packed enough booze, swimsuits, and sundresses to get me through the week. But the amount of the tequila may be overkill, and I might be in over my head, according to its weight. Plus, I have to wheel it through the sand, all the way up the driveway, and then the stairs.
Can we sayfuck me?
I start to make the trek, and just when I’m in the clear, heaving and panting, with sweat dripping from my forehead, the front of my sandal folds over, and I trip, falling face-first into the still-warm-from-the-sun sand. My mouth becomes literal sandpaper.
“That was brutal yet entertaining to watch,” a thick, deep Australian accent comes from behind me, and I hurry to stand, righting my dress and throwing my long, curly brown hair over my shoulders.
I don’t need a mirror to know I’m absolutely covered in sand. But squaring my shoulders, I carry that fall with grace and what little dignity I have left. My pale blue eyes meet the tall, shadowy figure standing beside my car. “Glad you enjoyed the show, creep.”
I can tell he’s built from his shadow in the moonlight. So, if he plans to take me, I might as well lay down and die. Wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened to me.
“You need some help?” He ignores my rudeness, and I shake my head at his question, his rich accent making the spot between my legs damp.
I can’t even pretend the voice, the shadow, and the thrill of danger doesn’t excite me. I’m only human. “No. I would like to live, thanks. I already had a shit day and can’t handle much more. I’ll save getting axed by a stranger for another time.”
He laughs, and it comes from deep in his chest like a growl—and holy shit, I have to rub my legs together. That was incredibly sexy.
“I’m not Ted Bundy. I live next door. Well, I own it and visit. I was out for my nightly run, when I got this show and a full view of your ass.”
I see him shrug, and I blush, even more mortified. My dress must have flown up when I biffed it. Great.
“You couldn’t have seen much. It’s too dark out.” I cross my arms, and he starts to move closer, his face coming more into focus when my eyes adjust as he steps out of the shadows.
“Your pale skin in the moonlight showed me all I needed to see,” he growls, and I step back.
“I will knee you in the balls,” I warn, but he just laughs and moves suddenly, and I react, punching him right in the nose.
He grumbles, “Fuck,” and then straightens, and that’s when I realize what I just did. He was reaching for my bag to help me, and I punched him.
“Hell of a right hook, daisy.” He shakes his head, and I tilt mine.
“Daisy? My name isn’t daisy,” I tell him. “I’m sorry. I just thought you were going in for the kill. Are you all right?” My question is cautious, still heeding the fact that he could be a killer or criminal of some sort.
“No, but I can smell your scent from here. You smell like daisies.” He puts his hands up in warning. “I’m going to lean in and grab the bag, not attack you. We are good.” His handsome face, thick accent, and the comment about my scent have me flustered. He may be the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Suddenly, my body lights up, and I see a brief premonition—of me being laid out on a kitchen counter, sweating, and moaning loudly while he takes me in the heat of passion.
Our skin slapping against one another’s, the sound echoing, his grunts going straight to my core as I orgasm.
Our bodies a mess of sweat, heavy breathing, and euphoria.
I come out of it fast and shake my head. He’s eyeing me suspiciously, but there is a sly grin I don’t miss, and I feel like he just saw what I was seeing. Even though I know he couldn’t have, I can’t help but feel a bit scandalized by it.
“Words, daisy. We good? I promise to not do anything you wouldn’t want me to.”
“Wh—what?” I choke out. Did he just say that?
“You heard me. My name’s Finn. What’s your, gorgeous?” he asks, and I stumble over my words, not sure what he meant other than exactly what he said.
“Oh, sorry, I’m Remy.”
