Page 17 of Very Unlikely
He fucked up with my mother.
I won’t give him the chance to do the same with Summer.
“Housekeeping should have placed our suitcases into Cubie’s trunk by now too.”
After looping her arm around my elbow, Summer says with a relaxed smile, “Then I guess we have everything we need to call this night a bust.” With her smile large, and her car parked where we left it, we continue our travels to Ravenshoe like our side venture won’t make us the closest we’ve ever been.
6
Lennox
Our decision to drive six hours straight through the night after we left my father’s ranch meant we arrived in Ravenshoe a day earlier than our Summer-approved itinerary. The hotel was more than accommodating when I requested to check-in early. They upgraded our room to a ground floor studio directly across from the water, and when I told them Summer was bunking with me for a couple of days, a generous tip saw her name placed alongside mine for the daily buffet breakfast. They treated me like a star, and it gave me a bit more understanding of my dad’s frustrating habits.
It’s hard not to get caught up in the hype. Fortunately for me, I’m traveling with Summer. She’ll never let my head get too big. She’s too humble for that. Too down to earth, and the way she had my back two nights ago will have me forever indebted to her.
“They have a showeranda bathtub,” Summer announces while sauntering out of the bathroom at the front of our suite. “Do you think they have cable?” Not waiting for me to answer her, she snatches up the remote and switches on the flat-screen television mounted to the wall across from the two beds that came with the upgrade. “Theydohave cable,” she declares while flicking through hundreds of channels at the speed of light. “And a dedicated movie channel if you’re willing to pay $14.95 a pop!”
She scoffs like showy gimmicks will never blind her before she continues her tour of our humble abode for the next nine and a half weeks. She takes in every little detail from the rolled towels on the bed to the fancy fanned lampshade.
I can tell when she reaches the pièce de resistance, though. Her mouth falls open even more than it does when she tries to devour a footlong sub without chewing. I didn’t tell her this perk was one of the reasons I invited her to come with me to Ravenshoe because I wanted to witness her true response to our hotel being a beachfront location.
It’s even better than I had hoped.
“There’s a beach outside our door,” Summer murmurs on a sob, her eyes as wet as the ocean mere feet away. “A real-life motherfucking beach!” She spins to face me, her face lit up with excitement. “Can we go?”
Confident as hell I could never say no to the pleading in her eyes, I bob my chin. Her hug of excitement is unexpected, but her race out the double French doors isn’t. She sprints for the sandy shore, the cuffs of her jeans saturated before I’ve reached the outdoor patio.
“The water is warm,” she shouts, her smile uncontained. “And kind of fishy smelling.” Her nostrils flare when she inhales a large whiff. “Is it meant to smell like that?” she asks after gagging on the breath she just inhaled.
I shrug. Although I’ve seen plenty of beaches, I didn’t find them overly fascinating until now. “I’d say so. Do you have any idea how much fish sprog is in there? The whales cum alone would make it extra fragrant.”
My last sentence comes out with a healthy dose of laughter. Summer doesn’t glare at me during my reply like the hotel guests in the room next to ours. She bolts out of the water like a shark is as tempted to sink his teeth into her backside as I was at my father’s ranch two days ago.
“I think I’ll stick with the pool.” She lowers her voice and her brows before fanning her hands across the waistband of her now three-quarter length jeans. “I don’t want to get pregnant by a whale.” After hooking her thumb to the ocean that stretches for miles, she adds, “And that water is warm enough for sperm to survive in for hours.” Once she joins me back under the covered pergola, she rests her head on my shoulder like she did almost thirty-six hours ago before asking with a yawn, “Until then, shall we gorge like piggies, then go to bed? I’m exhausted.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” I reply before helming our return to our room, where I plan to pretend we only have one bed.
Don’t be perverted. Summer has scratched my head until I’ve fallen asleep the past three nights. That shit is addictive and perhaps so is the woman giving the head massages.
“This is thesolereason I don’t allow sleepovers,” I say on a groan, my voice croaky from tiredness. “A guy can only take so much eye-fucking in one day.”
Summer whacks me in the stomach before battering my ego with words instead of her fists. “I’m not looking at you, Lenigan69.” Her pause to relieve her parched throat with some spit soothes the sting of her quick dismissal. “I’m flabbergasted by that.”
When I pop open my eyes, I realize the heat of her gaze is a little askew. She isn’t eyeballing me like she wants to eat my cock for breakfast, she’s gawking at the pristine coastline bordering one side of Ravenshoe.
“It’s so beautiful.” When her eyes drop to mine, the crystal-clear water bouncing off them makes them even bluer. “Can we please—”
I nod before the remainder of her question leaves her mouth. The sound of waves crashing to shore kept her adrenaline high most of the night. If my leg wasn’t hooked around her waist, I doubt she’d still be in bed. That’s how strong the ocean is calling her.
With a grin that has me forgetting it’s barely dawn, Summer tosses off the bedding, shimmies out of my hold, slips out of bed, then yanks off my Morrison training shirt like the one time I saw her naked will be the first of many incidences this summer break.
My cock stops silently praying for that to be the case when she charges for the closed patio doors like she’s trying to outrun a bull. “Hold up. You can’t go out in that.”
When I wave my hand down her tube top and teeny tiny black panties, Summer’s eyes lower to take in her risqué ensemble. She doesn’t see what I see. All she hears is the beach beckoning her. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
I can see your rosy pink nipples through your tube top, is what I want to say. Instead, I go with, “Your skin can’t handle the Buffalo sun, so there’s no way it will survive Ravenshoe’s rays.”
With a scoff, she rolls her eyes. “I have sunscreen.”
