Chapter 35
Layla
I don’t remember the last time I took a beach vacation. Oh, yes I do. It was never. I’ve never been to California, and if by some miracle I had, I would not be staying in the presidential suite at the Malibu Four Seasons. A suite that is bigger than the house I grew up in and far more luxurious.
“Yook,” Jasmine says about the umpteenth handful of sand she has in her hands. The wind blows, and some of it hits my face, but I manage to close my eyes before any gets in. Jasmine giggles like it’s the funniest thing on earth.
I watch as she takes her little bucket, fills it with water, and dumps it on the sand. She then jumps on it and looks down at her feet in amazement. I stand and jump with her, and we both giggle. She raises both hands to me, and I pick her up. I know what she wants. As fearless as this girl is, she’s intimidated by the ocean.
“You’re a smart girl, do you know that?” I coo in her ear. She looks up and gives me the same look as her father. Then she nods as if she understands what I’m saying. “Never go into the ocean alone.”
With her in my arms, I walk until the water reaches my knees then I lower her into it. She laughs and kicks her feet under the water.
“More,” she says when I lift her out. So, I give her more. I hold her in my arms as we enjoy the waves crashing on and around us. She’s fearless as long as I hold her. The waves become stronger, so we walk back to land before a huge wave can get to us, and I plop her down on the towel underneath our umbrella.
Her little face has turned a nice shade of brown, and I apply more sunscreen. The entire time, she grins at me, and I wonder how anyone could not love this little girl. Once I’m done, she drops herself on her back and rolls in the sand, coating her little pink bathing suit.
I put my sunglasses on and watch her, knowing full well she’s going to take a long nap after being out in the sun for all this time.
It was quite the battle to get Jasmine to leave the beach a few hours ago. Once I did and got her inside the clawfoot tub in one of the three bathrooms in the presidential suite, she could barely keep her eyes open while I bathed her. By the time I pulled her out of the tub and drained it, there was a thick layer of sand at the bottom. She managed to stay awake long enough to eat her lunch, and she was asleep before I put her down in the crib the hotel provided.
Now, hours later, she’s dressed and happily playing in the corner. My phone buzzes and I check it.
Seth: 5 minute ETA
That’s all it says, and I answer with a thumbs up. I don’t know why I do this, but I run to the master bedroom, look in the long mirror, and tug at the yellow sundress until it sits on my body just right. Then I wipe the shine from my nose and forehead and freshen my lipstick.
He finds me in the kitchen mixing a fresh batch of pineapple margaritas. My heart skips a beat when I see him. He’s in nothing but a pair of shorts that reach his knees and a plain white polo shirt, but it’s the way it sits on his body. I never noticed that, despite how lean he is, how broad his shoulders are, or how nice his clothes always fit him. Jasmine darts across the room on wobbly legs to get to her father. He picks her up and swings her up in the air.
“Weeee,” she yells. “Gan,” she commands, and he does it again and again. I laugh along with them. He finally stops, puts her on his shoulder, and walks to me.
I hand him his drink, a bottled water, because I notice he always drinks water before anything else. He takes it, puts it down, and snakes his free arm around my waist. He pulls me to him, leans down, and gives me a soft lingering kiss on the lips.
“Mmhmm,” I hear him moan. He puts his hand on my ass and squeezes. “I missed that fat booty,” he says.
I pull away and swat his hand.
Once he downs the water, he takes the margarita and sips it.
“How was your commercial?” I ask. “Did your ugly face break the camera?”
“Funny,” he says. He holds out his hand for me, and I take it. He surprises me when he kisses the back of it. “It was good. We’re all done,” he says. “But we get this suite for the next three days.” He puts Jasmine down, and she runs back to her toys. “What do you want to do while we’re here?” he asks as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Corny stuff,” I say, knowing he won’t want to do any of it.
“Like what?” He puts his drink down, takes mine, and puts it on the counter next to his. Then he lifts me off my feet and throws me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of dirty laundry.
“What the hell?” I ask, but my laughter gives it away that I’m not mad.
He plops himself down on the couch and puts me on his lap. One of his long strong arms goes around me, and I couldn’t get up even if I wanted to.
“You would,” he says. “Like what? Touring celebrity homes?” He rolls his eyes. When I don’t answer, he says, “I’m right? You want to do that shit?”
“Yeah, so?” I ask, offended. “We don’t have to.”
“We’ll do it. What else?” he asks.
“Disneyland,” I say.
“Done.”
“And I want to go to Venice Beach,” I throw in since he’s being so accommodating.
“Okay. Jazzy Girl loves the beach,” he says. She must hear her name because she looks up and waves a toy around. He blows her a kiss. “Anything else? You want to get on The Price is Right?” he throws in.
My eyes widen at the thought. Gaga loves that show. It’s one of the things that calms her when she’s having a bad day.
“I would, but I have to get back to work.”
“Next time then,” he says. “My dad loves that stupid show. I’d have to let you do that one alone. I hate it.”
“Why?” I ask, desperate to know more about him.
“Bad memories. He’d sit on the couch all day watching daytime television. I can’t stand soap operas for that same reason. That’s all he did when he could have been working or, you know, being a parent to me.”
There’s no point in saying that Pete couldn’t help it. That he’s sick and has probably suffered something traumatic. None of that will cure the little boy who was physically and emotionally abandoned. None of those words will make him feel better. Besides, I think he knows that, but he’s still angry. It’s easy for me to feel empathy for Pete. I wasn’t the subject of his neglect. I didn’t suffer because of his illness. Even if my mom had those issues, I had other people who would step in to take care of me. Seth didn’t.
I lift my hand and wait. He puts his in it. “I’m sorry you went through that,” I say and wait for him to snap that he doesn’t want sympathy, but he doesn’t. He squeezes my hand and intertwines our fingers.
“How about some food?” he suggests. That’s when I realize it’s after six-thirty. My stomach suddenly growls and I jump off his lap. “Let’s eat in the hotel restaurant. I’m tired.” He stands and stretches. His shirt rides up and exposes the happy trail of light blonde hair he has on his toned stomach.
Part of me itches to run my fingers through it and travel south. I step closer and do just that but stop at his waistline. My fingertips tickle his soft hair, and he sighs in happiness.
Seconds later, I see the front of his shorts rise.
“Jesus, Whorekowski, calm down.” I pull my hand away and pretend to be disgusted, but I secretly feel powerful at being able to get him to react in such a way.
“Whatever. Like your nipples aren’t hard.” He looks at Jasmine, who is busy rocking a baby doll in her arms. He then walks to me and pinches my nipples through my dress. I moan like a whore in heat. “Calm down, Whorekowski,” he taunts. “Let’s go. Jazzy Girl, time to eat eat.”
She drops the doll and runs to us. He picks her up and puts an arm around my waist. I grab my purse and diaper bag on the way out, and we walk to the restaurant with Jasmine in his arms and his other arm around me as if we’re a happy little family.