Chapter 9 #2
He clutches my hand, and we run out into the waves, laughing. We paddle out together, waves rolling easily today. Cal said it’s a good morning to surf, the kind of morning that the locals don’t waste and tourists haven’t figured out.
The ocean feels different when you’re with someone who is making your pulse do stupid things.
He keeps glancing back at me like he’s checking I’m still there. Like he’s responsible for me. It’s ridiculous and sweet and makes my chest feel tight in a way I don’t want to examine too closely.
I didn’t have that with Tyler. Tyler was the kind of guy who always walked four feet in front of me and was constantly on his phone. He couldn’t care less. And now I’m seeing what I dodged.
It wasn’t all his fault, though.
As much as I hate to admit it, I didn’t exactly foster a great relationship between us. My ninety-hour work weeks didn’t leave much room left for romance. Maybe I was subconsciously avoiding what wasn’t true love. Unfortunately, I wasn’t aware enough to realize that until recently.
Tyler is a total cheating scumbag. That won’t change. However, I have to take some accountability for what went down.
The next relationship I have, I want to do better. I want to have lazy weekends with my partner and to build a family I can be present for. It’s strange how my escape to Coconut Beach has opened my eyes about what I want my future to look like.
I’m tired of being passive in my own life.
I want to take control and be happy in it.
Cal looks over at me and winks, making my heart flop inside my chest. It’s easy to imagine this future with someone like him. Not just because he’s the hot bartender who makes me feel alive. He’s kind and genuine and caring.
“You’re doing great,” Cal says, grinning at me.
“Hardly.” I’m out of breath and my muscles are already screaming, but I’m having fun.
Cal’s shown me a few times how to do it, and I’m trying to pick it up, but the truth is I’m so uncoordinated compared to him, and I’m terrible at surfing.
I fall off every time, and we both laugh when he catches me.
His hands on my waist send zings to my lady bits, and it’s more than obvious that I am wildly attracted to Cal.
We take a break, and I’m standing barefoot in the sand, the board on the ground.
Cal sits next to me on the sand, his legs stretched out, watching the sun rise.
It’s already rising, and it’s beautiful.
I make a mental note to get up earlier and watch more of these sunrises.
I never paid attention back in New York.
I always felt like it was a rat race. I was running from one thing to another.
Here, life just feels slower and steadier, somehow.
I’m trying my best not to stare at him. And when I look at him, he seems to be doing the same. The sun hits his shoulders, his dark hair wet with water. I’m failing. I am absolutely staring at him. I love his tattoos. I want to trace them all with my fingertips and ask him what they mean.
He turns and catches me looking, a little color rising in his cheeks, which shouldn’t be possible for a grown man who is probably used to being eyed like candy.
“Cal, I think I might be the worst surfer of all time,” I admit, tearing my eyes from his abs.
He shakes his head and chuckles. “It’s your first time. You’re allowed to figure it out, Miss Competitive.”
It’s strange not to be the best at something. I think it’s pretty much engrained in me to be top tier at everything I do. Surfing humbles me in the best possible way. I’m also learning I can have fun doing something I totally suck at.
“I’m taking that back with surfing,” I say to him with a sigh. “I’m terrible at it.”
He scoffs. “You just need practice.”
He lies badly.
I laugh and feel lighter than I have in months.
“You’re a good teacher,” I murmur, gaze locking with his.
And he is. He’s given me tips on when to paddle and when to stand. He’s hovered and helped, but he is good at teaching.
He’s a good friend, I remind myself. A very hot friend. But a friend.
We sit side by side, sun warm on us, while he tells me about the bar and the history of Coconut Beach. I’m interested in each fact he tells me, gobbling them up as fast as he can divulge them.
“What was it like to grow up here?” I ask, curiously.
His lips curl up on one side as he thinks about it. “It was good. We got up, surfed before school, did school, and mostly knew everyone. It’s a small town. It was paradise.”
He’s not wrong. This place is definitely paradise.
“Jonah is like a dad to me,” he continues.
“I never knew my dad. He was a tourist, and my mom was working a summer job here when she was eighteen. She met a guy and had a summer-long fling, and at the end of summer, he went back to New York City to work. He ghosted her. She tried to tell him about me, but he and his family wanted nothing to do with my mom or me.” He frowns and looks away.
I can’t imagine how that felt for him as a young boy. It breaks my heart for him.
“I’m sorry, Cal.”
He shrugs as if it’s nothing, but I know it bothers him. His shoulders are tense and the frown lingers. “I had an aunt and uncle I’m close with. My uncle passed away a few years ago, but my aunt still lives in Wisteria Cove, Massachusetts. I’m close with my cousins, too.”
I have the urge to hug him, but I keep my hands to myself.
“Do they come to visit?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah, all the time. My aunt Donna has a cottage here close to mine.”
“Does your mom still live here in Coconut Beach?”
A flash of something passes across his face that I can’t read. “Yes, she’s still here in Coconut Beach.”
Interesting. I wonder what’s going on there. Maybe he’s not close to her. I’m not close to mine. And after the wedding, I don’t know that we ever will be.
He laughs, that low and easy sound that makes me smile. “But one cool flex is that my aunt is Donna Bennett. Have you ever heard of her?”
My jaw drops. “Donna Bennett, the author?”
He nods.
“Donna Bennett, the New York Times bestselling author?”
He laughs. “Yeah, that’s the one.”
“You’ve been hanging onto that little gem and just now felt like sharing with the class?” I ask, in awe.
He shrugs. “To me, she’s just my aunt. And she’s pretty great.”
“Um, yeah. She’s an icon. I’ve been reading her stuff since high school. Way cool, Cal.”
“Maybe you’ll meet her when she comes to visit.”
I gasp in shock. “Here? I can’t wait.”
“Sometimes she comes here to write when she has a tight deadline,” he says. “Around here, she’s just Donna. She’s pretty chill.”
Wow. Incredible.
Not just his flex about being related to one of my favorite authors, but this time together. Getting to know little kernels of information about him and his life. Our conversation is unhurried and comfortable. I could stay here all day chatting with him and never get bored.
“What about you? What do you have going on this week?” he asks, as he leans back on his hands, his arms flexing and looking amazing.
“Well, my friend is coming to visit. He gets in tonight.”
“Oh, another friend, I see. Cheating on me already?” he teases. Then his face changes, and he looks embarrassed. “Actually, that was super dumb. I’m sorry. Your wedding...ugh, too soon.”
Truth is, it didn’t sting like it might should have. Cal has a calming effect on me. It’s easy to forget about my problems when I’m in his orbit.
“It’s fine,” I assure him, giving him a warm smile. “Wilby’s the one I was telling you about anyway. I think you’ll like him.”
“Yeah? Where’s he staying?”
“The hotel was full. Some kind of festival or something. But he got the Seaside Bed and Breakfast booked.”
Cal chuckles. “Wendy, the owner is really nice. He’ll have fun.”
We head back up the beach, and Cal says, “I’ll grab us some water.”
I nod and use my towel to wipe my face. Who knew surfing could be such a workout? I’m going to need a nap later.
My phone rings, and I glance at it. It’s a work number calling from Montclair Holding. I answer it, guessing it’s probably someone from my team or Wilby. Although Wilby usually calls me from his cell.
“This is Silvie.”
“What the fuck, Silvie?” Tyler bites out. “Evicting me?”
I’m startled at first hearing his voice. I never noticed how whiney it is. How was I ever attracted to this man? I close my eyes. Fucking Tyler. I have been avoiding his calls since the wedding and haven’t spoken to him. Figures he’d use a work phone to get through.
“Get the hint, Tyler,” I say calmly. “I don’t want to talk to you, and you need to move out of my house.”
He lets out a frustrated huff. “Are you serious right now?”
I steady my breathing and say, “We’re done, Tyler. Get the hell out of my apartment and take my skank sister with you.”
That felt really, really good to say to him. I kind of wish I could see his facial reaction.
“We have nowhere to go, and you know that,” he says, voice rising a few octaves. “We’re family, Silvie. You’re just going to kick us out?”
Is he for real right now? He thinks he’s my family? And the way Belladonna treated me sure as hell isn’t how family treats family. Both of them can go kick rocks.
“You’re not my family, Tyler. And yes, I can,” I say firmly.
“You can’t just do that,” he sputters. “That’s your sister.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a headache forming from the stupidity that I’m hearing right now. “Tyler, you need to get your things and leave. If I hear that Belladonna has been there again, I will have her officially trespassed. I am done with you both. You can go fuck yourselves.”
He gasps as though I’ve punched him in the gut. I bite back a laugh.
“You’re being dramatic again,” he hisses. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”
I laugh, but it’s short and humorless. “I don’t really care what you think. Just get out of my house, my life, and don’t ever call me again.”
“Listen,” Tyler pleads, grasping at straws.
He’s lost control, and he knows it. “I just didn’t know if I was ready to be married to you, okay?
I thought I was and then...I needed time.
I wasn’t sure if you were the one for me.
But...Maybe we could try again? Why don’t you come back to New York? We can talk.”
Is he for real right now? I’ve never met anyone so delusional. He wants two different realities—one with my sister and one with me. She can have him because I am so beyond done.
“Silvie,” he says again, voice even needier than before. “Please—”
I end the call before he can finish his sentence. I don’t argue with losers. And Tyler is a loser.
When I look up, Cal’s standing there with two waters, his jaw tight. Oh my God, how much did he hear? How embarrassing.
“That didn’t sound great,” he says carefully as he settles in next to me on the sand, handing me a water.
“It wasn’t.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” he says. “But you can. I’m a good listener.”
My chest warms at his words. Like I said, Cal is caring. It’s nice to be cared for, even if only in a “friend” capacity.
I take a drink of the water and stare out at the ocean. “He’s a loser. And he won’t get out of my life.”
His jaw tightens. “What do you mean?”
“He just told me that he didn’t know if I was the one for him or not. And I guess that was his excuse for hooking up with my sister.”
Cal’s jaw drops and then he closes his mouth. Then he shakes his head in disbelief. “What an asshole.”
“Yeah. And now he’s mad that I’m finally choosing myself, and he can’t be a leech anymore.”
“Can you just ignore him?”
I snort. “I wish. He works for our company, and apparently, still lives in my apartment. But my team is evicting him right now, and he doesn’t like that because that’s where he’s been shacking up with my grifter sister.”
Cal’s eyebrows shoot up as if he can hardly believe my words. It’s pretty outlandish for sure, but alas, it is my life. Ugh.
“We can go to New York tonight,” Cal half-jokes, scowling. “I can throw that fucking loser out for you.”
I laugh and try to picture Cal in my world in New York City. And...I kind of can picture him. Whoa. Where did that thought come from?
Friends, girl. He’s your friend.
“I mean it. You think I can take him?” he jokes, bumping my shoulder with his, trying to make the conversation lighter. I have noticed that he’s good at that.
“I think you could definitely take him. He’s about, maybe five-eight.
He plays golf and drinks beer as a hobby.
” I joke as I glance over at Cal. He’s well over six feet tall.
More like six-four if I had to guess. He’s built and has what looks like muscles on top of muscles.
And his tattoos...damn, I really need to stop looking at him.
He smirks but then looks intently at me. “I’m going to tell you something, Silvie. Listen. Most guys? We know within the first ten seconds if we like someone. And we know in the first month if they’re wife material. That guy knew he couldn’t measure up to you. It was his problem, not yours.”
I blink and look at him, my breath hitching. “You’re very insightful for a hot surfer.”
His mouth quirks. “You can stop calling me that anytime now.”
“I absolutely cannot.”
He smiles and says, while looking out at the ocean, “Silvie, you’re wife material. And that asshole? He wasn’t worthy.”
My skin prickles with awareness. The waves roll in and the sun keeps shining, but something in what he just said shifted things between us. A thousand thoughts flip through my mind, sending a thrill shooting down my spine.
For the first time in a while, the shitshow I’ve been dealing with back home doesn’t feel like it’s drowning me anymore.