Chapter 12
SCOTT: GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN
She’d asked me to show her. Six weeks to prove there was more to life than money, rules, and her mother’s leash.
I wasn’t sure I was qualified. Me, with my high school diploma and a paycheck that disappeared the second I cashed it.
Still, if anyone needed a crash course in normal, it was Michelle.
And luckily for her, I happened to specialize in ordinary.
“Okay, Gold Coast, let’s try this again,” I said, holding the board steady in the shallows. The morning sun bounced off the water, bright enough to make Michelle squint. Her hair was a mess of salt and frizz, and she looked absolutely done. Not on my watch. Not in my surf lesson.
She groaned but dropped to her stomach and paddled out a few feet before turning back. I guided the board into position, gave her a little shove, and called, “Okay—pop up!”
Michelle scrambled like a baby giraffe. Knees bent, arms flailing, she somehow managed to stand for a whole second—maybe less—before wobbling and collapsing backward.
Right into me. I caught her against my chest, salt water splashing around us.
Her laughter was breathless, bubbling against my shoulder, and when she tilted her head back, the sunlight hit her face just right.
“I stood up,” she gasped, still laughing. “Aren’t you proud of me?”
She’d been upright for maybe a nanosecond. Hardly medal-worthy.
Still… that grin. Those eyes.
“Very.”
The air between us shifted. Her hands on my shoulders.
Her body pressed against mine. It was all I could do to keep my thoughts to myself.
Then she gave me the kind of look I didn’t need instructions for, and my job flashed before my eyes.
One kiss and I was done. Fired on the spot. But holy hell… what a way to go.
“We can’t,” I said, even though every part of me was screaming otherwise.
Michelle slid her fingers into my wet hair, keeping me close. “Can’t we?” she breathed.
Was that a question or a dare?
Drops of seawater clung to her lips, taunting me. I pulled her tighter as the tide rocked us together. “I’ll get fired if someone sees.”
Michelle’s smile turned wicked. “Then no one sees.” And with a tug, she pulled us under.
For once, the world cut out. No noise. No responsibilities.
Just her mouth on mine in a cool rush of saltwater—her lips fever-hot against the chill, tongue sliding in like she owned every breath I had left.
Weightless, lungs burning, her hair floated across my cheek, while her nipples brushed my skin through the soaked cling of her one-piece swimsuit in sharp, teasing points that jolted straight through me.
The air was quickly draining, but I didn’t care—I only wanted more.
If I could have, I’d have stayed under with her until my chest gave out and the ocean swallowed us whole.
We broke the surface gasping, her laughter wild and breathless. Maybe Michelle had a rebel heart after all.
Yeah. I’d go under again for that.
The week’s worth of private surf lessons Michelle scored with her coupon hadn’t exactly gone to plan.
Didn’t matter what I did, there was no teaching her.
Michelle was just spectacularly uncoordinated, to the point where I found myself scrambling for compliments.
Gems like ‘Balance is overrated’ and ‘I’ve never seen anyone paddle backwards with such confidence. ’
Nah, we needed something less coordinated but still brave… like the coasters at Magic Mountain.
What I’d learned from Michelle was that rich kids didn’t spend their Saturdays at an amusement park.
They jetted off to Fiji or Rome or hopped on some private yacht with their names on the guest list. A rickety coaster and graffiti-covered trash cans buzzing with yellowjackets weren’t on their radar.
For the rest of us, though, this was the vacation.
Sticky pavement, fried food, and the thrill of cheating death for three minutes at a time.
Michelle stayed stoic as we wound back and forth beneath the massive white skeleton of track that towered overhead like some giant ribcage.
Every few minutes, a train roared past as the wooden beams rattled and the riders screamed.
Michelle’s eyes followed the cars as they whipped by, her knuckles white on the safety rail.
“You’ve still got time to chicken out,” I said, giving her no slack.
Just like she’d given me none when she picked our last spot—a fancy French restaurant in the next county, safely out of range of anyone she knew.
Michelle had thought it would be fun to “culture” me.
She’d slicked my hair back and shoved me into a rented suit, but forgot to mention the place required basic skills with a fork and knife.
I quickly discovered that sawing through my duck à l’orange with the edge of my fork wasn’t how rich people did it.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she said, leaning against the railing beside me. “No, I’m going to ride this deathtrap just to spite you.”
Michelle’s spunk never ceased to amaze me. Sometimes it felt like she was from another planet. Her life experiences were a world away from mine, but then she’d toss out some snotty little diss, and I’d swear I’d trained her myself.
“If you die,” I offered helpfully, “at least you’ll go out screaming my name.”
“Cursing your name is more like it.”
“Same thing. At least you’ll be thinking about me at the end.”
She shifted, fidgeting with the strap of her tank top like she couldn’t get comfortable, and before I thought twice, I hooked an arm around her waist and lifted her onto the railing.
She gave a little squeal and grabbed my shoulders, legs instinctively wrapping around my waist so she wouldn’t topple backward.
“Scott!” she whispered, half scandalized, half laughing. “You’re going to knock me over.”
“I’ve got you. Relax.”
Michelle’s fingers lingered on my shoulders, her nails lightly pressing into my shirt. I looked into her eyes. They were equal parts heat and longing, and for a second the entire line around us disappeared. It was just her, perched in front of me, daring me to close the gap.
The distraction worked a little too well—next thing I knew, we were in the loading bay. Michelle froze the second her toes touched the yellow line.
“Look, if you’re too scared to go on a big girl ride, then we can bail. I’ll take you to the carousel, we’ll eat cotton candy, get a stuffed bunny…”
“No.” She squared her shoulders, her eyes blazing with something stubborn and scared and completely irresistible. She even checked her pulse to confirm she hadn’t flatlined. “I’m doing it… so shut up.”
“Fine,” I said, raising my hands. “I’ll alert the paramedics.”
We climbed into the unstable car, and the lap bar slammed down over our thighs.
I leaned in, lowering my voice. “You don’t have back issues, do you?”
“No, why?” Michelle asked, squeezing tighter, her breath coming fast.
“No reason.”
As if on cue, the coaster lurched forward, snapping our bodies back against the seats. We were hauled up the first impossibly tall hill as the whole structure creaked and groaned around us. The chain dragged us higher and higher.
And then, with a gut-dropping lurch, the world tilted, and we plunged.
She didn’t scream when we dropped. At least, not at first. But by the second dive, she’d found her voice and unleashed it at a pitch that set off every dog in the county. I spent the ride laughing my ass off and yelling encouragement she definitely didn’t hear.
When the cars screeched back into the station and jolted to a stop, she didn’t move. Her hair had been blown into a bird’s nest of tangles, her mascara was smudged, and her cheeks were a sickly shade of pale. She looked like she’d just staggered out of battle.
I braced myself for the meltdown. For the “never again” speech. For the inevitable reminder that normal people’s ideas of fun were apparently medieval torture to her.
But then she turned those wild eyes on me, breathless and wrecked, and whispered, “Again.”
Michelle Carver was my dream girl.
Usually around the two-week mark, girls started to bore me.
But not Michelle. She had my full attention.
Maybe it was the time limit that had been placed on us that made every moment with her feel urgent.
Six weeks to blow her mind; that’s all I’d been given, and I was doing my best to give her experiences she’d never get back home.
Strolling the mall. Cruising the main drag. Roller rinks. Bonfires on the beach.
With every date, the pull between us grew stronger.
I kept my focus locked on Michelle. My hand would slide up her side, gripping her like she was already mine.
Michelle was no better. She had a habit of grabbing my jaw, tilting my face toward hers, and kissing me with a smoldering intensity.
That alone was enough to get a rise out of me.
We never crossed the line, but it was a constant dance along the edge. I had a feeling it wasn’t her protecting her innocence so much as protecting herself from whatever would happen when our six weeks were up.
But I couldn’t worry about that now. Not when we still had time to spend.
And today, Michelle wanted to slow it down.
No thrill rides. No underwater CPR. Sundays were fun days…
with MGM, and we spent them at a kids’ park in the heart of the Venice Beach Boardwalk.
It was a place my own mother had taken me nearly every day of my young life.
She’d be off roller skating in a bikini, blowing bubbles into the wind, while I navigated the play structure solo with the mentality of a mob boss.
I smiled at the memory of her na?ve negligence.