California Nights (Rich Boys of California Duet 1)

But my dick was throbbing. Hard as a rock. Who knew Mouse would be the first girl to get my pulse pounding in months?

She smiled at me, cool as a cucumber. Where was the worshipful little Mouse I knew and loved?

“Hey Clay.”

She’d grown up obviously. And she’d grown up right.

Still, I knew how to charm the pants off a girl, no matter how hot she was. And I wanted to. I knew it instantly. I wanted to fuck Mouse, straight into next week.

Really, really bad.

I smiled, letting my eyes wander over that ridiculously perfect little body.

“Where you going?”

She tossed her head, sending a cascade of wavy blond hair over her shoulder. It was very sexy, but not deliberate or coy. She was unconsciously seductive. It was hypnotizing.

“Job hunting.”

I smirked.

“In that outfit?”

She looked down at herself and back at me.

I pulled my sunglasses down and switched gears.

“I think you’ve outgrown those shorts., little Mouse.”

Then I drove away. Slowly. Very slowly.

Just so I could check out her ass in the rear view window. Good lord, the girl was fine. She’d stop traffic anywhere. No matter what she was wearing.

I went into the house to change, all thoughts of texting Jen forgotten.

Chapter Eight

Nevada

Well, that was interesting.

Clay had definitely noticed that I’d grown up. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that though. It was gratifying to see the dumbfounded look on his face, that was true. But I’d felt something else. Something that scared me.

Anticipation.

Hot, insistent anticipation.

Like I knew on some level that something was going to happen.

No no no.

Bad Nevada! BAD!

He is no good for you.

I mean, I knew he was probably very, very good but for the sake of the argument that I am having with myself – he was very, very bad.

Bad for my peace of mind.

Bad for my plans.

Bad for my self respect.

Because any self-respecting girl would make him work for it after everything that had happened over the years. Make him work hard. Or never ever give into his charm, his smiles, his invitations.

And there had been an unspoken invitation in his eyes.

There was no doubt of that.

I had a feeling suddenly I’d have a very difficult time avoiding Clayton “Bedroom Eyes” Westfield this summer. Avoiding or ignoring. Basically I knew it would be impossible.

I sighed and pedaled faster. The bottoms of my ancient Keds had basically zero tread left so I couldn’t go as fast as I might have liked to. I wanted to go fast enough to outrun my thoughts.

My dirty, naughty little thoughts.

But for the moment, they weren’t going anywhere.

It was about ten miles to town. It didn’t take too long to bike there. Which was a good thing since I was without ‘alternative transportation.’

Yes, I was the only 18 (almost 19) year-old for a hundred miles without a car. Most 16 year-olds around here had their own cars. And not just cars either- hybrid luxury SUV’s.

So be it.

I didn’t have to be like everybody else, now did I? That would be boring. And I might be a shy book worm type, but I wasn’t boring. To hell with that!

I parked my beat up old bike and locked it with a basic bike lock. It was ridiculous I know to think that someone, anyone in this rich town would steal my million year old bike but I didn’t care. I liked it and so I locked it up.

Besides, it’s not like I could afford a new one.

I walked up and down the small rectangle of streets that constituted our town. I walked for an hour looking for help wanted ads. Finally I went into the stores and cafes, one after the other. No one was hiring, not even the coffee shop.

Scratch that.

No one was hiring me.

I pedaled back toward the estate, trying to figure out what I was going to do. The day camp I’d worked for in the past didn’t pay enough to cover school expenses. Plus, now I was legal so more jobs should be open to me. Technically speaking, I could work anywhere. Of course, around here that meant one thing: fine dining. There were five star restaurants everywhere. Hell, even the food trucks in Sonoma had Zagat ratings.

Very fancy, expensive ‘dining experiences.’

Of which I had zero experience. Eating, let alone serving.

I’d look online I decided. Maybe somebody would be willing to give me a start. Not that the food service industry was my dream job but… at my age with my experience it was definitely the best I could get.

It might even pay me enough to save some money. I wanted to move off campus after sophomore year. Neither Mr. Westfield or my mom were likely to pay for that. And part of my work study arrangement included a cut rate on the dorms.

It was up to me. But I knew I could do it. With just a little bit of luck and hard work, I could do it.