Fool Me Once

I drop to my knees in the thick grass. “Every day she pushes me away, I think her heart forgets the bond we share. What if she never lets me back in?” Tears fly down my face, disappearing into the grass. “It’s so crazy. She’d rather not have me now, in case she might lose me, instead of living every day, loving me. She’s all I have left, Mom. Please, if there’s anything you can do from up there, do it.”

“Blakely? Are you okay?” Brenton asks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you, but you’ve been out here for a while.”

“I’m sorry.” I stand and wipe the lingering liquid from my cheeks. “I’m okay. I just needed to talk to my mom for a few minutes.”

Blakely

The sun is blazing down from above, warming the tips of my toes, which are the only part of my body that’s exposed to the heat. The rest of me is in the shade, thanks to the gigantic rainbow-colored umbrella Brenton’s jammed into the sand—before he left to go hang out with his friends—and is doing a fabulous job of covering my entire body while I cry my eyes out over the loss of Catherine Earnshaw. Not because I like her so much—oh no, she was a major bitch. I’m crying because poor Heathcliff. He loved her so much, and now she’s gone, and it explains why he’s the way he is. Why he’s so bitter and lonely—he’s heartbroken.

We’ve been here for four days, and so far, I’ve spent every single one, right here in this spot, switching from Wuthering Heights to my own personal romance novel I brought to read. The only time I leave is to walk to the restaurant to get something to eat, or to go to the room to get some sleep. The first couple days I was hoping to lure Sierra away from her friends so we could maybe go for a walk and talk, but I’ve kind of given up on that hope, since I’ve yet to see her awake. I’m asleep before she and her friends stumble in, and then they spend most of the day sleeping off their hangover so they can do it all over again.

Just as I’m turning the page in my book, someone yells, “Watch out!” Unsure of where the voice is coming from, I look to the left and then to the right, but before I can grasp what’s happening, the circular object hits my hand, and my book flies out of my grasp and into the water.

“Shit! I’m so sorry.” A half-naked guy comes running over, sand kicking up around him as his strong legs pound into the ground. The closer he gets, the more of him I’m able to see, and holy shit, do I like what I see. Messy brown hair I could picture running my fingers through, tanned, smooth skin I would enjoy kissing and licking, and if I’m feeling frisky, biting.

My eyes rake over his tattooed, sculpted chest and down to his abs. Two-four-sex… I mean six. God damn! Look at that six-pack. He must work out, probably several times a day. Damn, I’d love for him to work me out…

As he jogs over, his corded arm muscles flex, making it appear as if the ink on his arms is coming alive, and I briefly imagine holding on to those arms while he fucks me good and hard. He runs past me, and I follow his every move. When he bends over, I check out his butt that’s hidden under his low-hanging board shorts as I fantasize about my legs wrapped around his waist and my heels digging into that butt…

But then he turns around, and in his hands is the now sopping wet copy of Wuthering Heights, and I instantly snap out of my lust-filled thoughts.

“Here you go,” he says sheepishly, the soaking wet book dangling from his fingers. Drops of saltwater fall down and land on my knee. My eyes meet his, and just as I’m about to snap at him, the corner of his mouth lifts into a nervous smile, and a single dimple pops out on his cheek, and once again, I’m momentarily distracted by just how good-looking he is.

“Thanks so much.” My reply drips with sarcasm. Taking the book from him, I examine the saturated, ruined pages, and mumble, “At least it wasn’t my mom’s copy.”

“I’m Keegan.” His half-smile turns into a cocky grin. Oh, hell, no…

“I’m not interested.”

He throws his head back with the most beautiful laugh I’ve ever heard. It’s raspy and deep and sexy. My eyes land on his Adam’s apple, and my tongue darts out, wanting to lick down his throat.

“Fair enough.” He nods. “I really am sorry about the book.” His gorgeous forest green eyes meet mine. “Can I do something to make it up to you?”