Keep (Seaside Pictures 2)

“Pretty sure I didn’t ask.”

“But—”

“Why do people always assume nakedness means sex?” I asked aloud.

“You literally just pulled off all of your clothes, and you have me alone in your house,” Fallon pointed out, still staring at me, watching me with enough peculiar interest that my body felt the need to strut as blood pumped and coursed through every available vein until I thought I was going to explode on the spot.

“Clothes are stifling.” I swallowed the terror building up in my chest and tried to shake it off as my hands started to shake. “I’ll grab some sweat pants and then you can work.”

“Work.” Her big blue eyes blinked up at me. “Work?”

“You said that.”

“It’s because you’re still naked. It’s throwing me off. Which is weird, because normally I stutter but with you…”

“It’s the magic of marshmallows.” I winked, trying without much success to tame the anxiety coiling in my stomach. Meanwhile, her eyes were wandering. “Fallon.” I snapped my fingers. “Eyes up here.”

“What?” She blushed bright red. “I’m sorry I just…” Her eyes darted back and forth like she was trying to focus on anything but me being naked.

“If you stare at something long enough, you’ll get ideas you need to claim it, and the only way to stake the claim on some things, is a simple lick, so unless you’re going to follow through…” I sighed. “You should probably go wait on the couch, after all. Ladies should never tease, Fallon. And I am, above all else, a gentleman.”

“Y-yes.” She nodded. “I’m s-s-s-sorry.”

Hell, and she’d been doing so well; now I had her stuttering again.

I placed my hands on her shoulders and moved her aside then quickly went into my bedroom and grabbed a pair of Lululemon joggers, the guys always made fun of my obsession with Lulu, but their men’s section was almost as tempting as putting marshmallows in my cereal every morning.

“Alright,” I popped my knuckles then walked back into the room and grabbed my guitar from its spot on the couch. “Time to get to know you…”

“Why am I helping you again?”

“Desperation on both our parts. You looked bored, lied about killing your cat Oscar, and most likely your friend thinks you need an adventure or she would have never pushed you off a five-foot ledge risking a broken ankle right as I was walking by.” I leaned in and murmured, “Or, you told her about the kiss, she saw an opportunity and took it.” I winked as I cupped her face with my left hand. “I wonder, which is it, hmm, four eyes?”

Her spine straightened as she leaned away from my hand. “She’s obsessed with you, not me, and my guess is she’s vicariously living through me and would be extremely excited if I did a live periscope feed right now.”

“Hmm, maybe later.” I nodded. “This right here is private. Deal?”

A slow smile spread over her lips. “So this is it, then? Three hours with you and then…”

“And then…” I tipped her chin. “You teach me how to make bad ass chapstick.”

“A-alright.”

“You only stutter when you’re nervous.” I strummed a few chords. “So let me make you a promise.”

She gulped and nodded agreement.

“I’ll try not to make you nervous…and I won’t attack you, strip naked without warning, or try to steal your virtue. I really just need help with this song…” It was as much honesty as she was going to get. I’d never actually kidnapped a person in hopes they would inspire me, but whatever. If it worked, then I was happy.

Anything to chase the darkness away.

And as much as people saw me with alcohol—I rarely drank it, if ever.

Bad memories and alcohol never mixed. Hell, a bad life and alcohol didn’t mix, because alcohol was a poison, it lowered your inhibitions and caused you to remember, and my main goal in life—was to forget.

Chapter Six

Fallon

I WASN’T ENTIRELY SURE what a nervous breakdown looked like, but I did know crazy, and Zane fit the bill. Who just walked into some stranger’s house, a house that said stranger is letting you stay in and starts pulling off their clothes?

And he didn’t have any sort of…underthings.

I mentally shook my fist up at my grandma in heaven. She was the reason I used weird language. Always calling bras “braziers” and underwear “underthings”, as if the word panty was too brazen to say out loud.

It literally took me five trips to the Victoria’s Secret in Portland to finally stutter out the word “bra.” And even then, I was so exhausted and embarrassed afterward that Mags was afraid I was going to pass out.

Then again, she was probably hoping I would so she could call in some hot paramedics. She was good at that, using my social awkwardness to further her dating calendar.

I shoved my glasses aside to rub my burning eyes then put them back on. It was no use; the glasses were so old that they were probably hindering my sight more than helping it.

Maybe that was a good thing.

I could make out Zane’s smile, but only enough to know he was smiling, I couldn’t see any dimples, and I refused to believe he didn’t have something caught in his teeth. In fact, by the time he’d come back with his sweats and was offering his whole spiel on why I should help him, I’d decided to give him a lazy eye, no teeth, and an unfortunate amount of boils on his person.