At that moment while he changed direction and strode towards me I was locked in place. It was as if his gaze had turned the sand underneath my toes into quicksand.
“Sparky,” he greeted me softly.
“You surf,” I replied, drinking in his sculpted body.
“As much as I can,” he replied.
“I’ve always wanted to surf,” I continued.
“I can teach you.” He seemed to not be perturbed by the weirdness of my greeting.
“You’d want to drown me after five minutes.”
Brock’s face went dark. “Maybe. But I’d want to fuck you after five seconds. Especially if you wore that red bikini that makes your tits look good enough to eat.”
Silence descended at the mention of the red bikini and the argument it represented. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch. It was all a bit…intense,” I blurted, feeling generally sorry.
“Shit, babe, I’m sorry I came on too strong with the whole old lady thing. It’s too fast for you, I get it.” He ran his hand through his damp hair and I followed it intently with my eyes. “It’s too fuckin’ fast for me as well. But I can’t stop fuckin’ thinkin’ about you, babe. Your body, your hair. That bikini, the way you taste.” His eyes were dark on mine. “Fuck it,” he muttered. He speared his board into the sand and grabbed the back of my neck, pulling my body against his damp and hard one.
I melted into the kiss, submitted to the firestorm that followed his touch. As his hand squeezed my ass roughly I was able to gain some coherent thought.
I pulled back. “We need to stop,” I said breathlessly.
“Yeah, if by stop you mean go to your place so I can fuck you against the wall while you’re wearing that virginal fuckin’ dress I agree,” he growled and I almost complied. Hell, I almost suggested the sand at our feet.
“We can’t,” I said firmly. More to myself than him.
He frowned. “Why the fuck not?”
“We can’t do this for…awhile,” I declared, not wanting to end it entirely. It was selfish and possibly cruel, but the thought of never feeling Brock’s explosive touch again had me feeling vaguely nauseous.
Brock’s frown turned into a glare. “What are you talking about, Amy?”
“We just can’t, okay?” I said quietly.
Brock’s hands tightened at my hips. “That’s not a reason, and not something I’m going to accept, baby.”
I huffed at him. “Well, it’s my prerogative to end something without giving a reason if that’s what I want,” I shot at him.
A hand moved from my hip to graze the side of my breast. “Yup, it may be your prerogative but it sure as shit isn’t what you want. Tell me what’s going on,” he demanded.
I let out a breath. I really didn’t want it to come to this. “Someone’s coming to town today. Someone I need to…sort some things out with before I can even consider taking this—us—further,” I said quietly.
Brock’s face turned cold. “A man.”
I nodded, unable to say anything else. I felt like a massive bitch.
“So you’ve just been using me as your personal fuck toy until your real man comes to town? That it, Amy?” he clipped. “The man who wears an expensive suit, earns enough money to keep you in your fancy shit and someone you can take him to Mummy and Daddy?” he yelled.
“No! Of course not. How could you even think that? We’re not together. Not anymore,” I defended. “And wearing a fancy suit and getting my parents’ approval would be two things that would make me run a mile,” I told him honestly.
Brock glared at me in disbelief before his face turned blank. “Yeah, well you do whatever you gotta do. I don’t need your shit fucking up my life.” He grabbed his board and walked off.
“Well, that went well,” I said to myself.
It was safe to say the drive home that night had me feeling like utter shit. Not only had I felt like a terrible person after the train wreck run-in with Brock, I also had just gotten off the phone with Lucy and she had told me somehow Jimmy had called Gwen. My worry for my friend permeated everything else. I was terrified that sick fuck got into her head and bulldozed all of the progress she had made over the past year. That was not going to happen. I would make sure of it.
I dialed a number I usually avoided like the plague.
“Amy, how are you, my dear?” My father answered the phone pleasantly.
“I’m not the best, Father, since I just found out that piece of shit Jimmy somehow called Gwen’s cell phone and threatened her,” I responded with a shaking voice. “I need you to find out how that happened and get whoever was responsible fired,” I ordered. “I also want you to make sure that that piece of shit is in solitary for the rest of his miserable life.”
My father was silent for a moment. “Consider it done. How is Gwenevere?” His concern almost sounded real for a moment.
I paused. “I don’t know, I haven’t spoken to her yet. I’m pulling up at home now so I’ve got to go.” I turned off the car, bracing myself. “And Dad…thanks,” I said after a moment.
“You’re welcome, Amy.” My father sounded taken aback at my thanking him but I didn’t have time for my estranged family drama. I had my real family to worry about.
Promptly, as I was walking up our driveway in fact, my worry turned to anger.
I stormed in the door, slamming it behind me, eyes narrowing on Gwen as I hurtled into the dining room. “You!” I accused, pointing my finger. “I cannot believe the prick who shall not be named called and I had to find out from freaking Lucy! I mean, I love the girl, but I don’t want to find this shit out secondhand. You should have called me the moment you got off the phone with that maggot so I could call him back and reach down the phone and castrate the fucker,” I said fiercely, meaning every word. I would gladly deball that man given the opportunity.