The Summer of Us: A Romance Anthology Read online

  Too late.

  From our brief interlude outside the bathrooms, I’d recognize the scent anywhere. Sweet, luscious raspberries.

  “Thea, my nephew Seamus.” A strangled groan escapes my lips. Paddy knows I hate my real name. “He’s a good boy, a smart one, but shy. Be gentle, love.”

  I lift my head to glare at my well-meaning but socially inappropriate uncle, but he’s off to fill a glass and flirt with another patron.

  Time to face the inevitable. I’ve got to talk to her, want to, but I never know what to say. At least this will be quick.

  I pop up from the bar and turn in her direction, forcing a smile to my lips as I shove my right hand at her. “Shay. Nice to meet you.”

  Nice to meet you?

  Smooth.

  Thea shrinks back and looks at me sideways, something shining in her bright blue eyes.

  Doubt? Does she sense the fear?

  She can do much better than me. I’m not ugly, and I try to keep myself in decent shape, but crap, I can’t shake this awkwardness.

  She gives my hand a firm shake before releasing it and sitting next to me. My heart’s swimming in my chest, doing laps around my lungs, which can’t take in air fast enough.

  Passing out would be inappropriate and a tad embarrassing, so I slow my breathing and hope the action will quiet my too-rapid heartbeat.

  She leans in, her thick hair falling forward and brushing my forearm. I swallow over the solid lump in my throat.

  “Thea, but I guess ya know,” she titters, echoing my nervousness. She takes the shooter Paddy brings her. He sets the same in front of me.

  “I know this one,” Thea says, holding the shot glass at eye-level and studying the contents. “The B shooter.”

  A perfectly-layered B-52: dark brown Kahlua, topped with amber amaretto, finished with creamy Bailey’s.

  Sweet, but strong stuff.

  Not my thing, but Paddy must sense I need powerful liquid courage. He’s encouraging me, the same way I’m on my little brother Mac to take risks. Mac has high-functioning autism and bouts of depression, but I pushed him to face his fears, make a move on the girl he loves, and jumpstart his music career. There he is tonight, on the stage.

  Stop being so rigid, I told him. He listened about the performing.

  The strict discipline though, an inflexibility in my approach to tackling my goals, is what got me into my top med school. My rigid nature, however, will not help me charm this lovely lass.

  Time to take my own advice.

  “To making new friends.” I raise my glass, clinking it against hers.

  “Ta makin’ new friends.”

  The hint of an accent is freaking cute.

  I pause, and she’s staring at me with those clear-sky eyes, waiting for me to drink.

  “And to taking chances,” I declare.

  Clink.

  “Takin’ chances. Fuckin’ awesome.”

  “Do you think this one will go down smoother than the last one?” I ask.

  Her slender fingers tap my forearm, triggering a dizzy spell like an anvil fell on my head.

  “That thing was awful. Tabasco sauce mixed with alcohol in a shot glass? No thank you.” Thea’s face flushes a pale shade of pink, highlighting the adorable freckles across the bridge of her nose.

  I can’t stop looking at her.

  We drink.

  The shot burns a hole in my throat, but the sweetness is pleasing.

  It’s how Thea will taste when I kiss her later.

  “Let’s get out of here.” I’m surprised to realize I’m the one who said this.

  Her forehead crinkles and her lips purse, and at first she shakes her head. The shake turns to a nod. “Okay. Yes. Let’s do this.”

  She slips out of her chair and starts for the door, and all I can do is jump to my feet and follow.

  The sound of her friends’ whooping is silenced by the closing door. The humid July air blankets us.

  She’s so close, but I’m clueless about what to do next.

  I know I want to be alone with her.

  I capture her fingers in mine and pull her into the dark alley next to the bar, the rooftop AC units humming in the air. Her skirt swishes against my bare legs. I wrap my fingers around the smooth skin of her arms, squeezing the soft flesh as I ease her against the wall.

  She pushes my hands to her breasts. Um. They’re . . . wow.

  Then she kisses me, her lush lips magical as they move over mine under the moonlight. Her hands tug at my hair, drawing my head down as her tongue delves deeper into my mouth.

  The creamy, almond-coffee aftertaste of the shooter is sweeter on her lips than it was in the glass.

  I groan as all the blood rushes from my brain straight to my groin.

  I don’t know how this night will end, but I know one thing for sure.

  No one will ever kiss me like this again.

  Thea

  I pull Shay’s hands to my chest. His gentle strokes ignite sparks through the thin layers of my tank top and bra. Knowing he may be the last person ever to touch my breasts is exhilarating.

  I pant, the heat rising to my skin as I press my lips to his. He startles at the contact but surrenders to the kiss.

  A moan escapes from his throat as my fingers dive into his thick, dark hair. The wall of the building scratches at the exposed skin of my shoulders and drunken revelers provide the soundtrack for our impromptu make-out session.

  Not how I’d expected my Key West fling to begin. Hell, I don’t know what I’d expected.

  But his broad shoulders and hard arms and big hands tell me I need more.

  Shay pulls back, his breathing labored, and I’m disappointed. My heart threatens to break my ribs, and I try to kiss him again, but he cups my face in his hands. “What’s the hurry?”

  If only he knew. If we’d met in the future, instead of tonight, he might’ve turned the other way. I want to experience this pure physical euphoria over and over for the next few days.

  “No hurry, I guess.” I sag against the wall and drop my head.

  He slips a finger under my chin and turns my face upward to his. In the filtered moonlight, his face is even more chiseled, shadowed with a hint of mystery.

  “I don’t want to . . .” He tips his head at the street littered with noisy passersby. “Not here. Not like this.”

  Oh. My face breaks into a wide grin. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

  “Are you visiting, or do you live here?”

  “Visiting. Less than a week left.”

  Let’s get on with it already.

  “Have you visited much of the island? Or the surrounding area?”

  I shrug. “Not much. My friends are more the ‘relax by the pool’ types, but I plan to get out more the next few days.”

  “I want to show you something you won’t find on any other tour.”

  He pulls me away from the wall, twining his fingers in mine as we walk east on Front Street and make a right on another street. The street name painted on the telephone pole reads “Simonton.” I recognize the tan stucco building with forest green awnings and trim. The girls and I had gotten lost coming out of Sloppy Joe’s our second night here. We each insisted, in our less than sober states that our condo was in three different directions. This—the wrong way—was my idea.

  He strokes his thumb across the sensitive skin of my palm. The sensation is more arousing than when his fingers brushed across my exposed cleavage. I thought I wanted sex tonight, but being close to him this way is a thousand times more intimate.

  We approach a marina. It’s a clear night with a few stray clouds, and the moon glows overhead.

  Glossy white boats line up in neat rows, water sloshing around them. He climbs aboard one of the smaller ones with the name Scamp emblazoned on the back.

  “Is . . . is this your boat?”

  His bright smile shines in the moonlight, melting my knees. “No. Sort of.”

  “No?” I stop in my tracks, my flip-flops s
kidding on the wooden pier. “Won’t we get in trouble if someone notices the boat is gone?”

  “If Da calls the police. These boats belong to my family’s business.”

  “Oh. Da?”

  “Yeah, my dad. We’re Irish, so I’ve called him Da since I could talk.”

  “Right. Your uncle has a distinct accent. How come you don’t?”

  He climbs on the boat and holds his hand out. I accept his help, holding my swishy skirts in the other hand.

  “We came here from Ireland when I was six. I guess my accent’s dulled through the years. What about yours?”

  “What accent?” Though I protest, I admit to myself my drawl intensifies after a couple drinks. Shay’s eyes crinkle, and I secede to his inquiry. “I’m from a tiny town in Georgia, like my mama.”

  “Ah, a couple states from where I’m going to medical school in the fall.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “North Carolina.”

  “Hmmm.” Do I tell him I live in North Carolina now? I decide no. If I do, then he gets the wrong impression: “Hey, I live in Newbridge. We should get together once you move.” This thing with us, though, whatever happens, stays in Florida. Between Jen’s recovery and my surgery, there’s too much going on to take any complications home.

  I sit on the vinyl-covered padded bench and text Leesh.

  Me: Headed out on a boat. He’s the bar owner’s nephew. Getting good vibes. Tell B I may get lucky tonight after all. :)

  And a minute later:

  Leesh: Told Paddy if anything happens to you we’re calling the cops on him. Have fun and be safe. Don’t forget the condoms in your purse. Oh, and the mace.

  No doubt they informed Paddy that Bennie’s local cousins are huge, terrifying men.

  Shay unties the boat, the muscles in his arms and wide shoulders flexing with each move.

  The buzz from the shots is wearing off, but an odd sense of exhilaration still envelops me, like I’m drunk on the possibilities this night has presented.

  His hair had looked neat at the bar, but it loosens in the sultry late-July air and hangs over his forehead. If he weren't maneuvering the boat around the other craft on the pier, I’d stand and brush the stray lock to the side.

  “Life jackets are under the seat. Put one on and toss me one.”

  I do as instructed. “You know, that doesn’t inspire confidence in your abilities as a boat captain.”

  “Hilarious. Boats are similar to cars. You may be a skilled driver, but you’ve still got to protect yourself from things beyond your control. I still want airbags in my car even though I’ve never been in an accident.”

  “Point taken.” Which brings up another issue. “Should you be driving this thing? I mean, how much did you drink?”

  “I nursed one beer slowly, seeing how I was distracted by someone.” He laughs, and my face grows warm, my belly tingling again. “Then I had a few sips of a second beer and the B-52. Less to drink than you, and I’m bigger.”

  In such a good way. His shirt stretches across his wide shoulders, giving way to a tapered waist and long, solid legs.

  “I’m fine. Better than fine.” He winks at me. My insides melt.

  “Where are you taking me?” I should be concerned, but something is so right about this, about him. Nothing’s going to happen to me.

  Not true. I’m sure something is going to happen to me, but in an “oh my God!” good way.

  “Where are you taking me?” I repeat.

  The engine whirs louder as the boat crawls through the black water.

  Water sprays up, dampening my face and hair. My curls spring to life, transforming into tight corkscrews that had, along with my crazy costumes, inspired my mother to nickname me “Gypsy” after her favorite song. I listen to Fleetwood Mac whenever I miss Mama or need her advice. I often find the answers I need in their complex lyrics, sensing Mama played a certain song to help me.

  “It’s a surprise. And one few tourists see since the island nightlife is a huge draw for visitors.”

  I laugh since I was one of those tourists at a bar less than an hour ago. “I hate surprises. Tell me.”

  “Nope. You must witness this for yourself.” He cuts the engine, and we drift into a cove. He tosses a blanket on the floor, flips off the spotlight, and kills the navigation equipment before sitting and patting the blanket, inviting me to join him.

  I smother the urge to dart into his lap as I slide off the seat and walk the couple steps to where he is. I pull off my vest and sit next to him, my shoulder brushing the fabric of his shirt as I close the gap between us. He slings his arm around me, his warm fingers eliciting contradictory shivers across my skin, and I breathe in his warm, salty scent.

  “Look up.”

  I comply, and the view above steals the air from my lungs.

  From our vantage point in the darkened cove, the constellations glow, painting a picture of the ancient gods against an inky background.

  I wish I remembered the names of the constellations. I recognize a few but can’t think of their names.

  “Wow. Magnificent.” A pale light streaks across the indigo sky, and I make a wish. A few wishes.

  “It is dazzling. Da first brought me out here when I was eight and showed an interest in science. He says reading stuff in books is fine, but better to experience it. This niche is perfect for stargazing. No light pollution to dim the view.”

  “What’s this one?” I point to a shape of twinkling stars on the right.

  Shay extends his arm and takes my hand in his, my fingers burning at the contact. Our hands move together, drawing out a rough Y-shape. “Perseus. A couple stars from his princess, Andromeda, are visible, and to the northwest is her mother, Cassiopeia. Do you know the story?”

  Yes. I remember my mythology. But the rich timbre of his voice makes my toes curl, and I want more. “Tell me.”

  “Cassiopeia boasted how Andromeda was more beautiful than the Nereids, nymphs of the sea. This claim angered Poseidon, who demanded the princess be sacrificed to a sea monster. Perseus, flying in his winged sandals, spots Andromeda chained to a sea wall. The monster rises from the water to kill her. Perseus had earlier cut off Medusa’s head, so he pulls it out of his sack and the sea monster turns to stone and crumbles to pieces. Perseus hacks off Andromeda’s chains and returns her to her family. When Perseus asks her father, King Cepheus of Phoenicia, for Andromeda’s hand in marriage, the king approves.”

  I try to concentrate on the words, but the rumble of his voice sends butterflies skittering around in my stomach. His rough thumb strokes the base of my neck, sending a jolt of electricity through my spine.

  I wouldn’t protest at all if Shay kissed me, or more, but this moment, gazing at the night sky while he caresses me, takes my breath away.

  I don’t want it to end.

  Shay shows me a few more constellations, holding on to my hand. I’m clinging so hard to him I don’t think he could let go if he tried.

  I suppress a yawn, and Shay looks at his watch. He’s one of the few people I’ve seen in recent memory wearing a watch. And he’s more clean-cut than most of the guys I’ve dated. The gleam in his eye hints at a streak of mischief I find appealing.

  “Well, Cinderella, it’s way past midnight. I should get you home.” He strokes my cheek with one of his long fingers, the tender gesture making my heart swell.

  I lean in, my lips parting. My breath, coming in shallow gasps, mingles with his.

  My heart flips again, spinning as his lips whisper against mine.

  His hand slips into my hair but doesn’t pull me deeper into the kiss. The light caress of his lips ignites a spark of desire. Heat radiates from my belly through my limbs. This kiss is even more erotic than the one in the alley.

  He pulls away and kisses the tip of my nose.

  “Thea, I don’t do this, you know. I don’t pick up random girls in bars. Ever.” His voice cracks on the last word.

  A stray cloud darkens the moon, m
asking his expression, but I trust him.

  “I don’t do this either. I’ve never . . .” Had sex with a total stranger. The point of this vacation is for me to relax, unwind, and give in to pure, physical pleasure.

  I don’t want my last time before the mastectomy to be with a random guy. I’d prefer not do it at all. My shoulders tighten, and I straighten my spine.

  I can’t do this. Not here, not like this.

  The moon shines on us once more. He nods, his eyes warm and understanding.

  “We can do whatever you wish, or nothing at all.” He takes my hand in his large one, the calluses on his palms scratching into my skin.

  This whole night’s been a fairy tale. Intense but utterly enchanting. I want to freeze this moment. If I could get pizza delivery out here, I’d stay here for the rest of time.

  My heart sinks as Shay stands and puts his vest on again. I yawn again, and he hands me my vest. “Let’s go before you turn into Sleeping Beauty on my boat. The Scamp is a fun ride, but not a comfortable place to sleep.”

  My belly knots up, and a pang of loss settles in my chest as Shay starts the boat. The marina lights glow in the distance much too soon. Minutes later, we pull in, and he cuts the engine.

  He jumps off the boat at the pier and ties off the rope. Again my gaze moves over the lean muscles of his body. I imagine running my hands across his back as we lie naked together, his muscles bunched as he . . .

  “Thea? Hey, Earth to Thea.” He laughs, and I snap back my head to find his hand extended.

  I take his hand, and he asks, “Which way?”

  “Which way, what?”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Oh, um . . .” Shit. What’s the address? “Fleming and Porter.”

  “Not too far. We can walk. Let’s go.” He keeps a firm grip on my hand, and anyone still wandering the streets might get the idea Shay’s my boyfriend.

  I’m fine if someone makes such an assumption.

  If I was not at such a fucked-up crossroad in life, this guy is the boyfriend I would want.

  But I am at a fucked-up crossroad, and there’s no time for boyfriends. I need to concentrate on me and my family.

  It’s not time for my happily ever after, and it may never be since most guys will consider me “damaged goods.”