Saugatuck Summer (Saugatuck, #1)(11)
So, seriously, just what the f*ck was that all about?
I woke up on the morning of my twenty-first birthday determined to take one day off job hunting and treat myself to an afternoon of checking out the local scene, particularly the penis-bearing portion of it. It wasn’t Memorial Day yet, so tourist traffic wouldn’t be all that high, but there had to be at least a few early birds and residents around, right? Mo wouldn’t be home to celebrate my birthday for almost another week and a half, and I didn’t really want to wait. Besides, when I went out with Mo, I couldn’t really hook up with anyone without feeling like I was abandoning her. If we’d been back at school and I hadn’t been her houseguest, that would have been different, but as things were, if I wanted to get me some birthday sex, it was probably better to go out solo.
With that in mind, I packed up a beach bag.
“Going somewhere?” Brendan asked over the bowl of cereal he was eating at the counter. I decided not to eat a banana because, having psyched myself up to flirting and picking someone up, I’d probably end up deep-throating it in front of him (but, hmmm, hey, let’s pack one or two of those in the beach bag, shall we?). I opted for a cup of yogurt for breakfast instead.
“Yeah, I thought I’d check out Oval Beach for the day.”
“Oh, that sounds fun. A little cool still, but it looks like it’ll be a nice afternoon. You know, I’m getting a bit of cabin fever working on this book all day every day. If you want some company . . .”
My mouth fell open and I froze for a moment, unsure how to answer that. On one hand, my inner crush-stricken schoolgirl screamed a resounding yes! On the other hand, doing so would not only be a Bad Fucking Idea with regard to quelling my silly infatuation, it would be completely contrary to my purpose in going out to begin with.
Unable to come up with any tactful response, I decided to go for honesty instead.
“That sounds like a lot of fun, Mr. G—Brendan. But, um . . . I’m kind of trying to get out to, you know, meet people.”
With my dick. I left that part unspoken.
“Meet— Oh.” Enlightenment dawned. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped a little. Then his ears turned red. “Meet people. Right. Yeah, you probably don’t want me around for that.”
I shrugged a helpless apology, unable to deny the truth of the statement. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t mind hanging out some other time, though.”
“Sure.” He seemed like he had to force that indulgent smile. “Have fun, Topher. Make lots of, um . . . friends.”
I nodded back and shuffled out the door.
Well. That wasn’t a bit awkward.
After I spread my blanket, I left my beach bag lying on it, unconcerned for my iPod and phone inside. On most public beaches, especially upscale ones like this, there was a code of honor that kept unattended possessions from walking away—or so I hoped. Besides, it was still early enough that the beach was pretty sparsely populated, especially out of season as it was. I imagined more people would show up as it got closer to afternoon.
Determined that I was done waiting to experience the water, I stripped down to my Speedo and ran out to the lake. Fuck, it was dick-shriveling cold! Seriously. My efforts to get laid just might be jeopardized by the fact that it was going to be difficult to convince the Orb Brothers to creep back down out of my abdomen. Still, I threw myself into my morning swim, stroking hard against the waves until my arms began to ache with the effort of getting back to shore. Since I wouldn’t be able to time myself or track my distances on the lake, I compensated by just throwing as much speed and power into my workouts as I could. Then I staggered, shivering and no doubt purple-lipped, back up the beach to my blanket. I flopped down on it, rushing to dry off so I could pull on my shirt.
Digging in my bag for my iPod, I put in the earbuds and lay on my stomach, selecting one of my more upbeat Casey Stratton playlists—he was one of my all-time favorite singer/songwriters—to pass the time until interesting, non-redheaded people began to show up. I listened and sang along to myself, rocking out a little because I was practically alone and hell, why not? I couldn’t quite match his range, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t determined to try.
I called up the e-reader app on my phone and scrolled through the books I’d downloaded. I’d developed a taste for erotica—porn without the pictures you wouldn’t want anyone to get a glimpse of over your shoulder, what a brilliant concept!—but I wasn’t going to risk a woody in a Speedo on a public beach. I finally chose the latest David Weber Honor Harrington book instead, and lost myself in the diabolical machinations of the ruthless, genetic-slave-breeding Mesans as they played the behemoth Solarian League against the plucky Star Kingdom of Manticore.
The day began to grow warmer as morning aged into afternoon, and the beach became slightly more crowded. It was Friday, which meant there would be at least some vacationers arriving to begin their weekend away. I’d decided to finish my chapter and then start eyeballing the crowd for likely prospects when a shadow fell over me.
I glanced up from my phone, but couldn’t get a good look at the face of the person standing above me because he was backlit by the sun. He wasn’t terribly tall; slender-to-medium build, too old to be a twink but not by much. His eyes and hair were dark, and tattoos were scrawled over his chest and arms. They trailed around his shoulders and ribs in a way that made me think his back would be similarly decorated. Rings and studs ran up both his ears, and pierced one eyebrow.