Love Song(19)

God, I should’ve just stayed on the dock. Though in my defense, when I insisted on coming along for this boat ride, I didn’t factor in that she might decide to take her goddamn top off.

Hearing my phone buzzing, I lunge for it, desperate for a distraction.

MIRA

Paula’s mom just saw you on the lake. You didn’t tell me you were in Tahoe.



Shit. Bad distraction.

Mira lives on the north side of the lake. We hooked up a few times last summer, but I cut it off after she told me she was falling for me. They always fucking fall for me.

It’s a dick move, but I ignore the message. I don’t want to start things up again or send the wrong signals.

Then a second message pops up.

MIRA

Hit me up if you feel like it.



And a third message.

It’s a nude.

Damn, she has a nice rack…

Nope. Can’t have this on my phone. It’ll make it too tempting to give in and call her when I’m drunk and horny.

But I don’t delete it fast enough, because Blake—a very topless Blake—manages to sneak a peek as she approaches me.

“Are you looking at porn?” she exclaims.

“No.” The picture disappears from the screen as I hit Delete.

“So my boobs are a national emergency, but you can leer at phone boobs. Got it.”

“Relax, Logan. Someone sent a nude. I was deleting it.”

Her jaw drops. “You deleted it? Wow. Don’t ever tell her or you’ll destroy her self-esteem.”

“Make up your mind. Do you want me to leer at phone boobs or not?”

Snickering, she stalks past me, and her side boob grazes my arm.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Tits on my phone. Tits on my boat. God help me.

I shift my gaze back to the water, but it flits back to Blake as if drawn by a magnet. She saunters to the open bow and spreads a red-and-white-striped towel across the padded sundeck. Boobs out for the entire lake to see.

“Seriously, put those away.”

“You’re being ridiculous” is her response.

I can’t tell if she’s doing this on purpose. If she’s trying to get a reaction out of me. But she’s not even acknowledging my presence anymore. She lies down on the towel, stretches out on her back, and plops her sunglasses on her freckled nose.

“Your father’s gonna kill me,” I moan.

“Only if you tell him.”

Stifling a curse, I pick up her top and stalk to the bow. “Here,” I say, trying to hand her the bikini.

She rises on her elbows and peers up at me, blue eyes peeking out from the top of her shades. Her nipples are glistening. It’s the sunscreen, I know, but it makes them look wet. Like they’ve just been licked and sucked and— “Take it,” I growl when she bats my hand away.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Is this turning you on or something?”

Frustration has me spitting out a retort I instantly regret. “Hardly. You think I haven’t seen a pair of tits before? Yours aren’t anything special.”

Blake stiffens for a moment before spitting back a curt, “Oh, fuck you.”

I don’t know why I said that. Her breasts are perfect.

Focusing on the water as if my life depends on it, I try to get my body under control by fishing for the coldest beer in the small cooler I brought with us.

“So who sent the nude?” Her tone is grudging, as if she doesn’t want to ask but can’t help herself. “Mrs. Brown?”

“No.” I don’t elaborate.

“Then who?” she pushes.

“Someone who heard I was in town.”

“One of your other Tahoe groupies?”

“Obviously.” I pull the tab of the can, and it opens with a sharp hiss.

“Can you toss me one of those?”

“Nope. You’re underage.”

“I’m turning twenty-one in six weeks,” she reminds me.

“Great, then I’ll toss you a beer in six weeks.”

“If you don’t get me a beer, I’m taking my bottoms off too.”

Jesus.

Christ.

With a groan jammed in my throat, I grab another beer and slam the can down beside her.

“Thank you,” she says sweetly.

Annoyed, I march back to my guitar. Because enough. I refuse to play these games with her. If she wants to flash her tits to every passing boater, let her. I have bigger concerns at the moment.

I need to write something.

Anything.

Balancing Betty in my lap, I grab my notebook and pencil and turn to a fresh page. Everything I wrote yesterday was so bad, it’s not even worth revising. Let’s start new.

I focus on the blank page, trying to clear my head. To let the warm rays and soft breeze guide me to inspiration. That gold coin line. It was nice, right? Poetic?





Description

Visual elements styled to look like a torn piece of paper or sticky note containing the handwritten song lyrics. It reads ‘Gold coins scattered on the water. Wind tangled in your hair.’

My pencil stops moving.

Keep going, I order myself. Write something.

Fucking anything.

I scrawl another line, then stare in disgust at what I wrote.