“They’re walking, they’re walking, they’re walking…” he mutters, voice cracking on the final word. “They’re…fuck…ugh…they’re gone.”
I stroke his balls.
After that he doesn’t say much and it’s just the sound of his desperate pants along with my own active noises. “Sum,” he mumbles. “I’m about…”
He’s about to cum, there’s no doubt about that. I graze my nails under his cock and work my tongue, my mouth, my hands, pulling him to the edge of euphoria. It doesn’t take much, and his groan fills the cab of the truck, his cock throbbing with release.
His cheeks are red when I lift my face and he pulls me close, kissing my lips.
It takes him a minute to calm down, for the fog to clear from his eyes, but the smile lingers long after we’re on the road to the frame shop. With his hand linked with mine, I realize that maybe there’s more than one way about these relationships. Less tip-toeing around, less hiding and way more fun.
That’s my goal from here on out: a wild summer of fun.
35
Summer
“Come on, let me see it.”
“No.”
“Just once.”
Anita smiles at me and it’s hard to say no to her bright blue eyes and huge stomach.
“Why,” I ask, “do you want to see my sunburn?”
“I don’t know, I just do.”
I sigh and lay the stack of books I’ve been shelving on the counter. Anita walks around and faces me. “This is ridiculous.”
“Show me.”
I lift up my shirt, revealing the red blotchy skin that’s already starting to peel. Gently she reaches out and tugs at a piece of skin, slowly pulling it off my body. “Gross.”
She holds up my dried, crispy skin. “I can’t help it! None of us burn like this!”
“You have a problem.”
“Maybe I do, but you need to wear sunscreen if you don’t want to peel.”
She had me there.
We’re interrupted by the sound of the chiming doorbell. A woman walks in looking like a confused, lost tourist. Anita and I glance at one another. It’s not the woman’s pale skin that makes her appear out of place, it’s the stylish pants and flowy blouse. The sensible shoes.
None of those are acceptable in Ocean Beach. This is the home of flip-flops, cut-off jeans and bikini tops. Anita jumps in before I can react. “Welcome to Books by the Ocean, can I help you with something?”
She smiles, “I’m looking for Summer Barnes.”
Instantly it clicks. The reporter.
I drop my shirt.
“I’m Summer,” I say, pretending Anita hadn’t just been picking at my skin like a gorilla.
The woman gives me a broad, professional smile. “Summer, I’m Shay Merrill from the New York Times. So glad to finally meet you.”
We’d been emailing for a few days. She’d sent me a few questions to think about—things about my mother, being raised by an author, learning about her story. This wasn’t the first time I’d been involved with an interview, but it was the first time someone wanted to talk to me alone—as an adult. I felt a strange sense of pressure.
