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“Ah, shit.” Control over my limbs hasn’t returned yet as blood returns to my brain. “Sorry. I didn’t even ask. I’ll clean you up.”
“It’s fine.” She shoots me a sleepy smile. “It was hot.”
When I can move, I go to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water. She watches me from beneath her lashes as I swipe it over her skin to wipe up my come.
“I wish I didn’t have to leave,” Tatum groans, stretching her arms overhead. It pushes her tits out in a tantalizing way. “I’m so comfortable right now. I feel like I could fall asleep.”
I wish she didn’t have to go, either.
Telling her to stay is on the tip of my tongue. My phone vibrates against the lamp on the nightstand. With a sigh, I lean over and check it.
It’s her brother.
FIFTEEN
COOPER
The Saturday lunch shift at Tiki Taco Shack is always busy. South Bay bustles with tourists through the summer, and on a perfect day like this one, they flock to the beach. Jackson works the same section with me. Tatum has the afternoon shift that overlaps ours, but she’s not here yet.
Our Insta DMs continue. For every two homework selfies she sends me, I give her one back. It’s a dangerous game, but I can’t stop. Not since I tasted her. Fuck, I want to again. It hasn’t been twenty-four hours, and I’m craving her again.
Once Jackson texted me last night, Tatum caught sight of the screen and swore, scrambling up from my bed to leave. I still wish she could’ve stayed. Even if it’s a crazy risk—one that would get us caught for sure.
I’m wiping the bar as things begin to die down. Jackson stacks glasses at the other end.
“Another round?” I ask the out of town guys chilling on the bar swings.
“Sure thing,” one of them drawls in a Southern accent. He has an Atlanta Braves ball cap on. “Hey, you’re local, right?”
I nod. The three guys look around mine and Jackson’s age. I don’t recognize them from South Bay’s campus. They must be hitting SoCal for their summer break from college.
“Any good parties going on tonight? We’ve only got a couple days left.” His friend nudges him and he grins. “Lookin’ to spend some time hangin’ out where the ladies are.”
This used to be me. The guy everyone sees me as, the one who parties and hooks up. Even my SBC advisor has heard of my reputation around South Bay.
I offer a lopsided smile in return and shrug. “Tinder? I don’t know what to tell you, man. There aren’t any I’ve heard of going on tonight.”
Jackson overhears and shoots me a confused look. “What are you talking about? I told you there was another bonfire night at the Cove this weekend.” He ambles over and leans his forearms across the lacquered bar top. “Mariner’s Cove. Just hop on Ocean Drive and follow it, you can’t miss it. See you there.”
While he gives them directions, I refill their drinks.
“Thanks,” the guy in the ball cap says.
I jerk my chin in a nod.
“Whoa,” mumbles the guy’s other friend, staring past my shoulder into the Tiki Taco Shack.
Tatum’s arrival distracts me, too. I track her as she moves through the restaurant with a big smile, waving to some recognizable regulars while she ties the short work apron around her waist.
The Braves fan grins and keeps his leer on Tatum. “She’s cute as hell. Will she be there?”
“Nah.” I can’t help the frosty edge of dismissal.
His eyes flick to me in assessment. It’s the universal look guys give each other when they’re trying to feel out whether he just insulted me by pissing on my territory by asking after Tatum. I hate shit like this because she isn’t territory—she’s her own person. But fuck if I’m not still immediately struggling to quell the protectiveness welling in my chest.
It would be easier to tell him she’s my girl, but Jackson is barely two feet away.
“There’s also a club not far from here. Tons of chicks from around here go there.” I pull up the Instagram page for the club in Del Mar Kayla and her friends always hit up. “Trust me, you’ll find plenty of girls there to make some travel memories with.”
