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I can picture myself trying to break her, trying to make her scream, and that's dangerous. I’ve done well tamping down those urges over the last couple of years.
Looking at a woman that way puts me on the same level as the guys I kill while working. The guys that take liberties with a woman's body before they sell a woman into sexual slavery.
I never wanted to be that man, although every man walking the earth has the potential to abuse, to hurt, to rape.
I know for a fact I’m capable of it, and any man that denies he is, is a liar. Any woman who would argue it for the men in their lives just doesn’t know how the right situation has the ability to make anyone do things they never imagined.
The sight of her digging her toes into the sand—even in a bathing suit that doesn't reveal any cleavage, one that covers her entire ass on a beach full of half-naked women—makes me curious.
And curiosity is danger.
But I also know myself.
I know that if I don't get closer, if I don't learn more about her, I'm going to be obsessed with the idea of her. I can't allow anybody to have that sort of real estate in my head.
It leaves me distracted.
It leaves me open to making mistakes.
I hate making mistakes.
I pride myself on being able to work and accomplish the goals that I set out, on not looking back and wondering what I could’ve done differently.
When Nash's eyes dart in my direction, I refocus on the waves rolling against the shore, praying he didn't notice that I was watching her.
The last thing I need is for either of these guys to give me shit after Hollis gave Nash a hard time for paying attention to the woman in the white bikini.
Despite not looking at her directly, I still track her in my peripheral vision.
She's alone. She's not here with a group of friends. She's not smiling and bouncing around or even trying to get involved in the volleyball game that the girl in the white bikini is recruiting for.
“I'm about over this bullshit,” Hollis says as he pushes himself up from the beach chair.
I glanced down at his foot. Sand is spilling from the end of his cast as he raises his foot and tries to shake it free.
He's never going to get the sand out of his cast, and it's going to be a constant irritation for the next several weeks that it's still on his foot. This makes me smile, and I know it makes me an asshole. But they’ve both annoyed me today, and a little discomfort on his part is just the level of retribution I need to make it worth it.
“Leaving, man?” Nash asks.
“Yeah,” Hollis responds. “I've got better shit to do than sit here and get sunburned on the damn beach.”
I give him a half-assed wave as he turns to leave, praying that Nash will find something else to do so I can put my focus back where it seems to want to go.
The girl walks further down the beach, and there's no way for me to continue watching her without making it obvious, so I try to give up on the idea of her.
I feel Nash’s eyes on the side of my face, and reluctantly, I give him the attention that he's seeking because God knows how he'd respond if I ignore him.
“What?” I ask when he just grins at me.
He angles his head in the direction of the girl in the white bikini, and without looking in that direction, I sense her walking toward us.
His grin is wide as if he's won some sort of prize as she closes the distance with a volleyball in her hand. The man really seems like he’s won some competition, and I know the next time he sees Hollis, he's going to give him shit for even mentioning that he couldn't score this girl. The man has to know that he hasn't scored her yet.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” Nash says, his fake country accent out in full force.
The girl walks up, bouncing on her feet, tits jiggling for the world to see.
“Do you want to play some volleyball?” She holds the ball out as if both of us are too stupid to know what she's referring to.
