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"It's so hot," I whine, like I haven't lived in California for the past twenty-five years. It's almost always hot here; this is nothing new.
Still, it sucks, and for a moment, it has me wishing I lived somewhere cold and frosty. That is, until I remember how much I love laying by the pool almost year-round.
Then, I don’t feel so bad.
I start the car and turn the air conditioner on high, not keen to melt my makeup off before we make it to the beach. I’d much rather sweat it off getting railed by an international surfer, or at least shaking my ass down by the water.
Kristie cranks up the music, turning it up until the windows vibrate with bass, and she squeals. With a smile on my face, I pull out and we roll toward the exit, my stomach fluttering with excitement.
It’s been a while since I’ve gone to a party–I’m normally busy working one of my three jobs–so this is a well-needed change of pace. Hopefully, it ends with me bringing a guy home who can fuck some of the stress out of me, or at least drooling over a pretty one I can masturbate to later.
I’m banking on the first, though.
Alpha, beta, hell, I’ll take a male omega at this point. As long as they smell good and fuck me right.
Thankfully, there isn't too much traffic in Malibu, and we make it to the beach in under twenty minutes. We’re late, but only fashionably so.
"There are way more people here than I thought there would be," Kristie says as she looks toward the beach.
The sun is setting over the water, turning the sea into a multicolored oil painting, white crests crashing in the distance. It gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside as I kill the engine and shove my belongings back into my bag.
Beach sunsets are one of the main reasons I chose to move to the coast. Those and the epic nightlife. Not that I get much time to enjoy parties, but tonight's beach soiree with a group of foreign hotties should be worth every second of dragging my feet tomorrow when I'm updating real estate posts online.
When we get out of the car, we receive some curious looks from passersby that put a smile on my face, and I wink at a pair of guys ogling us as we move toward the sand. The rich, salty smell of the ocean clings to the air, a comfort I always miss when I travel for work, and I take in a deep breath.
It smells like home.
Music blasts from a stereo on a lifeguard stand, and a swarm of writhing bodies dance in a huddle by the water. They’re a cluster of unfamiliar faces and scantily clad bodies glistening with sweat, and the atmosphere is infectious, making my limbs buzz with energy. The flutter of conversation hits my ears the closer we get, and Kristie is already grooving to the music by the time we stop at the edge of the crowd.
“Is your boy toy coming?” I ask her, referring to the guy she was talking to three days ago when I saw her last. “What’s his name? Brandon?”
She forces a laugh. “Definitely not. I told him if I ever saw him again, I was filing for a restraining order.”
“Damn,” I giggle. “What did he do?”
“Nothing I ever want to remember.” She rolls her eyes before something catches her attention, and she smiles toward the cluster of dancers. “Look–there are plenty of fine ass guys here to help me forget about him. Let’s dance!”
With a wide grin, she grabs my hand and drags me into the mob.
two
KENNETH
The worst part about surfing contests on the opposite side of the country is traveling alone.
The best part is meeting other badass surfers, like Ryan and Denzel, and hearing their stories.
We met by chance at a sandwich shop down the street and talked while we waited for our food. They’re from Hawaii, one of my favorite places to vacation, so we chat about their top places to surf, places I’ll be sure to check out next time I’m there. When they said they were going to a beach party tonight and asked if I wanted to join, I was more than down.
I love the nightlife here, almost a little too much–the atmosphere, the alcohol, the beautiful women everywhere I look.
Yeah, I could get used to Cali.
“You said your pack mate broke his ankle?” I ask as I lift my thermos to my lips, recalling something one of them said a few minutes ago. Drinking on the beach is super illegal here, but I’ll down this drink well before any police come patrolling and asking questions.
Besides, this is just the pregame. The real party starts once I find a tight piece of ass to take back to my hotel room. There’s plenty of liquor back in the mini fridge for me to get trashed, anyways.
“Yeah. We were practicing last week, and the water was really choppy. Didn’t end well for him,” Ryan says. “He’s laid up at the hotel right now. Wanted to come, but crutches and sand don’t mix well, so he’s ordering pizza and getting drunk alone.”
