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She shook her head and frowned. “You’re a fucking eleven out of ten but acting like a two-bagger, Cole.”
“Well?” I persisted.
“You look perfect. The hair, the cute trunks, the glowing skin,” she said, using her fingers to count my qualities. “You’re so damn hot, I’d fuck ya. Now let’s get the fuck down there before you end up with me, you pussy.”
“You’re gross,” I said.
She placed a hand on her hip and glared at me. “What I am is the person who is tired of her hot-as-fuck friend acting like a newbie at the junior high dance. Look at you, Cole. You are a frikken’ catch.”
“Honest?” I asked, embarrassed that I was acting like a nervous nelly. “What am I even doing, Marla?”
She stepped closer and placed a finger on my chest. “You’re investigating,” she began. “You’re going to pull your head outta your uptight ass and you are going to get to know him.”
“I already know him,” I pointed out, stepping out of my flip-flops and carrying them as we continued down the sandy trail.
“See? You know him already. Piece of cake. You’ll see.”
Marla had the brevity of a Pitbull if a Pitbull could also be Miss Universe. She was five years older than I was but had the body of a gal in her twenties. Not to say her face was her age giveaway. It wasn’t. She was routinely mistaken for under thirty. She was tall with ash-blonde hair, perky tits—real ones—and an ass you could rest a pint of beer on. And sassy as fuck.
We broke out of the tall grass and into the open as two of the surfers jumped off their boards near shore and headed toward us. The pair looked like a commercial for healthy living if the producers were looking for raw sex appeal. They both carried their boards under an arm as saltwater cascaded down the front of their torsos, most of it caught in the tiny valleys of their abs and the sharp edges of their obliques.
Marla headed straight for the water’s edge and waited for them. I faltered as I looked for Chad, wondering whether to follow her. I felt like the uninvited guest at a house party of the popular kids.
Marla quickly caught my attention. “Get over here,” she hissed.
I hurried to her side and tried to act cool. I was a dork inside. I was out of place and afraid I looked like an old joke.
One of the guys walked directly up to me and presented his hand for a fist bump. He was as lean as Chad, just not quite as hot. He had a tattoo of a hornet on his shoulder, the stinger five times the size of its butt. “Hey, Mr. Hicks,” he said, moving stringy hair out of his eyes. “We were wondering if you’d ever come down to say hey.” He knew my name?
His buddy, a real looker with buzzed and sun-bleached hair, stepped to his side. “Yo, bro!” he exclaimed. “You is fuckin’ ripped, man. Chad wasn’t shittin’ when he described you to the guys.”
Hornet boy was grinning from ear to ear at Marla, taking a step closer and nodding seductively. “And you…” he began, his eyes scanning Marla’s body like a TSA airport checkpoint perv. “Woof,” he said, letting out a long breath. “Chad didn’t say nuttin’ about a hottie girlfriend.”
Marla actually giggled. “You got the hottie part correct, you naughty little boy,” she said, talking as slutty as the girl from high school that every boy had an intimate relationship with. “But I’m single.”
“I ain’t no boy, ma’am,” he said, stepping closer and holding his hand out to her. “My buddies call me by my last name, Harder, but right this second, you can call me Hard.”
“Is that a fact?” she asked, moving her eyes directly to his crotch and a very low-riding pair of board shorts. He twitched his pecs and his dick jumped in his shorts. Marla grinned. “Nice trick. Very classy. How old are you, kid?”
“Twenty-six,” he replied. “Got a job, too.”
“That’s enough, Marla,” I said, stepping between them and shaking the hand of Buzz cut, Hornet’s buddy. “Cole Hicks,” I said, introducing myself.
“Bodie Hicks,” he said, smiling and holding my hand. “I wonder if we’re related,” he asked. “Fuck that! I sure hope not,” he quickly added, still holding my hand and gazing directly into my eyes. “You’re actually gay, huh?” he asked.
He caught me off guard, but Chad must have told him. “Yes,” I replied. “Yes, I am,” I repeated for no reason other than he still had my hand in his and was studying my face too closely for me to hide any imperfections.
“Chad said you were smokin’ hot, but fuck, dude. You’re the real deal. Bustin’ and shit.”
I pried my hand away and backed up. “Thank you for that. I mean, thank you, that was a… a nice thing to say and all,” I stammered.
“Calm down, Rico Sauvé,” Marla teased, turning her focus to Bodie. “You into men?” she asked, directing her attention to the cute guy beside me.
“I’m into whatever this is,” he quipped, jabbing his finger into my stomach. “Label it whatever you like, but I’m what they call ‘fluid.’”
Marla turned to me and sighed. “God, to be their age again,” she stated dreamily. “Fluid. Did you hear that, Cole? This delicious specimen of boyhood is fluid. Yummy,” she declared, licking her upper lip.
“Forgive her,” I said. “She doesn’t get out of the big city too often.”
