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“You can just leave your info with me.” I heard a voice call from behind me. I turned to see the loud girl at the bar, holding a piece of paper and a pen out to me. I leaned into the bar, scrawling my name and cell. I deliberated leaving my e-mail, since the most recent one was gagasimp614. I left my school e-mail instead. I didn’t need to out myself as a Lady Gaga fan on first meeting.
“Hello. Do you need a drink?” She appeared in front of me as if out of thin air. She stood so close that I could smell the floral lotion that shined on her creamy skin. I dragged my eyes from her plunging lavender wrap dress. Our eyes met, and her perfectly arched black brow quirked.
Her eyes were crystal blue, mirroring the California waves outside these windows. Her raven-coloured hair fell in waves around her face, a grey streak cresting a wave on one side. She smiled, and my body turned to jelly. That’s when I recognised her. The woman from a gallery opening, Dad bribed me into going to. His feeble attempt at trying to force me into liking this vapid location. Her photography, her portraits reminiscent of Diane Arbus captivated me.
Of course, she would never remember me. I stared in awe at her charming personality and the way she would absentmindedly touch someone on the arm or hand in conversation. Confidence rolled off her, from her Tiffany earrings to her perfectly manicured toes. I spilled a flute of champagne all over myself while introducing myself to her and hurried back to the hotel in embarrassment. She waved to the alt chick behind the bar.
“Trish, can you get this young man a drink, please?” She sat on the bar stool beside me and patted the one behind me. I looked down at her neatly manicured French tips.
“Oh no, I’m only nine-teen. I can’t drink. Well, yet. I mean, the drinking age is 18 in other countries, so I don’t…” I trailed off.
Damn, I was even more awkward around attractive people. This place was crawling with waspy socialites and their children. She laughed, a laugh that sounded like music. A chime in the wind. It lit up her face, and I smiled, blushing.
“I’m Alyssa.” She stuck out her hand in gesture, and I stared at it for a couple beats. I took her hand and kissed it.
I fucking kissed it.
Eloquently enough, Alyssa blew by it as though it was nothing. My face, however, was red hot. She looked down over my faded, hand-me-down jeans. Her blue eyes met mine and briefly, I saw a flicker of interest. I guess I could have imagined it, but she bit her lip. As I walked back to the high-end hotel we staying at, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to bite that luscious lip.
Dad madesure I had a job secured well before we made the move here.
I know he’s trying his best to keep me out of trouble, but I didn’t give a shit about behaving. When I was old and wrinkled, I would smirk with tales to tell. I enjoyed having fun, and usually, the most fun was found on the outskirts of trouble. Some of the best memories I had involved ‘bad choices.’ But what was bad, anyway? Not conforming to rules, asking important questions and pushing boundaries?
I guess I was bad, then.
My mother used to say, ‘a tricky toddler just means a tricky teenager later.’ I laughed at the thought. I was definitely a tricky teenager. I was always curious and questioning everything; and it didn’t take long for my sexuality as well. The internet had benefits, and I knew more than most thirteen-year-olds. On that topic.
In high school, most labeled me as straight. I chose to never speak about it. Unless you were someone close. I was muscular and tall, and Mr.-steal-your-girl was my nick-name. I loved women, soft curves and soft skin. Females always smelled like beautiful flowers and felt so small beneath my large hands. Leo was obsessed with a stuck-up girl freshman year. And when she broke his heart, I picked up the pieces. We shared an intimate moment that night.
Even though it wasn’t sexual, it was a moment. I realised then that gender wouldn’t be involved with my relationship choices. The leather contractor gloves I wore were tight. I pulled them up and wiggled my fingers deeper inside. Sweat dripped down my forehead. In Sacramento, we had cool rainy days. Since we’d been here, it was nothing but scorching sun every day.
I dumped the heavy bag of grass clippings into the Rubbermaid trashcan in the back of the landscaping truck. Leo would be here soon, in his beat-up Honda Civic. I could use the company in this big ass town.
Augustine’s satat the end of the long pier, nestled into an alcove of sandy white beach.
Marker buoys floated along the U-shaped dock. At least a dozen mid-sized, shiny yachts lined the ocean’s horizon. It was a small establishment but assumed it did well, considering its slip-holder price tag. I did some research and the price tag for the season is hefty. Since American docks charge less; many internationals choose to dock here.
With both hands in my chino-short pockets, I hopped onto the boardwalk that lined the front of the boutiques and café’s. People bustled up and down both sides of the pier. Ice cream melted down the faces of children, and bleach blondes with fake boobs chatted with their friends at tiny tables that dotted the shops. Chalkboard easels with fancy script announcing the day’s drink and food specials sat outside almost every entrance.
“Local author book signing” caught my eye outside of a small bookstore decorated with ship’s anchors and fish nets. I stopped, reading the weathered sign, ‘Fisherman’s Finds: Books & Baubles’. As I stopped before the unique little shop, I inhaled a deep breath. Musty used books, sea-salt air and a touch of potpourri or tea.
It smelled like home.
My feet led me inside before I could think twice. There was a small table set up near the back, and a handful of people crowded around a seated man with salt and pepper hair. I knew Dean Koontz lived here, but I’m sure this gentleman was not him. I doubted a small bookstore like this was far below the Koontz.
“Hey there. You looking for anything in particular?” I nearly jumped, my glasses slipped down my nose and I slid them back up with one finger.
“Uh, no. I just moved here, so… just checking out the area.” I motioned to the opened door.
“Oh, nice. Where you from?” She placed both hands on her hips and I noticed her labret pierced below her very full, deep purple lip. Her name-tag read Juniper.
“Sacramento. Attending UCLA in the fall.”
“What genre’s you like? I’m sure I can recommend something. Maybe a beach read or…” She looked down at my outfit, “a nice romance, maybe?” Her bust was heavy, but her waist was small. Thick was what I’ve heard Judas call a girl that looked like her.
Romance?
“No, I’m more of a classic literature kind of guy.” I lied, generating a slight blush on her round cheeks.
