A Fine Mess (Over the Top) (25 page)

The boat sways, a gentle rhythm. The sun slips behind a cloud, but her beaming face lights me up. A lone tear slides down her cheek. “This is better than the glitter reunion.”

I brush her tear away. “Is that a yes?”

She lifts her three necklaces over her head, the clasps catching in her hair. When she frees them, I fasten my chain around her neck. The ring falls between her breasts. My promise. My heart. Hers to control. I hope I’m worthy.

“Yes,” she whispers. “And thank you for not rushing me. When the time is right, I’ll put it on. You just need to know, like I know, that you’re amazing. And loyal. You have to believe it, too.”

“For you, I’ll try. Now come here.”

I grab her ass, and she kicks her legs over my thighs as I tug her against me. We kiss to the push and pull of the water. We kiss to our promises. We kiss because we have to. Her ring is trapped between our chests, our hearts, and, for the first time in my life, I am complete.

Time for Shock and Awe Part Two.

I don’t make a habit of laughing at naked men. Not that every guy I’ve hooked up with has been Adonis. They’ve ranged from unimpressive to average to exceptional—with one sexy-as-hell beast I’ve tried to block out. Still, I never laugh. Not even at the guy who strutted through my room in a leopard-print thong. But none have ever walked around nude wearing nothing but a fanny pack. A lime-green fanny pack.

I elbow Shay. “I’m gonna lose it. Like cackle in this dude’s face.”

She squishes her lips so tight she’s barely breathing. “I know,” she says from the side of her mouth. “It’s so ridiculous it’s funny.”

Lily fidgets at my other side, her pale skin pink with embarrassment. She digs her flip-flop-clad toe into the sand. “I can’t
believe
you guys dragged me here.”

I bump my hip into hers. “I can’t
believe
you haven’t been here yet. A nude beach in a major Canadian city? This place should be a World Heritage Site.” I inhale the briny smell of the Pacific Ocean, hints of sulfur and fish mingling with the summer air. Even faced with Nude Fanny Pack Dude, I’d take Vancouver’s sea and sand over the constant bustle of Toronto.

Fanny Pack Dude smiles as he passes, his paunch jiggling with each step. The visual reminds me of the Jell-O molds I’d make as a kid. Better to eat wiggly sugar than a plate full of nothing. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he lost the accessory,” I say. “It’s just wrong.”

“This place is a time warp.” Shay scans the long-haired hippies baring it all to the sun, the majority of whom likely attended Woodstock. Gray hair and sagging skin extend for miles. “I bet they still think it’s 1960.”

Without warning I get shoved from behind, and I stumble forward, bile rising up my throat, my skin crawling. If someone’s dick rubbed against my ass, hellfire will rain. Spinning around, I tuck my limbs tight, holding my purse close to avoid touching anything
naked
.

A clothed man holds up his Frisbee. “Sorry, wasn’t looking.” He does, however,
look
at my legs in my jean shorts and my chest in my tank top, my black ensemble not leaving much to the imagination. “Nice ink,” he says, nodding at my exposed skin.

I smile but don’t flirt back; younger guys aren’t my flavor of choice.

He jogs away, brown curls flopping in the wind, to join a rowdy group, likely students from UBC. Having a nude beach in Vancouver is odd enough. Having it attached to the city’s main university is a whole other level of weird. At least the steep descent is a natural barrier to prying eyes, but I bet students get a kick out of hiking down.

“So, what do we do now?” Lily crosses her arms as though people can see through her white summer dress.

Shay plaits her brown curls into a loose braid. “Walk, I guess. It
is
a nice beach, naked hippies notwithstanding.”

“Walk it is,” I agree.

Shay and Lily, both in flip-flops, go ahead while I unlace my black goddess sandals from my calves. I carry them as the sand sifts through my toes, the grains hot and coarse. We pass clothed beachgoers, the majority seemingly unconcerned by the naked bodies around them. Two ladies stroll by, their boobs swaying. Behind them a younger woman walks alone, her nudity on display. I slow my pace. Her hair is long and black, like mine; her eyes dark, like mine. She’s about the right age, too—ten or so years older than me. I study her face, her features. I scan her lips and cheekbones and nose, looking for familiarity. Looking for my sister. Then she smiles, revealing a mess of crowded teeth.

Not my sister.

I run my tongue across the back of my two front teeth, letting it slide between the center gap. When I was a kid, when our mother was busy pickling her liver and my father was betting our rent money at the track, my sister, Rose, would take me for ice cream. Ten years older, she’d use the money she’d earn babysitting, and, eventually, waitressing, to distract me. We’d count the number of licks it would take to finish our mint chocolate cones, her teeth perfect and straight, mine gapped in the center. My envy knew no bounds.

I haven’t seen her perfect smile since I was nine.

I glance ahead. The girls are waiting for me, and Shay shades her eyes with her hand. “You’re looking for her, aren’t you?”

Lily frowns, then raises her brows in understanding. “Is that why we’re here? To find your sister?”

I swing my sandals and drag my feet through the sand.

Knowing Rose had a hippie streak all those years ago, I pushed the girls to come to Wreck Beach. To laugh at naked guys, of course, and to see all Vancouver has to offer. Shay has lived here seven months, Lily and I only one. The girls moved to be with the men they love. For me this is a fresh start: new job, new city. And a chance to find Rose.

“Yes and no,” I say. “Yes, I thought it would be a good place to check out, considering she used enough incense in her room to send smoke signals. But I also thought, since Lily’s only ever seen two penises, that she should have a look at the variety out there. For scientific reasons.”

I grin, and Shay cackles.

Lily attempts to scowl at me, but she can’t hide her giggle. “I’m not sure Sawyer would be happy about me being here without him.”

Shay links elbows with her and turns to keep walking. My purse bounces against my backside as I join them.

“It’s better he’s not here,” Shay says. “Sawyer would be the first to strip and lounge naked.”

Lily cringes. “You’re probably right.”

The sun beats down, sweat gathering on my forehead. I run the back of my hand under my bangs. “In the name of scientific research, we should work on Lily’s penile education.”

“I’m in.” Shay releases Lily’s arm and tips her head toward a middle-aged, naked man reading on his towel. “Exhibit A: the Number Two.”

The poor guy has nothing more than a string of licorice between his legs. Although unattractive, his nudity sends my mind to a place it often goes, the place I try to ignore. To the beast of a man I woke up naked with in Aspen. It may have been over a year ago, but that’s not the kind of thing one forgets.
Goddamn Nico.
I ignore the unwelcome habit and focus on Mr. Dick Smalls. “If that’s a two, I assume your ranking system ranges from one to a hundred.”

Shay shakes her head while a silent Lily blushes. “Nope. That bad boy is a two. As in the pencil. Hopefully, he’s more of an H pencil. If that thing is a B, he’s screwed.”

“More like
not
screwed,” I say, wishing we’d invented this classification in high school. If we’d lined up our hard H pencils and soft B pencils, naming each after a boy in our class, Mrs. Water’s gray hair would have caught fire. Thank God for that art class, though. With the amount of pot I smoked and rules I broke, I’d never have befriended Lily and Shay without it.

Lily’s so embarrassed she looks sunburned, her white-blond hair blowing across her heated cheeks. “You guys are horrible.”

“What’s wrong with a little peen humor?” Shay asks.

Lily ducks as though she can hide on the open beach. “Don’t use that word.”

“Peen?” I holler, drawing annoyed glances our way.

Lily covers her face with both hands.

“Come on, Lil,” I say. “We’re just having fun. Unless that’s what Kevin had going on downtown. In which case I offer my condolences.”

Shay shoots me a look, and I bite my tongue before I cross the line. For years I ragged on Lily to end things with Kevin. He may have been her first everything—from friend to kiss to lover—but she never looked at him with lust in her eyes, not the way she looks at Sawyer.

She runs her fingers down the necklace Sawyer gave her, touching the ring that hangs from the chain—his promise to marry her when she decides he’s made amends. She grins, sweet and shy. “Kevin wasn’t tiny, but Sawyer is…well. Things are amazing, and not just the sex.”

Shay kisses her cheek. “Glad to hear it. And I’m still in shock we’re all living in Vancouver. I’ve been thinking about us starting that event business. I have a tight deadline at work, but when that’s done we should have our first board meeting.”

I nod but don’t answer. I love the idea of working with the girls, and we could rock an event business. Lily’s attention to detail makes her a natural planner, Shay’s interior design skills could transform any space, and I could finally put my photography to use, documenting the events for clients. But a start-up business needs cash, and there’s no way I’m returning to teaching art. Although it had its moments, dealing with a roomful of thirteen-year-olds is up there with getting my ribs tattooed. My remaining choices are: live on Wreck Beach with Dick Smalls, or find a new job.

To distract myself I gesture toward a naked man walking out of the ocean. “Exhibit B: the Hoodie.”

Shay coughs out a laugh. “Nice one.”

Lily tilts her head and studies the specimen, playing along with our immature game. “I don’t get it.”

“The Hoodie,” I repeat. “The man’s foreskin is still intact, covering the coveted
head
.”

“Oh, my God.” Lily slaps a hand over her eyes.

As I’m about to make fun of Lily’s perpetual shyness, Shay stops in her tracks. “Goldilocks at twelve o’clock.”

It’s my turn to frown in confusion. “You lost me on that one.”

She tries to gesture toward the Asian man with her eyes, but her attempt at subtlety makes her look like she’s having a stroke. “Goldilocks—not too big, not too small…you know,
just right
. I’d bet that man knows how to please a woman.” She pinches my side. “You should talk to him.”

“To the naked man? On the beach? That sounds about as fun as the time you forced our hot waiter to set me up with his friend. I’m still paying off the restaurant bill that jerk stiffed me with.”

Continuing on our mission, we traipse through the sand, the wind in our hair, the sun on our faces. I don’t glance back at the cute guy Shay spotted; our definition of Goldilocks differs. My “just right” isn’t average. It’s thick and long and hard. It’s
Thor’s hammer
big. It’s attached to a tower of tattooed muscle, one I vowed never to acknowledge again. Most of my night with Nico is a blur, but I know we didn’t have sex. With what he’s packing between his thighs, there’s no question I would have been sore afterward. Tequila may have blacked out the details, but my body would have remembered that. Just like my mind remembers the secrets I shared with him before the shots flowed, and the fact that he never called.
Goddamn Nico.

I’ve avoided crossing his path since moving here a month ago, but he’s best friends with Sawyer and Kolton. So unless I stop hanging out with Lily and Shay, I’m bound to suffer his presence eventually. Good thing I have a doctorate in grudges.

Lily grips my upper arm, concern beaming from her gray eyes. “There are a couple of women ahead, and one has black hair like yours. Do you have a picture of Rose? We could help you scout if we know what she looks like.”

My fingers twitch as I scan the beach. I’d kill to have my camera here, to study the area through my lens—a barrier between me and my past, the semblance of safety. Pulse surging, I follow Lily’s gaze, but the woman in question has a wide nose and thin lips. Although I haven’t seen Rose in seventeen years, those features don’t match those of the girl I remember. Still, Lily has a point: I could use help. The only clue I have that Rose moved to Vancouver is a tip from an old friend of hers who spends her days cashing welfare checks to play the lottery. Not exactly promising. Rose wasn’t the only reason I moved to Vancouver, but she was a big part of the deciding factor. The sooner I figure out if she’s here, the sooner I can move forward. Stop wondering if there’s a chance I have family who might care about me.

Seventeen years ago Rose cared.

I reach for my purse and pull it around to my front, but the second I dip my hand inside, I freeze. “Shit. No.
No, no, no.
” I shove my hand deeper, then pull it out and stick my nose in the small opening, hoping to hell this is one of those bottomless Mary Poppins jobs.

“Why are you making out with your purse?” Shay asks.

I drop it and slump back. “Because my wallet isn’t inside. I had it when I gave you change for the meter, so how the hell did I lose it between then and—” My jaw drops as realization sinks in. “Fucking asshole.” I whip my head around and squint down the beach, but the guy playing Frisbee is long gone. “That guy who bumped into me. That asshole stole my wallet.”

Lily bites her lip. “Are you sure?”

I grip my purse tighter. “It’s the only thing that makes sense, and my one picture of Rose was inside, along with my driver’s license and credit cards and health card and fucking bank card.” My purse caves under the pressure of my fisted hand.

Shay’s nostrils flare. “That little shit. We better go, then.” She attempts to stomp away, but her flip-flops sink in the sand.

“Go where?” I call.

She stops and swivels back. “The police station. You’ll have to file a report.”

“Yeah,” Lily says. “That’s probably best, but I can’t come. I have a conference call with a potential buyer for my purses. And maybe we should cancel tonight? Sawyer was looking forward to seeing you, but we can reschedule.”

I wave her off. “I haven’t been out with Kolton and Sawyer since moving here. They’re a big part of your lives, and I’d like to see them. But I might need one of you to spot me some cash.”

“No problem,” they say at once.

I offer a half smile and rub my eyes. I planned to visit a couple of photographers this afternoon to hand out résumés, hopefully find a paid apprentice job. Now I have less money than I did an hour ago, no ID, and I have to put off my job hunt. The warmth of the summer air is suddenly suffocating, a bout of heatstroke imminent. Things can only go up from here.

But things go down. At breakneck speed. A plummet off a steep cliff. After we drop Lily at home, Shay drives us to the police station. We push through the glass doors and are directed toward a counter at the back. Men and women in uniform weave around us, a number of regular citizens among them, including a belligerent man in stained pants and ripped shirt who belches as a cop drags him through a set of doors. Any old day at the lockup.