The Summer Girls (32 page)

The waitress came up and whipped out her pencil and pad. “What would you like to drink?”

“Iced tea,” Carson ordered. “Unsweetened.”

“Make that two,” Blake said. “And we can put in our order, too. Two pulled-pork sandwiches, sides of sweet potato fries, fried tomatoes, coleslaw, and collards. And don’t take all night; this lady’s always starving.”

The waitress laughed and collected their menus.

“Well played,” Carson told him.

The waitress was quick to deliver the drinks, along with a basket of hush puppies.

“On the house,” she told them, taking an extra-long look at Blake.

Carson and Blake reached for the hush puppies simultaneously.

“Oh God,” Carson groaned as she bit into a soft, hot fried ball of corn bread. “I don’t know if these aren’t the best hush puppies I’ve ever eaten.”

“Agreed,” he said while chewing. They popped hush puppies into their mouths and looked out at the tourists laughing and talking as they paraded past.

She stirred her drink, wondering if they were friends enough for her to ask this question. “Blake, I hope I’m not too forward, but why don’t you drink?”

“I’m not an alcoholic, and it’s not a religious thing or anything like that. I’ll have a drink from time to time. It’s no big deal.”

“You don’t like the taste?” she asked, genuinely curious.

His face clouded and he looked at the tea. “It’s not that. I like it fine, I reckon. I don’t like what it does to me,” he answered.

Carson remained silent. The laughter and noise of the bar diminished to a white noise around them as she focused on the man. She leaned forward, not willing to miss a word.

“I used to drink a lot,” Blake said. “You know as well as I that if you get a bunch of good ol’ boys together, they’re going to be up for a good time. And it usually involves alcohol. When I was a teenager, I wasn’t a bad kid, but I was fearless. What kid isn’t when he’s eighteen, driven by his testosterone, and believes he’s immortal?”

“I dated a lot of guys like that,” she replied. “I think Devlin is still like that.”

“Yeah, well, some guys never grow up. Me, I grew up fast when I was eighteen.”

She watched as his long, tanned fingers wrapped around his glass and he stared at the dark tea. And waited.

“It was a rainy week up at Clemson, and while some of the kids grumbled about the rain, my buddy Jake and I grabbed the keys to his Bronco and headed out mudding. We met up with some other guys and had a helluva good time out on some country road. If I was fearless, Jake was überfierce. He loved that damn Bronco.” He lifted the tea to his mouth and took a drink.

“I don’t know if it was because we were drinking or if it
was just one of those things, but Jake veered off the road and that Bronco overturned.” Blake paused. “Jake wasn’t wearing his seat belt. He got ejected from the car and pinned by that damned Bronco. I was wearing my seat belt. I was injured pretty bad but I survived. I was in a kind of harness he’d put in; he’d bolted those mounting plates himself. I hung there trapped for what seemed a lifetime, pinned and helpless, listening to Jake’s life ebb out of him.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, unable to even imagine the horror.

He was quiet and stared at his plate. “You never forget something like that. I still wonder why Jake didn’t wear his seat belt that night. I mean, he retrofitted that Bronco for safety.” He shook his head. “I can only figure it was because we were drinking so much. He didn’t use good judgment.” He lifted his head and looked at her. “I just lost my taste for the stuff.”

Carson desperately wanted to reach out and touch him but felt it would be too forward.

“Thank you for sharing that,” she told him.

The night sky was darkening and the light in the bar was attracting suicidal moths. The waitress returned with their dinners, breaking the awkward silence between them.

After they dove in and slaked their hunger, Blake turned the question back to her. “How about you? Did you swear off the stuff, too?”

Carson set down her pork sandwich and picked up a paper napkin to dab at her mouth. “I’m just not drinking now. It’s kind of a bet I had with Harper. We wanted to see if we could stop for a week. Then one week went to
two. Now we’re seeing if we can go for the summer.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it. A beer tonight sure would’ve tasted good with this barbecue.”

“You stop missing it after a while. You lose the taste for it,” Blake said.

Carson added artificial sugar to her unsweetened tea and stirred it with her straw. The ice clinked tantalizingly and she took a sip. It was good. Delicious even. But it wasn’t a beer.

“I hope that’s true. To tell you the truth, right now, a day doesn’t go by when I don’t crave maybe just one beer or a glass of wine.”

She let her fingertip collect the condensation forming on her glass of iced tea while inside, her heart was racing as she wondered how much she should tell him. Her eyes flicked to the bar, where a line of people sat on stools, chatting with glasses in their hands; to the row of potted shrubs outside the porch; to the shellacked table, searching for anywhere to look except at him.

“I know that as long as I have this craving, I haven’t answered the bigger question. Whether or not I can really stop.”

The words sounded so matter-of-fact, but glancing at his face, she saw that he was listening carefully without emotion or judgment.

This encouraged Carson to continue. As the small votive candle flickered between them, she told him about her father, how his drinking had interfered with his life and talent. As her food went cold on the plate, she fleshed out the skeleton, giving him a glimpse into her life caring
for her father, how she’d left him at eighteen to fend for herself, only for him to die alone a few years later. She began drinking socially, but in her line of work, people drank socially around the clock. It was only recently that she’d begun wondering if she carried the family gene for alcoholism.

When she was finished, the other tables on the porch were empty. Only the bar was still crowded, and more rowdy, as well.

“Want to take a walk on the beach?” Blake asked.

Carson exhaled heavily and nodded. She had the uncomfortable feeling of having just exposed her underbelly, and the thought of stretching her legs sounded perfect.

They headed toward the beach, walking close. He matched his long-legged pace to her slower one. The moon was bright, and once they broke free from the streetlights and their feet hit the sand, they could see the wide swath of velvety black sky over the ocean and the stars twinkling. Blake surprised her by taking her hand.

Carson was keenly aware of his closeness as they walked side by side. The moon was full and the sky littered with stars. Not too far away, the surf rolled in and out in a sleepy rhythm. She almost laughed, thinking how if this was a job she’d be shooting a commercial for a romantic island weekend, complete with two lovers strolling the beach. Except that they weren’t lovers. This thought rankled. When was he going to make his move? She wanted to feel his arms around her, his lips on hers, to make love with him.

She became increasingly aware of the feel of his hand over hers, of each neuron aflame in that small area of skin.
As they walked in the uneven sand, their hips or shoulders would bump, sending shivers of awareness down her spine.

Then he stopped and turned to face her. His thumb lightly rubbed the top of her hand. “Carson, yesterday, when you said you might be leaving . . . Did it occur to you that I might care if you leave?”

She put her hands on his chest. “I hoped you might care.”

He stood just a few inches away in the darkness, so close she could see his lips curve into a slow, pleased grin. “Carson,” he said with a hint of exasperation, “I’ve been caring for weeks now.”

Carson was thirty-four years old. She’d had multiple lovers over the years and considered herself well experienced in the ways of men. Even jaded. So what was it about this man that had her blushing like she was a ridiculous teenager?

He reached out and let his fingers trail gently up her bare arms. Her breaths traced each millimeter of the slow and deliberate journey, marking the path with goose bumps. His hands slid behind her back and tugged her closer.

Carson reached up to slip her own arms around his neck, pressing herself against him in invitation. But he was not to be rushed. He lowered his lips to her neck and tasted her there, then made a deliciously slow journey along her jaw-line toward her mouth. It was as though he’d waited so long for the feast, he was in no hurry.

When at last he brought his mouth over hers, she opened her mouth in welcome and pressed against him. He was gentle at first, testing. Then his arms tightened around her, crushing her against him. She felt devoured by his mouth.
As the kiss deepened she felt his hands roam from her back to slip under her T-shirt to her breasts. Her nipples hardened and she groaned slightly.

He pulled back, letting his hands slide to her forearms but keeping his hold on her. “We should go,” he said. He took her hand again and they retraced their steps along the beach at a more determined pace, through the darkened access path, and up the streets of the neighborhood to his car. He opened her car door, then made his way around the front and climbed in behind the wheel. He turned to Carson.

“Will you come by my place?”

His hands were on the wheel and he wasn’t touching her, but her body felt aflame. The attraction between them was so thick, it felt almost like she was still kissing him.

“Yes. Yes,” she repeated.

Blake smiled and lifted his hand to smooth a lock of hair from her face. He leaned toward her and his lips grazed hers. She thought he’d meant to just kiss her softly, but his touch was explosive and ignited their passion like a spark on dried tinder. They lunged for one another, each hungry for more. His hands trembled as they rounded her shoulders, pushing her back, then slid along the curve of her back, then up again as he pressed tighter. Then, in sudden decision, he drew back.

Carson gasped, her lips still tingling. As Blake fired the engine, Carson leaned back and closed her eyes, and though she’d not had a drop to drink, she felt like she was high. As they drove off, her blood was racing and her heart palpitating, making her feel carefree and giddy, like she was riding in the Zodiac again.

Carson awoke with a start. Her head shot up and she sucked in her breath. Her eyes searched the small room, the tilted blinds at the window through which gray morning light seeped, revealing clothes littered on the floor. Some of them were her clothes.

She heard a low, rumbling snore beside her, and turning her head, she saw Blake asleep on his belly, his mouth slightly agape and his hair disheveled. The sheet barely covered half of his butt. It was a nice butt, she thought with a smile as moments from the previous evening began to work back into her consciousness. Blake was as good as his kisses promised. Slow and deliberate, he liked to take his time.

She rose slowly, careful not to wake him. Carson tiptoed around the room, picking up her clothes and slipping them on, each creak of the wood floor sounding like an alarm in her head. It was a typical bachelor pad. Clothes strewn about the furniture; keys, pens, soda cans, and bits of paper scattered on the dresser; a poster of NASCAR on the wall.

The rest of the apartment was a continuation of the bedroom, an eclectic array of confusion. She thought this was very unlike the perception she had of the man, who in her mind was fastidious and precise. The furniture was functional without thought to color, design, or size. Bookshelves along the wall overflowed with books, and the small wood table was covered with books and papers and a laptop, turned off but open. The bicycle by the front door was a nice touch, she thought with a chuckle.

In contrast to the rest of the place, his kitchen, though
cluttered, was clean. She gave him high marks for not having dirty dishes in the sink. With trepidation, she peeked in the fridge, expecting a withered apple and sour milk. At the sound, Hobbs trotted across the room to her side. She was relieved and impressed to find fresh organic milk, a plastic jug of filtered water, a bag of crisp carrots, celery, cheese, and some fresh fruit.

While rummaging through the man’s refrigerator, Carson heard a footfall from behind. She turned, slightly embarrassed. “Pillaging your fridge.” She smiled.

Standing in his boxers, Blake scratched his belly and yawned. When he drew near, he reached out to pull her close and lightly kissed her.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said.

He really did look cute in the morning, she thought, letting her hands slide up his hard chest. “Morning,” she replied.

Hobbs pushed his head against Blake’s thigh to be patted.

“Hungry?” he asked her. “Hobbs is.”

She didn’t know whether he was teasing her about finding her searching his fridge, or whether he was beginning that silly game of innuendo and she was supposed to reply with something banal about how she was hungry for his kisses. Though she was, she couldn’t utter the corny words.

“I’d surf with a shark for some coffee,” she replied.