Summer Indiscretions Read online

  “Oh, that’s an awesome show! I can’t believe how talented that actress is. She should win all the awards for basically acting by herself. We should watch that!”

  I shrug. “Don’t see why not.”

  I settle on the bed and open my arms in invitation. She snuggles against me, and we watch Orphan Black until the food comes.

  Then we eat.

  And digest.

  Her back and neck stiffen from falling in the water today, so I grab some oil and work the tension from her body head to toe.

  And then we’re too busy watching each other to pay attention to the television.

  Chapter 11

  Melanie

  My phone rings, and when I see the name on the caller ID, I answer immediately. “Hey, Bails. What’s up?”

  I lie on my stomach on Shelby’s couch. Buddy immediately jumps beside me, snuggling against the curve of my hip. He purrs like he knows I’m happy and wants to share in the moment.

  “You tell me. You never called me. I was left here wringing my hands, worried that someone else would hear the salacious details of your date before me. Now, I know I’m supposed to play it cool and wait three days for you to call me, but—”

  I laugh. “Except for that last bit, you sound like my mom. We went out again yesterday and had an amazing time. I stayed at his hotel room last night—”

  “And boy, are your hips tired?”

  “Ha-ha. Seriously, I can’t believe everything that’s happened in just a few days.” It’s all got this surreal edge around it, framed by fluffy sand and skies too pretty and bright to be real. “It’s a fantasy come to life.”

  “But? You’re sounding a little flat about it.”

  I stroke Buddy’s back, and he rewards me with a purr. “I mean, it’s not like this can go anywhere, right?”

  “Even if that were true, which it isn’t, who says it has to go somewhere? How long have we known each other—seven years? I love you, but when have you ever cut loose and done something fun and frivolous for the sake of doing something fun and frivolous?”

  Searching my memories doesn’t immediately offer up a rebuttal, and I’m forced to admit she’s right. “That’s true. Those f-words aren’t really a part of my vocabulary.”

  “Five-year plans are so five years ago. What’s stopping you from grabbing the moment? Seizing that sexy man and having a good time? Really sinking your teeth into his—”

  “I get it.” I laugh. “I’m the one stopping me, I guess.”

  “So get out of your own way for once. Stop putting limitations on it. Who cares how it ends? You’re supposed to be starting something. Starting something and then actually enjoying it. Life’s about the journey, not just the destination. You’re skipping ahead, but skipping ahead like that means you’re missing the part where it actually happens.”

  I smile. “I know you’re right. Maybe I’m thrown off because I’ve wanted him for so long that I talked myself out of him ever noticing me.”

  “I think that’s exactly it. Embrace this, Melanie. Take one for the team, for the girls on the bench wishing their crushes would tap them to get in the game.”

  I release the breath I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. “You’re right. I’m overthinking it when I need to jump in.”

  “Yeah, you are. Repeat after me: what happens on vacation stays on vacation.”

  “‘What happens on vacation stays on vacation,’” I dutifully parrot.

  “Excellent. Now, if you could 3-D print one thing, what would it be?”

  I chew my lip. Bailey’s random questions are usually prompted by topics for articles she’s thinking of doing. “The only things I can think about printing are completely inappropriate. My mind’s still in the gutter. Why? What would you print?”

  She pauses for a minute. “OK, there was this dog. And he had no front paws.” She stops, and I know if I saw her right now, her big eyes would be filling with tears. “And they made him paws. And they filmed him running, and ugh, I’m getting misty again just thinking about it.”

  “You’re the sweetest.”

  She sniffs. “It’s ridiculous, but it hit me right in the feels. Anyway, how are you, other than this? You never really said what prompted the Switch in the first place.”

  I stroke Buddy’s forehead, tensing as memories of the day from hell that drove me here float back to mind. “Fine,” I answer a little too tersely.

  “If you need to talk—”

  “I’d rather think about fun stuff right now, if that’s OK.”

  “Of course it is.” Her voice softens. “You’re going to see Blake again soon?”

  “He asked if I wanted to go dancing and I sort of begged off, saying I was tired. But you know what? I’m going to call him back and say yes. But maybe for a date tomorrow instead of going out tonight. He thoroughly wore me out.”

  “Yay! Do you have anything to wear? Want to send me pictures and I’ll help you?”

  Bailey has amazing fashion sense. She can make the simplest outfit seem unique and fresh with some kind of voodoo I don’t possess. I chew my lip and glance toward the bedroom. “Not really. But I bet Shelby has something sparkly I can squeeze into.”

  “I want updates. I’m glad you’re sounding better.”

  “I’m feeling a bit better. Not there yet, but this is helping.”

  “Call me when you can, but no pressure. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume you’re ravaging Blake on a beach somewhere.”

  “You may not be wrong about that.”

  She squeals, and I hang up feeling better because she’s right. I overthink and put limitations on life, talking myself out of trying because things might not end well. How many things have I missed out on, not daring to start because I was too busy worrying about how they’d end?

  I’ve already dialed Blake’s number when I realize I forgot to ask Bailey how work is going. It doesn’t matter. I’m on vacation, and work is the last thing I should focus on. Besides, even if something is up, there’s nothing I can do about it here.

  “Miss me already?” Blake’s voice has a smile in it.

  “Parts of you, maybe.” I cannot believe I just said that.

  “Which ones?”

  “Your hands. And feet.”

  “Kinky.”

  I snort. “You did say you wanted to take me dancing. Is that still an option?”

  “Mmm. I thought you were tired.”

  I roll over onto my back, careful not to push Buddy off the couch. “For tomorrow night. You in?”

  “Definitely. I’ll pick you up at nine and we can grab a bite first, if you like?”

  “Sounds great.” I smile and hang up, hoping Shelby has something in her closet I can wear. If not, I’ll need to go shopping tomorrow. Is it weird to borrow something from her wardrobe? How would I feel if she was wearing my things?

  I shrug and head to her room. If she really needed it, I’d be fine with her borrowing something—as long as she returned it in the same condition. What’s she doing right now? Has she eaten at the dodgy bodega down my street? I should have warned her not to order anything from there except the cheese pizza.

  Then again, if she’d told me that beach was clothing optional, I probably would have avoided it and missed out on all kinds of fun. Sometimes it’s better to negotiate awkward situations without a road map. If you end up in trouble—or on a beach with your nipples in your first crush’s face—at least it keeps things interesting.

  Shelby’s closet has everything from a gorgeous toga—in ombré from cream to light blue—to jeans to an evening gown. I feel a little guilty about flipping through her hangers and judging her clothes, like I’m raiding my cool older sister’s closet while she’s staying at her friend’s. The hangers make little snick-snick-snicks as I rapidly dismiss dresses for being too small, too provocat
ive, or too stiff for dancing.

  Then I see it. A black-and-silver, sleeveless, beaded satin dress near the back of the closet. It’s heavier than I expected from the beading, in flapper-style layers, but I lay it on the bed, undress, and slip it over my head before I can talk myself out of it.

  It’s modern and probably roomier on Shelby, but it fits. My curves bring the hem to upper thigh, but the fringe extends a couple inches lower, tickling my skin with strings of cool beads. The neckline plunges a bit, and I won’t be able to wear a bra with it, but the beads hide my nipples.

  And it looks amazing. It plays up my curves while the beads create movement. I look like a bombshell, and I sashay to the mirror, shaking and shimmying to see what it looks like from all angles when I move. Spinning around makes the beads rise, showing more leg than I’m normally comfortable showing, but it’s OK. I’ve Switched.

  I pull my hair out of its bun, and it falls past my shoulders. The way it brushes against my back reminds me of the hem, so I decide to leave my hair down and free tomorrow night.

  The top is more silver than black, and I brought a strappy pair of black sandals that will go perfectly with this dress. I’d feel weird wearing someone else’s shoes, so I grab mine. I slip them on and dance to the bathroom to experiment with a little more makeup than I normally wear—a practice run for tomorrow night.

  This dress screams for smoky eyes.

  Chapter 12

  Blake

  Mel opens the door and takes my breath away.

  Her dark, glossy hair tumbles down her shoulders in sexily tousled curls that look like she just rolled out of bed. I want to take her back there and tousle her some more.

  Dark liner makes her eyes dramatic, and I don’t know if it’s the makeup or the dress, but those unique eyes of hers—a shade I never know how to describe, even more intense tonight—are closer to golden green. She’s left her naturally full lips bare except for a little gloss that shimmers in the light, looking like she’s just licked them.

  I want to lick them too.

  “Hey.” She gives a little twirl, making the bottom of the dress shoot up a couple inches. It doesn’t help my caveman urges at all. “How do I look?”

  “Like we’d better get to a public place very soon, or I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

  A blush creeps up from her cleavage and stains her cheeks. “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “Now I feel really underdressed.” I pluck at the black button-down I paired with dark wash jeans—the fanciest thing I packed, not expecting to take anyone out on the town.

  “You look hot. If it’s too much, I can change.”

  “No. You can’t.” The words come out like a growl, and I’d be embarrassed by the sound if she didn’t look so damn good. This incredible woman wants to go out with me, and pride roars through my chest as if I can claim any part of that.

  “Do you still want to grab a bite?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not really hungry. Is it okay if we just go dancing?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  She grins. “Which club are we going to?” She digs through her little black purse for her keys.

  “Somewhere I can see you dance in that dress.”

  She grins and locks the door behind us, and we get into the cab that brought me here. I ask the cabbie to take us to the hottest dance club in Miami, and we ride there in silence with the windows down to combat the heat in the car. We must have gotten the one cabbie who doesn’t believe in air-conditioning.

  I can’t take my eyes off Mel. It’s not just the dress and makeup; it’s something else. A sparkle in her eyes, the way she carries herself. She’s sort of…radiant.

  I take her soft hand in mine, rubbing the pad of my thumb across her knuckles.

  The pavement radiates warmth back up at us when we step out of the car. The line outside the club is long, but I squint at the bouncer at the door, unsure if it’s really Del. Seeing someone out of context can render them nearly unrecognizable, but it’s hard to forget a six-foot-four Thor look-alike you trained with for four months. He’s a bruiser but had the most delicate touch when working on intraoral TMJ issues.

  “Blake Wilde, who the hell let you out of New York?” he calls out, stepping down to grab my hand.

  “I could ask you the same question.” I return his shake, then turn to gesture at Mel. “This is Mel.”

  “Melanie.” She smiles and shakes Del’s hand. “You two know each other?”

  I nod. “We went to school together. Massage therapy—until he was scouted for pro ball.”

  Del grins. “What are you doing in my neck of the woods?”

  “Vacation. You here permanently?”

  He spreads his hands in a what-can-you-do gesture. “Came down to help out my cousin, liked it enough to invest in the place as well. Now I’m co-owner, but I like to work the door from time to time. Tossing the occasional drunk out on his ass keeps me from getting soft—and it’s easier on the body than massage therapy.”

  “I hear that.”

  “You still rubbing people the right way?”

  I laugh. “Yeah, but I’m almost done with my practicum for PT.”

  “Nice. Now I know who to come to when my knee blows out again.”

  “Del played pro football for a few years,” I explain to Mel.

  “Any teams I know?” She tilts her head.

  “The Vikings.”

  She smirks. “Playing to type there, weren’t we?”

  Del throws his head back and laughs, a rumbly boom that turns every head our way. “Indeed. You want in?” He jerks his thumb at the club.

  How can he deal with a full beard in this weather? “Yeah. The cabbie recommended this place as the hottest spot to go dancing.”

  Del grins, revealing the tiny diamond in his eyetooth. “Good news travels fast. Cool.” He leads us to the door, digs in his pocket, and fishes out a business card. “Here’s my number. Don’t be a stranger. I’ll be in New York in a couple months.” He waves and tells the girl at the counter, “No cover.”

  “Thanks, man.” I tuck his card into my wallet and hand him one of mine. “Hit me up when you’re there.” I take Mel’s hand.

  “Nice meeting you,” she says. She waves at him as we head inside, and the girl slips a backstage-pass wristband on each of us.

  I love the way Mel can keep up with anyone, no matter who they are.

  The music is muted in the dark hallway, and the temperature drops to a more comfortable level, the swelter and humidity kept outside. The passageway is long, almost like a tunnel, and we head down it together. Amusement bubbles up as we go. I don’t know why, but Mel looks at me and giggles. She feels it too. Maybe because the passageway is almost empty, so it’s as though we’re sneaking into someplace off-limits.

  We burst through the doors, and the music swells over us as we enter the huge room, which is set up more like a concert venue. Tables and chairs sit on the graduated levels that head down to the dance floor in the middle of the room.

  It’s raised, set up like a large stage—the focal point for everyone at the tables. Every dancer is also a star on the stage, making it the coolest place to be.

  “This is pretty awesome,” Mel shouts near my ear, competing with the music.

  I nod and guide her through the crowd to one of the three bars, ordering drinks for us both as the heavy pulse of sound washes over us, connecting everyone in the room through the vibrations. It’s warmer in here from all the bodies. We stand and sip our drinks, taking in the dark, almost-industrial decor. Black-and-dark-purple walls, brushed-steel details on the backs of the booths and tables.

  The loud music makes it impossible to carry on a real conversation, but I like the chance to drink in the sight of Mel in the darkness. Flashing lights play across her skin and eyes as she
bobs to the beat, her striking features highlighted with blue, then green, then red as the lights change. I notice the stares of other men directed her way, but she seems oblivious.

  How is that even possible?

  She sips and I follow her gaze around the room. She frowns more with every tiny woman with long, tanned legs who passes.

  Is that it? Is she so zoned in on the women she thinks are her competition that she doesn’t realize her own innate, unique beauty?

  Suddenly I want to show her how I see her. I want to spend all my time doing that, which should be scary, but somehow it isn’t. It feels right.

  “Come with me.” I set my empty glass on the bar, and she puts hers beside mine.

  “Where are we going?” She frowns.

  I wiggle my eyebrows and lead her through the crowds, heading down the levels until we get to the stage. Her footsteps falter a little as we approach the stairs, and I slow down and give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  Mel tucks herself closer to me when we hit the dance floor, like she’s trying to become less visible rather than get closer to me.

  I can’t sing for shit, but I can move. Even better than that, I know the key to this kind of dancing: the best partner doesn’t show off as hard as they can; they show their partner off as best they can, making them look good.

  And she already looks fantastic. I just have to get her to feel as good as she looks.

  I maneuver us around our little patch on the floor, sure to keep a hand on Mel at all times so she can draw comfort and confidence from our connection.

  Mel’s eyes—huge with surprise at first—go back to regular size as she relaxes, realizing I’m not going to show her up or embarrass her. I don’t hide the attraction I feel for her, letting her see how much I want her as I lead her across the floor, around other bopping dancers. The music changes to something with a sexier bass line, an old hip-hop hit, and everyone screams around us and dances a little harder.

  “I love this song!” Mel grins up at me. The tension leaves her shoulders, and the pinched skin around her eyes smooths out as she gives a shimmy, making her dress shimmer in the light like she’s part of the show.