Chapter 24: Genevieve
GENEVIEVE
There are few things I love about this town more than a bonfire on the beach. Cool sand and warm flames. The scent of burning pine and salt air. The coastal breeze that carries tiny orange embers into the waves. These things feel like home. And no one does it better than the twins. Summer nights at the Hartley house are a tradition in the Bay—like boardwalk carnivals and hustling Garnet freshmen.
The party is well underway when I arrive. Heidi and Jay are attached at the face. Alana’s dancing in the flickering firelight with some roughneck deckhand, while Tate watches from the distance with his fist around a beer bottle like he’s thinking about cracking it over the guy’s head. Mackenzie, who’s sitting beside the fire with Steph, waves when she spots me coming down from the house.
Just a few hours ago, she called to tell me I got the job. I’m officially the new general manager of The Beacon Hotel, which is a little terrifying but a lot exciting. I warned Mac that although I work hard and learn quickly, I don’t pretend to know anything about running a hotel, and she reminded me that until a few months ago, she didn’t know anything about owning one. Besides, I’ve never stopped to wonder if the landing might hurt before jumping off a pier or out of
a plane. Why start now?
So while I’m not sure Cooper would appreciate seeing me here, I accepted Mac’s invitation to the party. My new position doesn’t start until the end of the summer, but still. You don’t turn down the boss. Or maybe that’s an excuse. Maybe the real reason I came tonight is because after I hung up the phone with Mac, there was only one person I couldn’t wait to tell. Rather than linger too long on the implication of that instinct, I just got myself in the car and drove over here.
Evan finds me across the flames through the many shadowed faces. He nods for me to come meet him by the folding table and coolers, where they’ve practically got a whole liquor store stashed.
“Tell me something,” he says when I approach. “You get perks, right? Maybe swing a presidential suite with some room service? You and me spend a weekend naked, eating chocolate-covered strawberries in a hot tub?”
“I see Mac already told you.”
“Yep. Congratulations, Madam GM.” With an elaborate hand motion, Evan presents me with a red Blow Pop.
This asshole is damn sweet sometimes. I hate that he doesn’t have to try at all in order to turn my gut to giddy mush. That my nerves never dull to his dark, mischievous eyes and crooked smirk. He throws on any old T-shirt and a pair of jeans splattered with interior paint and plaster, and I get positively slutty.
“Now it feels real,” I say with a laugh. “This makes all the fretting worth it.”
My brother Billy wanders past us, throwing me the side-eye when he notices how close Evan and I are standing. I give a nod of assurance, making it clear it’s all good here, and he keeps walking.
“Let me fix you a drink. I’ve been working on something special.” Evan fills up a cup of ice from the cooler and starts assembling bottles of
ingredients.
“I can’t.”
He waves off my hesitation. “It’s non-alcoholic.”
Words I never thought I’d hear come out of a Hartley’s mouth. Especially this one.
I watch as he caps the shaker and begins vigorously mixing the drink. “Honestly, I was debating not even coming tonight,” I confess.
A frown touches his lips. “Because of me?”
“No, because of this—” I gesture at the beer-filled coolers and table laden with booze. “On the drive over, I was trying to convince myself I could have a drink. Just one, you know, to take the edge off. But then, all these worst-case scenarios flashed through my head. One drink turns to two, and suddenly six drinks later, I wake up in a fire engine half submerged in the YMCA pool with the lights still flashing and a llama treading water.” And only half of that scenario is hypothetical.
Amused, he pours the drink into the cup of ice. “Gen. You’ve got to cut yourself some slack. This kind of hypervigilance isn’t sustainable. Trust me. If you don’t let yourself have a little fun now and then, you’re gonna end up burnt out or on a bender. Learn to embrace moderation.”
“You get that off a T-shirt?” I ask in amusement.
“Here.” He hands me the fruity concoction. “I’ll be your chaperone tonight. If you reach for a real drink, I’ll smack it out of your hand.”
“Is that right?” He must think I’m new here.
“I’m sober tonight,” Evan says without a hint of irony. “I plan to stay that way.”
Ordinarily, I might laugh in his face. A sober Hartley at a party is like a fish out of water. But taking a good look at him, I note that his eyes are clear and focused. Not a whiff of booze on his breath. Hell, he’s serious. If I didn’t know him, I might start believing he was sincere
about being reformed.
I guess there’s only one way to find out.
“Okay,” I say, accepting the drink. “But if I wake up on a stolen Jet Ski in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by Coast Guard cutters, you and me are gonna fight.”
“Cheers to that.” He hoists a bottle of water to clink with my plastic cup.
Turns out Evan can mix a decent virgin cocktail.
“Not for nothing,” he says hesitantly. “You know this ‘good girl’ mission doesn’t have to entirely change who you are, right?”
“What does that mean?” I’m somewhat taken aback. Not because Evan might be less than enthusiastic about this new lifestyle, but that there’s some genuine distress in his voice I haven’t heard before.
“I just think it’d be a shame if you let growing up dull your edges. I’m all for whatever makes you happy,” he qualifies. “You don’t need to be drinking for me to enjoy your company—you’ve always been fun no matter what. Lately, though, it seems like the real Gen is slipping away. Becoming a muted version of the incredible, terrifying, vibrant woman you used to be.”
“You say that like I’m dying.” I won’t lie—it hurts a little to hear that from him. The disappointment, the chord of loss. It’s like attending my own funeral.
His eyes drop, fingers running over the ridges of the bottle in his hand. “In a sense, maybe it feels that way. All I’m saying …” He lifts his attention again to me. A brief, wistful smile is quickly chased off by his typical irreverent grin. “Don’t go getting soft on me, Fred.”
I’ve always loved myself best in Evan’s eyes. The adoring way he looks at me: part impressed, a little intimidated. But more so, the person he thinks I am. The way he tells it, I’m invincible. Thunder and lightning. Not much scares me, and even less when he’s around.
I wash down the thought with another generous sip of my faux cocktail. “Wouldn’
t dream of it.”
There’s got to be a way to do both. Straighten out my more destructive tendencies without lobotomizing myself. Somewhere in the world are respectable, functioning adults who’ve staved off blandness.
Because Evan isn’t alone in his concern. I’ve felt the slow slipping of self too, the image in the mirror becoming less familiar with time. Every morning waking as one person. The day spent tearing myself out and up, clawing through layers like breaking free of my own skin. And I hit my pillow each night as someone else entirely. At some point, I better settle on a persona before I’m not me at all, but another discarded husk on the floor.
“Tell you what,” Evan says. “No more serious talk. I’ve missed the hell out of us. And you deserve to celebrate. So trust me to stop you from falling into old habits, but …” His voice roughens. “Not all habits are bad. For tonight, let’s just say to hell with it and have a good time.”
In other words, let’s pretend it’s the old days and we’re still together. No more rules and boundaries. Feel the moment and let our instincts move us.
It’s an attractive offer. And maybe he’s caught me in just the right mood to accept.
“Temping …” I trail off.
“Oh, come on.” He throws his arm over my shoulder and kisses the side of my head. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Famous last words.”
Evan shrugs, hauling me toward the music and dancing couples. “There are worse ways to go.”
For a few hours, we are ether. Evan doesn’t dance so much as stand there peeling my clothes off with his eyes. I lose my half-empty drink somewhere in the beat. I’m high on
sensation. Fabric sticking to my body in the humidity. Sweat down my neck. His hands finding bare skin across my stomach, my shoulders. Lips pressed against my hair, my cheek, under my jaw until they meet my own. Kissing like everyone is watching. Grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and hiking my knee up his leg until I remember where we are.
It’s the most fun I’ve had with my clothes on in a long time, and all we do is everything we’ve ever done. Laughing with our friends and kicking up sand. Nothing on fire but the burning logs in the pit, and the only flashing lights coming from the flames and cell phone cameras. Lumberjack Jimmy has trotted out his ax-throwing target, and everyone’s placing bets as we take turns hurling sharp edges at the upright wooden board. At first glance the concept of mixing medieval weaponry and alcohol might appear like a recipe for a noisy ride to the emergency room, but so far, egos have taken the worst damage tonight.
“You should have a go,” I urge Evan. Seeing as he’s dead sober, no one’s got him beat for aim.
With his arm around my waist as we watch another matchup, Evan strokes his thumb under the hem of my shirt. The seductive touch gets me dizzier than anything from a bottle. “What’ll you give me if I win? And feel free to be as lewd as you’d like.”
“My respect and admiration,” I deadpan, to his utter dejection.
“Mmm-hmm, that’s just as good as a blowjob.”
When Jimmy asks who’s going next, Evan steps up to the lane to take an ax in hand. Someone grabs Cooper to
get a load of this
, and the mass of interested spectators swells. They give him a wide berth, though. Because Evan Hartley with an ax is about as close to death as anyone gets with air in their lungs.
Until the sharp, shrill wail of a siren spooks the crowd. The music cuts out abruptly. Firelight reveals a cop trudging through the sand. He barks orders into a bullhorn, sending those of questionable parole status scattering into
the darkness.
“Party’s over,” he announces. “You have three minutes to clear the premises or be subject to arrest.”
For a split second, I hold out some faint hope it’s Harrison having a laugh. But then the cop’s face is revealed from the shadows.
Deputy Randall.
Of course.
Evan jerks his head at Cooper. Still gripping the ax, Evan struts up to Randall with his brother, shrugging off my weak attempt to stop him. I’m already feeling my pocket for my keys and wondering if Mac will understand when I have to miss a few days of work to skip town and drive Evan over the border.
As if sharing my prophetic vision, Mac comes up to take my arm as we follow our men to the confrontation.
“What’s the deal?” Cooper asks, doing his best to control the deep streak of Hartley contempt for law enforcement from seeping into his voice.
“Everyone’s got to go,” Randall informs the entire crowd.
“This is private property,” Evan shoots back with no such restraint. I know without a doubt that right now images of Randall cornering me in a bar and trying to feel me up are spinning in his mind as he holds the smooth wooden ax handle in his fist.
“Your property ends at the grass. This sand here is a public beach, boy.”
Evan cocks his head, licking his lips. The madman thrill he gets from tasting his own blood.
“What’s the problem?” Cooper takes a step forward to put a bit more of his body between Evan and Randall. “Don’t try to tell me you got a noise complaint. All our neighbors are right here.”
Without a flinch, Randall spits out a flat response. “You don’t have a permit for this bonfire. It’s against city code.”
“Bullshit.” Thin on patience, Evan raises his voice. “People have bonfires all the time. No one’s ever
needed any damn permit.”
“This is harassment,” Cooper says.
Looking bored, Randall reaches into his shirt pocket. “My badge number’s on the card. Feel free to file a complaint.” He flicks it at Cooper, who lets it fall to the sand. “Call it a night, or take a ride with me to the station.”
Evan picks up the business card. “Don’t want to be litter bugs, do we, deputy?”
With that, the party’s over. Meandering toward the house, people begin to disperse. Evan and Cooper retreat, albeit reluctantly, to pack up the drinks. With a regretful shrug, Mac goes to break down the chairs and folding table. Meanwhile, I have no idea where I left my purse. I’m hunting for it, saying goodbye as friends pass me, when I nearly bump into Randall, who’s blending into the night in his dark sheriff’s uniform.
“That didn’t take long.” He sneers, arms crossed, that unearned sense of superiority bearing down on me.
“What?” I don’t really want a response, so I try to dodge him, but Randall steps into my path.
“Harrison didn’t stand a chance, eh? Barely got his foot in the door, and you’re already stepping out on him.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” He’s got me zero to fed up in no time flat. I don’t like what he’s insinuating, and I’m not about to entertain his garbage on my home turf. We’re not in public. Out here, all sorts of things can happen, and no one would say a word.
“Means you’re not fooling anyone, sweetheart. Least of all me.” Randall leans in, growling words coated in the sickly stench of gas station corn dogs and coffee. “You’re still a lying little slut. Out to ruin another man’s life.”
“I’m sorry.” Evan comes striding up beside me, the ax slung with one hand over his shoulder. “I didn’t quite catch that.” He tilts his ear to Randall. “You’ll need to speak up. Say that again?”
“It’s fine,” I say, grabbing Evan’s free wrist. If
I was worried about becoming a fugitive before, I’m downright concerned now. “Walk me to my car?”
“Go on, boy.” Randall moves his right hand to rest on his gun. The strap on the holster is unbuttoned. “Give me a reason.”
Evan flashes a wild smile I’ve seen a hundred times. Right before he took a running leap off a cliff or unloaded a paintball gun at a police cruiser. It’s a smile loaded with the serenity of madness saying,
watch this
.
“Yeah, you see …” Evan admires the ax, turning it in hand. “As a respected business owner and upstanding member of my community, I’d never run afoul of a lawman.” He flicks his thumbnail across the blade.
It’s then I realize this conversation has attracted an audience. A smaller contingent than the aborted party. In fact, with Cooper, Wyatt, Tate, and Billy, the remnants are made up almost exclusively of certified members from the Fuck Around and Find Out Society.
“But you come at me and mine sideways,” Evan says, not a hint of humor in his grave tone. “You better come to dance.”
For second or two, Randall appears to contemplate the offer. Then, sizing up the opposition, he thinks better of it. He barks a final order into the bullhorn. “Three minutes are up. Clear out.”
He doesn’t wait for compliance before trudging back through the sand and tall grass to the road and his waiting cruiser. I don’t release my breath until I watch the taillights blink red and then disappear.
Following Evan up to the house, I’m still a bit winded by the whole ordeal. Somehow, he’s still got the ax, which he tosses on the dresser when we enter his bedroom
upstairs. I haven’t been in here in a year, and it feels oddly like stepping into a museum of my own life. Memories on every wall.
“What’s that look?” he says, pulling off his shirt and tossing it in the hamper. My throat goes dry as my attention is drawn to the lines of his chest, the defined muscles of his abs.
“It still smells the same.”
“Hey, I did laundry yesterday.”
I roll my eyes, taking a trip around the room. “Not like that. I mean it smells familiar.”
“You okay?”
“For a minute there …” I’m distracted as I wander the bedroom. He’s never been the sentimental type. There are no photographs tacked to the wall. No old concert tickets or souvenirs. Wasn’t much into sports either, so none of those little gold men. “I thought you might find a use for that ax. You impressed me back there.”
My gaze conducts a final sweep. His room is just a utilitarian composite of some basic furniture, TV, game system, and the contents of his pockets on any given day tossed on the nightstand. Except for one frill on top of his dresser: a decorative glass dish, like something an old lady would put potpourri in, filled with years’ worth of Blow Pops.
This jerk is so damn sweet sometimes.
“Which part impressed you?” he asks.
I turn to find him leaning against his bedroom door. Legs crossed, hands shoved in his pockets. Jeans riding low on his hips. Everything about him demands to be consumed. And I’m locked in here with him.
“I admired your restraint.” I don’t know what to do with my hands now, so I rest them on the edge of his desk, hop up,
and sit on them.
“I couldn’t remember if we were still playing the opposite game. But I’ll go hunt his ass down if we’re not.”
“No, you did good.”
He raises an eyebrow. “How good?”
“Are you leaning against that door because you’re afraid I’ll leave?”
“Do you want to?”
When Evan looks at me from beneath those thick, dark lashes, all full of memories and hunger, I forget what I’m doing. All the rules and hesitations fly out the window.
“No,” I admit.
He pushes off the door and stalks toward me, planting his hands on the desk on either side of me. Reflexively, I open my legs for him to stand between them. I fixate on his mouth. On the warmth radiating from his body and the way my limbs grow restless. When I think he’s going to kiss me, he turns his face to brush his lips against my temple instead.
“I’ve missed you,” he says, more a groan than words.
“I’m right here.”
My pulse throbs in my neck, in my palms, the phantom echo of my thumping heart resonating across every nerve ending. I’m all but choking on the anticipation of something to happen and uncertain what it should be. Because I made myself a promise. Right now, though, I can’t for the life of me think of a good reason to keep it.
With the lightest touch, Evan’s hands slide up the outside of each leg, over my knees, thighs. “I’ve got it bad, Fred.” His voice comes out hoarse. “The way I see it, you better send me to a cold shower before this thing gets serious.”
I bite my lip to smother a smile. “Serious, huh?”
He grabs my hand and places it on his
chest. “As a heart attack.”
His skin under my palm is hot to the touch. In the quiet part of my mind, I know he’s dangerous. But the rest of it, the loud, screaming voice between my ears, tells me to drag my hands down his chest. To undo the zipper on his jeans, reach into his boxer briefs, and wrap my fingers around his thick, throbbing erection.
Evan sucks in a breath when I stroke him. He looks down, watching me, his abdomen clenching. “Good choice.”
Without warning, he draws my hand away and spins me around. I grip the edge of the desk to steady myself as he hastily tugs my shorts down to expose my bare ass. He squeezes my warm flesh with one hand, humming an appreciative sound. I hear a drawer open and shut, followed by the rip of a condom wrapper. His fingers slide between my legs, finding me wet, and then I feel him rub himself against my feverish skin as he leans over to whisper in my ear.
“I don’t mind if you want to be loud.”
A thrill shoots through me.
He leaves a kiss on my shoulder as he drags his erection along my aching core, before slowly pushing inside me. With one hand on my hip, and the other knotted in my hair to pull my head backward and arch my back, Evan fills me completely. My nails bite the worn desktop as I push back, taking him. The exquisite ache fogs my vision and quickens my pulse.
“Fuck, Gen.” He grinds out the words. Lays another kiss at my temple.
I breathe out his name because I can’t take the static anticipation a moment longer. I just want him already. I need him to put me out of my misery.
Evan glides his hand up my spine, under my shirt, to unhook my bra and let it slide down my arms. I grab his hand, guide it to my breast. Still, he stubbornly refuses to move.
“Why are you teasing
me?” I demand.
“Because I never want this to end.” His thumb brushes over my nipple in the most feather light of caresses.
I groan my desperation and buck against him, grinding on his dick.
Chuckling softly, he brings his other hand up and clasps both breasts now. “Better?”
“No,” I mumble. “You’re still not moving.” And the feel of his entire length lodged inside me, completely motionless, is a new form of torment. No oxygen is reaching my lungs. My skin is on fire, and I’m close to self-combusting.
“Breathe.” His voice is soft in my ear, his fingers playing with my nipples. “Take a breath, baby.”
I manage a shaky inhale, and just as the air fills my lungs, Evan withdraws slowly. I’m mid-exhalation when he slides back in, sending a wave of sensation through my body.
My head drops back on his shoulder, experiencing every inch of him. Pleasure tingles in my nipples and tightens my core as he moves inside me, slow and deliberate. When I can’t quell the need alone, I move his right hand between my legs.
“I’m close,” I whisper.
“Already?”
“Feels too good.” A ragged breath slips out. “Missed having you inside me.”
That earns me a satisfied growl. He runs his finger over my clit. Gentle at first, then more insistent when I moan for him. It isn’t long before I’m shaking, leaning against him for support as the orgasm sweeps through me.
“You’re gorgeous when you come,” he rasps against my neck.
As tiny flutters of pleasure continue to dance inside me, Evan bends me over the desk. He takes my hips with both hands and pumps into me with strong, forceful thrusts. Just the right intensity. Having me like it’s his
last night on Earth.
I twist my head to look at him, floored by the raw need darkening his eyes, the blissed-out haze. When our gazes lock, he stills, groaning through his climax. He runs his hands up my back, soothing my muscles, laying kisses across my sensitive flesh. I’m sated and spent, panting, when he steps away to throw out the condom.
“I’m gonna grab a Gatorade,” he says, biting his lip as he stares at me. “Then we’re doing that again.”