Romance: TOXIC (Forbidden, Pregnancy, Taboo Romance, Stepbrother Romance, New Adult Short Stories) by Celia Styles Page A
Authors: Celia Styles
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“Before the tourists arrive is when it’s safest for pros to practice,” he said.
“You’re a professional surfer? Get out!” In retrospect, I should have realized that, if I was going to meet a professional surfer, it would be in Hawaii. “You mean like Kelly Slater?”
He shrugged and shook his head, sprinkling salt water drops around us. “I get by--you know, win a few tournaments, teach a few tourists,” he said. “It’s not much, but it pays the bills, and it’s something I love.”
I nodded. I could understand--my mother had (strangely) despaired the most of my decision to go into teaching, saying that I could make so much more money as a lawyer, that the hours were better, and on and on. Eventually, though, she got the point--“It’s your life,” I said.
“You get it,” he said, grinning. “My name’s Blake.” We’d reached the hotel’s beachside entrance.
“Lila,” I said.
We shook hands, but even though the sun was starting to bake the sand I was standing on, I couldn’t quite get myself to break the contact. His hands were rough, but careful, as they held mine. “Can I see you again?” he asked.
Just like that. I couldn’t believe it. After so many “uh”- and “um”-filled “Do you want to maybe meet for coffee” propositions for dates, I was starting to think that guys were just naturally horrible about asking girls out. A guy who clearly knows what he wants . I felt a smile spread over my face.
And then I found myself wondering what the hell I wanted. I could hear, in my head, my mother’s voice, telling me Be careful, men are like dogs, trust him only as far as you can throw him and all the other platitudes that she’d admonish me with whenever we talked boys. And her cautionary warnings had actually stood me in good stead when I went to school. But this wasn’t school, and if I was ever going to have a great time with a cute guy who seemed like a gentleman, Hawaii seemed as good a place as any.
So I told him, “Yes.”
***
We made plans to meet just outside the hotel. That way, I could just quietly ghost--give a quick toast, endure the first round of drinks, hope that the newly-married couple would be too busy opening their presents and dancing to corny music to notice that I wasn’t there. I knew my mother would eventually notice that I was gone--I just hoped that she wouldn’t see me leave.
I had a hell of a time trying to figure out what to wear, though--I hadn’t thought to bring anything date-ish or super-flirty, and I still had to look dressed-up enough for a wedding reception. In the end, I went to a nearby shopping boutique, where I paid too much money for a demure lace dress with some sheer patches cut away dangerously close to some unmentionable areas. It was just risqué enough to hold a guy’s interest, not quite tawdry enough to warrant getting me kicked out of the reception.
He was picking me up at 7:30, and I began to realize what a stupid idea this was--a guy whom I’d just met, a guy whose car I was going to get into based on nothing more than “I liked his smile”? As the minutes ticked by I began to get more and more nervous about the whole thing. “You seem preoccupied,” said Terri, one of my mother’s friends. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m just thinking about applying to Teach for America.”
“Oh. Well, good luck with that.”
She’d plainly had more than a few drinks already, and I dropped her off at the bar and said, “I’m going to the bathroom.”
I slipped outside instead. He wasn’t there. I found myself wishing I smoked--at least then I’d have an excuse to stand out there like a fool, hoping desperately that this guy--this cute, hot, nice guy--actually meant it when he said he’d be there--
“Hi, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”
He’d pulled up in a silver sports car, and revved the engine a few
“You’re a professional surfer? Get out!” In retrospect, I should have realized that, if I was going to meet a professional surfer, it would be in Hawaii. “You mean like Kelly Slater?”
He shrugged and shook his head, sprinkling salt water drops around us. “I get by--you know, win a few tournaments, teach a few tourists,” he said. “It’s not much, but it pays the bills, and it’s something I love.”
I nodded. I could understand--my mother had (strangely) despaired the most of my decision to go into teaching, saying that I could make so much more money as a lawyer, that the hours were better, and on and on. Eventually, though, she got the point--“It’s your life,” I said.
“You get it,” he said, grinning. “My name’s Blake.” We’d reached the hotel’s beachside entrance.
“Lila,” I said.
We shook hands, but even though the sun was starting to bake the sand I was standing on, I couldn’t quite get myself to break the contact. His hands were rough, but careful, as they held mine. “Can I see you again?” he asked.
Just like that. I couldn’t believe it. After so many “uh”- and “um”-filled “Do you want to maybe meet for coffee” propositions for dates, I was starting to think that guys were just naturally horrible about asking girls out. A guy who clearly knows what he wants . I felt a smile spread over my face.
And then I found myself wondering what the hell I wanted. I could hear, in my head, my mother’s voice, telling me Be careful, men are like dogs, trust him only as far as you can throw him and all the other platitudes that she’d admonish me with whenever we talked boys. And her cautionary warnings had actually stood me in good stead when I went to school. But this wasn’t school, and if I was ever going to have a great time with a cute guy who seemed like a gentleman, Hawaii seemed as good a place as any.
So I told him, “Yes.”
***
We made plans to meet just outside the hotel. That way, I could just quietly ghost--give a quick toast, endure the first round of drinks, hope that the newly-married couple would be too busy opening their presents and dancing to corny music to notice that I wasn’t there. I knew my mother would eventually notice that I was gone--I just hoped that she wouldn’t see me leave.
I had a hell of a time trying to figure out what to wear, though--I hadn’t thought to bring anything date-ish or super-flirty, and I still had to look dressed-up enough for a wedding reception. In the end, I went to a nearby shopping boutique, where I paid too much money for a demure lace dress with some sheer patches cut away dangerously close to some unmentionable areas. It was just risqué enough to hold a guy’s interest, not quite tawdry enough to warrant getting me kicked out of the reception.
He was picking me up at 7:30, and I began to realize what a stupid idea this was--a guy whom I’d just met, a guy whose car I was going to get into based on nothing more than “I liked his smile”? As the minutes ticked by I began to get more and more nervous about the whole thing. “You seem preoccupied,” said Terri, one of my mother’s friends. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m just thinking about applying to Teach for America.”
“Oh. Well, good luck with that.”
She’d plainly had more than a few drinks already, and I dropped her off at the bar and said, “I’m going to the bathroom.”
I slipped outside instead. He wasn’t there. I found myself wishing I smoked--at least then I’d have an excuse to stand out there like a fool, hoping desperately that this guy--this cute, hot, nice guy--actually meant it when he said he’d be there--
“Hi, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”
He’d pulled up in a silver sports car, and revved the engine a few
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