“My dog did that,” I blurt, despite the fact that it’s both preposterous for an animal to be drawing and I don’t have a dog.
He chuckles, and I’m almost tempted to think of some more dumb things to say.
God, he’s cute. The women in the Bachelor Anonymous contest would have eaten him up. And I’m still considering all the ways I can make a fool of myself for the benefit of his laughter when he bids me goodbye.
“It was nice to meet you, Holley.”
“You too, Jake.”
With one more chin jerk and a smile, he scoops up his bag and his towel and heads for the sidewalk at the top of the beach. I watch as he goes for a moment, but I finally snap myself out of it.
I look down at my toes and sigh. I’m a fucking mess. I don’t know if I have any extra clothes in my car, but if not, I’m going to have to drive home practically naked. Because there’s no way my Infiniti’s seats will survive this.
Hiking the strap of my purse farther up onto my shoulder, I start my walk through the sand, headed back to where I came from on the other side of the Hotel Del. We’re down a little ways, and I’ve lost sight of Jake, so I’m sure he’s gone.
I dig in my purse, grab my keys, and bleep the locks on my car as I approach. The parking lot is mostly empty, thankfully, so I head straight for my trunk and pop it with the button on my key fob.
Please God, let there be something in there that can help me.
And, for the love of everything, please make finding a new Bachelor Anonymous easy.
Jake
Stuff tossed into the bed and dry towel resting on my driver’s seat, I climb up into my truck, shut the door, and turn the key to fire up the engine. The radio comes on, and immediately, I turn down the knob to soften it.
Normally, I listen to my music loud. I like to jam as I drive, but I’m not the same person who got into the truck this morning to come here, a father whose teenage daughter would never dream of signing him up for a fucking dating contest.
Now, I’m torn between knowing my daughter is still sweet and loving and kind and an amazing human being—and a huge fucking shit-stirrer.
I cannot believe she did this behind my back.
I’m honestly shocked.
I close my eyes and let my head fall back onto the headrest. I take a minute to gather my thoughts, to process the whole cluster of a morning I wasn’t expecting.
I come here to swim every day. Every day for the last seventeen years, that I’ve been home, I’ve gone swimming in the ocean to start my day. None of them has shaped up quite like this.
I open my eyes again, prepared to put the truck in gear and head for the house when I see the lone car across the parking lot light up as the locks bleep.
Holley materializes from the beach onto the sidewalk, heading directly to the Infiniti.
What I should be doing right now? Putting my car in drive and heading home to figure out what in the hell Chloe was thinking with this Bachelor Mysterious—or whatever the fuck it’s called—stunt.
But what I’m actually doing? Still sitting in park, watching the enigma that is Holley Fields.
She moves to her trunk and pops it open, dropping her bag on the one side and leaning so far in all I can see is her sand-covered ass.
I bite my lip, laughter so close to the surface I can feel it in all the features of my face.
She’s something. Awkward. Kind of a mess. But really, that’s just camouflage. After ten minutes on the beach with her, it’s more than obvious she’s both funny and beautiful.
I take my hand off the shifter and relax into my seat, unable to stop watching the show. She roots around for a while, looking for god knows what, and when she finally emerges, she holds a towel in the air like it’s Simba and she’s Mufasa, presenting it to her kingdom.
I chuckle a little out loud.
“What’s she going to do now?” I mutter to myself as she moves from the trunk of the car to the passenger side door, rustling around on the floorboard.
She pulls out a previously opened bag of chips and takes the clip from the folded edge and tosses it on the top of her car.
Then she looks up, glancing around the parking lot, sweeping right over me in my truck. Apparently, she can’t see me with the backlighting from the sun.
Falsely surmising the coast is clear, she steps into the open door of her car again to shield herself slightly—though it does nothing for someone looking on from my direction—and yanks off the soggy black blazer before tossing it to the pavement.
Next, she wiggles her hips, working at the waistband of her pants while facing away from me, and finally shimmies the sand-logged material down to the ground. Her panties are black lace, and I suddenly feel like I’m doing something very, very wrong by watching her without her knowledge.
I don’t want to startle her by driving away, though, so I don’t move.
And against my better judgment, I don’t close my eyes either.
Holley Fields was definitely hiding one hell of a body under that business suit.
Struggling against the wet fabric of her top, she peels it from her skin up over her head, tossing it onto the pile in the parking lot as well. I look on at the tanned skin of her bare back and the unbelievably beautiful shape of her ass.
Christ.
She grabs the towel from where she previously left it on the seat, wraps it around her entire body, and then takes the chip clip from the roof and secures it at the chest.
It’s ingenuity at its finest. But necessity definitely is the mother of invention, isn’t it?
To be completely honest, that could be the slogan for my life as a parent. Because when I first had Chloe, I didn’t have a goddamn clue what I was supposed to be doing. The only option I had was to make it up as I went along.
Finally ready to leave, Holley grabs her bag out of the trunk, slams it closed, and rounds the car to the driver’s door.
She sinks down into the seat and disappears. I wait, watching as her taillights come on and she backs out of the spot, before putting my truck into gear.
Her reverse out of the spot is quick, and she’s off like a shot toward the entrance of the parking lot before I even get rolling.
She puts her right turn signal on, pulls to a stop, and then starts to go and almost runs over a couple crossing the road.
“Shit.”
The brake lights come on as she narrowly misses them, and I can see her arms going crazy through the glass of her back windshield.
I don’t know exactly how I can tell, but I know they’re the motions of apology.
Still, the couple glares before finishing their stroll across the sidewalk at a jog.
Fairly traumatized, she sits there at the stop sign for a full minute, swinging her head back and forth before she finally takes the leap again, pulling out onto the street with caution.
I pull up to the stop sign myself, give Holley’s retreating car one last glance, and then turn the other direction. Toward home. Toward Chloe.
Toward answers.
Sorry, baby girl. It’s time to face the fucking music.
I put my truck in park, kill the engine, and jump down to the driveway without pause. Normally, I would pull into the garage, but my mind is too chaotic to allow me the patience needed to do it, so I’ve settled for the simpler parking spot in the front circle drive. My need for answers from Chloe has only grown with the passing moments of my twenty-minute trip back home, and the quicker I find her, the better.