Make Me Fall: Bayshore #2 Read online

  And after this morning, I realize there’s way more to Kinsley than she lets on. Like when I ran into her half-dressed in the bedroom. I wasn’t expecting those shapely thighs or wide hips hiding under her preteen pajamas. And when she bent over in those whisper-thin pink panties? I about went into beast mode.

  I pause on the boardwalk, gripping the wooden railing. She’s cute. I can admit that much. Cute and funny. Besides, I knew for a fact that we’d been cuddling in our sleep without realizing it when I smelled her shampoo all over my shoulder before my shower. It didn’t feel half bad having her in my arms, even though I was basically too asleep to realize it.

  But the truth is that I’m so hard-up for intimacy, I’m acting like this is even remotely mutual. I lured her here as a favor, and now I’m creeping on her half-naked body in the one safe space I promised her inside my parent’s house. Maybe I should find a hookup while I’m in Bayshore and be done with it. Then I’d stop creeping on Kinsley like some sort of predator.

  I toy with this new idea while I stroll the boardwalk. I haven’t used a dating app in a long time, mostly because it’s nearly impossible for me to use social apps without a critical engineering eye. Still, I could put my work aside for once and find a booty call, right?

  My phone buzzes while I’m trying to rally. It’s Kinsley. Relief zips through me.

  KINSLEY: Ok I’m done being a doting daughter for the day. Where are you?

  CONNOR: Waiting for you on the Boardwalk by High 5’s.

  KINSLEY: Sea ewe soon.

  I grin and select a bench so I can watch the bay while she heads over here. Living in San Diego has its fair share of beaches and water gazing, but Lake Erie is different. Even though I can see water as far as vision will allow, the lake doesn’t have the same churning, infinite aspect as the ocean. If I get lost in the water here, I could end up in Canada, but more likely that little party island in the lake, Put-In-Bay. If I get lost in the water in San Diego? I might end up in Hawaii or even Tahiti. But more probably, I’d end up a shark’s dinner.

  But this is the water I grew up with. This is the lake that feels like home. I get lost in the lapping of the waves against the narrow gravel embankment below the boardwalk. Seagulls approach, cawing wildly over something. Probably French fries. It’s usually French fries with them.

  “Connor?”

  Kinsley’s voice jolts me out of my reverie. I twist to look up at her, and her smiling face is framed by the brilliant hues of the pending sunset. Wisps of sun-bleached blonde hair float away from her face. She’s gripping the metal railing of the bench beside me, and for a moment I’m not sure if we should kiss. She’s standing there like that—I’m looking up at her, waiting for something to do with my lips.

  “Found you,” she teases, sliding onto the bench. She shoves her hands under her thighs, stretching her long legs out in front of us. Her white Converse low tops scuff against the wooden path as she bops her legs up and down.

  “How did you manage it?” The gulls nearby have started a bonafide commotion. They are shrieking and circling something nearby.

  She shrugs. “I followed the gulls. They led me straight to you.”

  A laugh bursts out of me. “They are my loyal subjects, after all. They answer only to me.” I nudge her with my shoulder. “How was your day?”

  She looks over at me, pinching an eye shut against the sun behind me. “Pretty good. Went to some antique shops. Ate an enormous lunch. Napped on the couch.”

  “Vacay goals.”

  “Exactly. What about you?”

  “Oh, you know. Lake, beer, and old friends. Perfect day in Bayshore.”

  She rolls her head around in a slow circle, exposing the length of her neck. I can’t help but admire her. In fact, with this sunlight and this view, we need to take a picture.

  “Let’s take a selfie,” I say, pulling out my phone.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” I stand and urge her to join me with our backs facing the lake. “Come on, this is the golden hour.”

  She hops to her feet and joins me. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her into me. “Okay, smile big.”

  The seagulls ramp up their protests behind us. A few criss-cross the frame in the background. I snap a picture as Kinsley snickers.

  “What the hell is going on with them?” she asks.

  “Unsatisfactory working conditions.” I change the angle and snap a second picture mid-laugh. She swipes a few strands of hair out of her face. “Or maybe it’s a seagulls’ lib thing. They’re holding the Bayshore Tea Party.”

  “This is history in the making! Take another,” she urges.

  “Okay, but the gulls are displeased.” One lets out a screeching caw, and we both dissolve into laughter.

  “Sorry, what did you say?” she jokes. “I couldn’t hear you over the rebellion.”

  I snap a few more pictures, the lake glittering behind us, the seagull uprising in full view. We review the pictures on the bench, and at the last picture, Kinsley grabs the phone, squinting at something. She pinches the touch screen to zoom in, and then a sharp “Ha!” erupts from her.

  She shows me the phone. A gull is angrily eyeing the camera in the last picture we took. It is fully pissed.

  “Holy shit!” She dissolves into laughter, clutching my knee. I laugh until tears prick my eyes, and we leave the photo zoomed in on the seagull face for far too long.

  “This needs to be a meme,” I finally wheeze.

  “What are you freaks up to?” A new voice breaks into our cocoon of hilarity. It’s Maverick, peering down at us with a longboard tipped up against his hip.

  In lieu of a greeting, I show him the picture we took. He snickers, looking out at the gull melee, which has calmed only slightly.

  “One of you is pissing them off,” Mav warns.

  “God, don’t we have anything we can give them?” I touch my pockets, but I know full well there are no snacks on me. “A half-petrified French fry? One granola crumb?”

  “Not even a soggy piece of newspaper around here?” Kinsley asks.

  Something in her tone sets me off again, and I dissolve into laughter again. Maverick shakes his head. “You guys are so weird.”

  “Come on, Mav, go find them a snack!” I implore.

  “I am not getting you a seagull snack,” Maverick deadpans. “I’m on my way home. Dad grilled out. You two coming?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I sniff, wiping away one of the tears that spilled. Kinsley looks like she’s still biting back laughter, and I can’t look at her or else it’ll set me off. I just know it. “You ready, Kins?”

  She nods, avoiding my gaze. But we don’t last a full minute trailing behind Maverick before we’re both collapsed in laughter again. And God, it feels good to laugh. Real belly laughs which leave tears trickling down my cheeks. I haven’t laughed like this in too long, and it’s all because of a seagull and something inexplicable about Kinsley that makes me ready to have a good time.

  I can’t remember the last time I felt like this around someone.

  I just know it’s been too damn long.

  Chapter 10

  CONNOR

  The birds are the first things I notice. Robins and bluebirds are chirping and calling and making a general ruckus. It feels early, maybe a little too early, to be waking up. But the air is cool and fragrant, exactly the type of early June morning that feels transcendent somehow in its coziness.

  I shift under the covers, consciousness making small steps through me. We left the windows open last night to fill the room with Bayshore air, and the scent of freshly clipped grass fills the room. Someone on the block must have been up early taking care of grass duties. My entire left side is warm, and that’s when I feel the weight of somebody else. Like, half on top of me.

  Kinsley.

  Again.

  I crack open an eye and see her nuzzled into me. This is only the second time this has ever occurred—the second time we’ve ever shared a bed—but it s
eems like we’ve been doing it for much longer. I stifle a yawn, shifting a bit so she fits better. Because it’s nice to have someone cuddle up to you. Even if the pretenses for cuddling are largely a lie.

  She mumbles something, burrowing deeper into my side. She’s drawn her brows together, as if sleepily protesting my movement. I grin as I watch her. Her silky blonde hair is tugged behind her in a loose braid. She’s got the lemur long-sleeve on again, but the sheets tangled at her waist allow glimpses of the cotton shorts she chose last night. The tips of her toes peek out from the sheet at the end of the bed. Cotton candy pink nails.

  I’m wide awake now. I shift again, and Kinsley slings an arm out, launching it over my waist. I bite back a laugh. In her dreamworld, she really doesn’t want me going anywhere. I wonder what she’s dreaming about. Whether or not I’m part of her fantasy, or maybe a stand-in for somebody else.

  The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest lulls my eyes shut, but every part of my body is alert and aware. I can feel the silky union of her thigh touching mine. The butterfly tickles of her fingertips as her hand brushes over my belly with each inhale and exhale.

  Is it so wrong for me to get hard? I have a half-naked woman—well, at least a third-naked, since that lemur shirt really covers a lot—draped over me, and I’m not the noblest of men. Besides, I haven’t been able to get that view of her ass from yesterday out of my mind. I pinch my eyes shut, trying not to think of it now. Because the warmth and scent of her won’t help, least of all now when I’m trapped at her side and unable to do a damn thing about it.

  “Mrrnnmmgh?”

  I don’t have any idea what she’s saying in her sleep. “Mm-hmm,” I respond.

  She sighs and cinches her arm tighter around my waist. She fits like a perfect addition in my arms. Honestly, I hope we do this every damn morning of our vacation.

  A few moments of silence drift by, and then she inhales sharply. She goes rigid and jerks backward, all the way over to her side of the bed.

  “Oh my God,” she says, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize…I thought…”

  I prop my head up on my arm and roll onto my side. “No worries, Kins.”

  Her throat bobs, and she looks around blearily, as if still getting her bearings. She fists the sheets and then sighs.

  “Good morning,” I add.

  “Yeah.” She laughs, rubbing at her face. “Good morning.”

  “Sleep well?”

  She nods, sniffing. She still hasn’t swept those periwinkle eyes my way, and I’m officially hankering for a glimpse. She grabs the end of her braid and tugs the hair tie off. “I was in the middle of a really weird dream.”

  “What sort of dream?” She pushes the hair tie over her wrist and works at unbraiding the bottom wisps of hair.

  “Just…weird,” she says, hopping off the bed.

  “Did the seagulls show up?”

  Her shoulders shake with laughter, and she twists around to grin at me. “Surprisingly, no.”

  She wanders into the bathroom, and I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My cock is going soft under the sheets, blessedly, since I don’t think we’re that far into our fake relationship to be showcasing post-spoon morning wood. The sink snaps on and then off again. There’s some rummaging around in the drawers. I yawn, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. Today is the funeral, and I know it’s going to be sad. Mom has been crying since last night, and today is going to tear her apart even more.

  I’m scrolling mindlessly through news notifications when the bathroom door opens again. I glance at Kinsley, and the breath evaporates from my throat.

  She doesn’t look my way, so she doesn’t notice I’m staring. Her hair is down—like all the way down—and I realize this is my first time seeing it like that. My cock pricks to life again. Surprise, surprise.

  Her hair falls over her shoulders in gorgeous blonde waves, crimped from spending the night in her braid. She tucks some behind her ear as she rummages through her suitcase propped open on the armchair. Her lemur top has been replaced by a skintight tank top, and all I can think while she’s facing away from me is, When did Kinsley become a hottie?

  When she turns around, her nipples are hard points beneath the gray tank. I clear my throat, sitting up in bed.

  “Don’t forget,” I say, feigning unaffectedness. “Funeral is at noon. We’ll probably leave right after breakfast.”

  She nods, not looking at me as she holds up a pair of black slacks. She cocks a hip, then tosses them aside.

  I fist the front of my hair. I’m fully hard again. I need a cold shower, stat.

  “I’m going to go rinse off,” I say, adjusting my junk underneath the sheets before I roll out of bed. I hurry to the bathroom before she’s even turned around, and once the door is shut behind me, I cover my face with my hands.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I bite back a groan as I flip the shower on. I think the real question is, when did Kinsley become a hottie in hiding? It had to have happened right before my eyes. I was blissfully unaware that this golden surf girl was hiding under my nose. Lithe, lean, and sparkly-eyed. All I can imagine is her pretty eyes looking up at me while she kneels in front of me…wrapping those pink, plump lips around this cock that is absolutely throbbing for her.

  I burst into the cold stream of water, but I don’t last ten seconds before I’m fisting myself. Eyes pinched shut, I can see a highlight reel of the best of what could be, if only things were different. Kinsley bending over the side of the bed while I cup that tan curve of her ass. Hiking up her long, lean thigh onto the comforter. Hearing her giggle while I sink into her so slowly that I’ll feel her tight pussy clenching, demanding more of me.

  My orgasm happens in record time. The water washes away the white trail I leave on the side of the shower stall, and I lather down my body for good measure. And as I towel off after my cum-and-rinse, I feel a sort of satisfaction. Triumph, even, like I’ve figured out the loophole.

  I imagined fucking her. So that should get it out of my system.

  Right?

  When I come back into the bedroom, I make sure to leave my towel tied around my waist. She’s in a plain black dress, pushing basic pearl earrings into her ears. Her hair is already pulled back into a fishtail braid.

  Her eyes find mine in the mirror before they snap down to my body. And no, it’s not hard to imagine her getting sidetracked by this fine physique. But the quick one-two glance reminds me of something I’ve noticed a lot with her.

  She barely meets my gaze. And if she does dare to? It’s only for a brief moment.

  “You look nice,” I say, my gaze riveted on her slender wrists as she smooths down the front pleat of her skirt. A smile graces her lips for a moment, and pink rushes to her cheeks.

  “You too,” she says, then she slaps her forehead. “I mean…sorry. That just flew out.”

  “Mm-hmm.” I can’t keep the satisfied smirk from my face. I didn’t even realize I’d laid a trap, but she fell right into it.

  “Force of habit,” she goes on. “Like when the lady at the theater tells you to enjoy the movie and you say ‘you too.’” She shakes her head, sighing.

  “Right. But you can admit that I look nice without clothes on. I won’t be offended.”

  The most nervous giggle I’ve ever heard slides out of her. In lieu of a response, she simply buries herself in digging for something in her luggage.

  That didn’t go exactly as planned, which makes me wonder if I’m really being a creep. Liking your own appearance is one thing. Assuming everyone else does, too, and then being really wrong is on the other end of the Skeezy Spectrum.

  I should stop with Kinsley. Even though her long blond hair makes my abs go hard and all the air in my body disappear for a touch too long.

  “I’m gonna get changed,” I warn her, and head to the dresser.

  “I won’t look,” she promises.

  This is not a tac
tic. At least, I don’t think it is. But when I drop my towel, my skin prickles with anticipation. Wishing she would look. To see if even a bit of the tension thrumming under my skin might be alleviated, even temporarily.

  Maybe I was wrong.

  Maybe imagining sex with her once didn’t get it out of my system.

  I step into boxer briefs, and then the black dress pants that have been hanging in the closet since we arrived. I turn around as I’m buttoning them, and I catch her gaze for a scorching half second.

  I could be wrong…but there was heat in that periwinkle glance.

  Maybe she does like what she sees.

  And if I know myself, I need to find out.

  As soon as fucking possible.

  Chapter 11

  KINSLEY

  I cried a lot of tears for a woman I barely knew, for the mother of a lady who will barely look at me.

  It’s not hard, when the downtown Catholic church is absolutely brimming with family and community members, mourning the death of Ethel Pearson.

  I’m sitting in the row behind the Daly brothers, which is reserved for significant others—I’m the only one—and then first cousins and more. Annette’s brothers and sisters are further down her row. From what I can tell, I’m sitting next to cousin Matt who hails from the Cincinnati Pearsons. He looks equally as twenty-something and handsome as the entirety of the Daly brothers, which makes me wonder if it really is something in the gene pool that makes these guys look like this.

  Connor is within an arm’s reach, but I don’t dare snag his attention during the mass. Once the funeral moves to the cemetery, Connor’s hand doesn’t leave mine. Everyone is teary-eyed, and Connor has massaged his forehead no fewer than a hundred times. When he’s not holding my hand, he’s hugging his mom. It’s an all-around sad affair.

  But the spell breaks slightly once we head to the Daly household for the post-funeral reception. Annette goes into host mode, and pictures of Ethel Pearson line the table. Family members are talking about her famous one-liners—“You can’t lead a horse, make him drink, or damn near anything else”—while Annette laughs with her brother and sister about the most ridiculous of childhood memories.