Eight Days in the Sun Read online

“It’s hard to appreciate them when you always have your head down.” He taps on my e-reader. “What are you reading anyway?”

  “Ethan Frome.”

  “Edith Wharton? Not exactly an easy beach read.”

  “You’ve read it?”

  “I tried once. I couldn’t get through it. What else you got in there?” Mason asks the question as if he’s inquiring what’s in the fridge. “Anything less tragic? I’m looking for a rec.”

  So he’s beautiful and he reads. I’m fairly certain this is some weird science shit and I’ve conjured him straight out of my fantasies. Now all I can do is picture him reading. For some reason, in this delicious daydream, he’s wearing a skullcap and eyeglasses. It’s too much. The brakes in my brain squeal when I divert them to funny cat compilations complete with piano background music. Thank you, YouTube.

  I tap on the library icon and bring up my TBR. “Let’s see.”

  “May I?” he asks, his large hand reaching out.

  I surrender the e-reader to him. His fingers brush mine as he takes the device.

  “Girl, I’m worried about how much you enjoy sad. Can you not read a book unless someone dies in it?”

  “What are you talking about? I read all kinds of stuff.”

  “Hardy, Wharton, Conrad. Don’t get me wrong, they are brilliant authors. But a tad heavy on melancholy, don’t you think? What’s the last book that made you smile or laugh out loud?”

  This should be an easy question, but it’s not. “Not sure.” But I have read happy, funny stuff… I think.

  His brow quirks as he scrolls down my library. My cheeks burn when I realize what’s causing his smirk. Shit. He’s browsing through The Fifty Shades section. “I see you do have some variety.”

  I snatch the e-reader back from him. Why the hell did I show him my library? I never realized how personal it was. Sure, I posted it to ten online book clubs I belong to, but this… This is on a whole different scale. “Don’t tease.”

  He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “What? No teasing here. I think it’s awesome. When you turn on your e-reader, it should return the favor.”

  I laugh so loud I startle myself. “You sure you’re not making fun of me?”

  He places his hand over his heart. “Scout’s honor, I would never tease you about this.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Were you a scout?”

  “Not a boy scout exactly, but I did make it to two cub scout meetings so that should count, right?”

  “Not sure if it does.”

  “I earned a badge and everything.”

  “Well, as long as you have a badge.”

  “I do. Swear it.”

  “Sorry, I don’t have a recommendation for you. It looks like we have different tastes.”

  “Have any idea where the nearest bookstore is?”

  “That I can help with. If you turn left out of the hotel and go down eight miles and hang a right on Eighth Street, there’s a store called Sam’s Reads. It’s a coffee shop slash book store. It’s been ages since I’ve been there. I’m not sure if it’s still there. You might want to check. But if it is, Sam will help you out with a rec. He’s one of the most well-read people in the world. He has this amazing gift.”

  “What gift?”

  “He’s like a matchmaker of sorts. If you need a book recommendation, go to Sam. He can fit any person to the perfect book. I discovered some of my favorite authors because of him.”

  “I’ll check it out.”

  “You might need to call a cab. It’s a little far.”

  “I drove here. I have my car.”

  “Then you’re all set. If you go, will you let me know how Sam is?”

  “Why don’t you come with?”

  Him asking me to go to my favorite place in the world, a bookstore, is just a little too much icing on an already heavily frosted cake. Besides, I don’t want to drop in on Sam like this. I have no idea how he’ll react. “No thanks, but you should really go.” I begin gathering up my things. He hands me my sunscreen and towel. I throw them into my beach bag with my sunglasses. “Bye, Mason.”

  “Why did you leave this place for New Jersey?”

  “What?”

  “Remember, I overheard you talking to the woman when you were checking in. Your teacher. You used to live here. Did your parents move?”

  This question should not be offensive, but it freaks me out just the same. “Wow, you really were eavesdropping, weren’t you?”

  “Not exactly. Overhearing is different than eavesdropping.”

  I swing my legs to the ground. I pick up my bag and my almost empty cup. “I’m going to go now.”

  “Don’t go,” he says. “Look, I happen to have two ears, and they function whether I want them to or not. I only have one mouth, and luckily I can control that. I’ll shut it now if you’ll stay for the show.”

  “What show?”

  “This show.” He gestures to the horizon where the orange sun starts slipping behind the crashing waves. Sunset in Jasper is always spectacular and a sight I’ve sorely missed. “Okay.”

  He clinks his beer against my glass. “Here’s to sappy songs and sunsets.”

  “Sappy songs and sunsets,” I repeat.

  We drink to the toast.

  Chapter 3

  Mason

  This morning I went to the bookstore. She was right. Sam, the bookstore guy, is gifted. He shot question after question about my tastes, everything from my favorite authors to my career choices. He jotted it all down in sloppy shorthand, complete with numerical computations, a weird mathematical formula of his own devising. Then he opened a folder with meticulous lists in the same shorthand. But he knew exactly what he was looking for within the pages of slanted scrawls. I have a feeling he’s high-functioning Asperger’s. One of my buddies at home has Asperger’s. He does the same thing. In a way, I suppose we all try to create logic from the chaos around us. For some folks, there is just way too much chaos to control.

  I spent a solid two hours there, chugging strong coffee and hanging with Sam. He recommended several books, taking them off shelves stacked so heavy they were sagging. Just from reading the back covers, I could tell they were winners. I even asked him to recommend something for my sister, Dana. After I gave him a few pieces of data on her, he quickly located a book about a marine biologist who goes to a distant planet to study newly found organisms. As someone who loves sci-fi and sea creatures, it totally fits her wheelhouse.

  When I was checking out, I spotted something for Kiran. The brightly-colored book sat upright on a shelf beneath a colorful row of stuffed animals.

  “You’re taking this too?” Sam asked, although there wasn’t an inflection in the question.

  “Yeah, it’s a present.” Not that I didn’t have a copy at home.

  When I asked Sam for a pen, his expression turned wary. “You’re not going to write in the book, are you?” The question was so ripe with reprimand I almost dropped the pen.

  “I’d never do that, man.” Actually, I was going to do just that. But I grabbed one of the postcards by the register. “I’ll take this.” Before I changed my mind, I jotted a note to Kiran.

  Hey Shenoy, thought you could use a happy book in your life. The kind that ends well and leaves you with a smile. This one always did the trick for me. I debated how to sign the damn thing. Love was way too much, but sincerely felt impersonal and cold. In the end, I just scrawled my name on the bottom. I stuck the postcard snugly between the cover and the front page.

  When I got back to the hotel, I asked the clerk to deliver it to her room. I wasn’t sure if the guy would tell me her room number, and I didn’t want to knock on her door unannounced. I had a strong feeling this girl didn’t just value her privacy, she protected it.

  The book is not something Sam or anyone else would recommend for Kiran. Nothing she’d ever think to buy for herself. But maybe she needs it all the same. Or maybe she’d th
ink I was a weird creep, but I’d risk it if it brings her smile out of hiding. I only caught a glimpse of it when we talked on the beach.

  She has a sexy smile. Her mouth… Her mouth is nothing short of sensuous. Hell, it looks fucking delicious. She uses some kind of clear gloss on her lips, but they are naturally pink and plump. The bottom one juts out slightly. They have an indent, a little vertical line that runs down both lips. This girl can give Angelina Jolie a run for her money when it comes to sexy mouths. The way Kiran mouthed the words when she read to herself caused my dick to rear its ugly head. Wait a second. Scratch that.

  I mean its beautiful head. Let me be clear. My penis has a lovely head.

  Okay, enough about my dick.

  Kiran also has a lovely head. Wait, now that sounds like I’m drawing a comparison between her head and that of my dick’s. Fuck no.

  Obviously, she’s been on my mind, creating a little too much chaos for me to control.

  Let me be honest, I can’t talk about Kiran’s physical appearance without mentioning the scar. The scar is definitely noticeable. It’s apparent she lets it define her by the way she covers her face and diverts her eyes. I get it. It’s a thick, angry welt across her left cheek that bends down to her chin. It’s gotta be the first thing people notice. There’s nothing pretty about it, but it doesn’t make her less beautiful either. In a way, it speaks volumes about her strength.

  To me, it’s sort of like the heart-shaped birthmark on her wrist. It’s unique, but it also diminishes against her other features. Although, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious. The question sits on the tip of my tongue. What the hell happened to you, Kiran? But I drown it in the back of my mind every time it surfaces.

  Her deep, expressive almond-shaped eyes are such a dark brown they almost look black. They manage to show an entire range of emotion on the scale of sad. But when she laughs, there is lightness in them. Oh, and then there is that beautiful mouth of hers. Have I mentioned it? That damn mouth is killing me. Then again, I really enjoy the stuff that comes out of it too.

  Between the huge-ass straw hat and oversized hoodie, I have no idea how long her hair is. Its pitch black, and I’m guessing the strands feel like spun silk. When she twirls a piece around her fingers, it stays in a curl for a few minutes before going straight again. She has a unique scent too. I got a nice whiff in the elevator. In the backyard of my house, there is a small tangerine tree right next to Gram’s favorite shrub. Gram told me the name a million times. Hell, I had to weed around the damn thing often enough. I should know this. It’s…jasmine. A jasmine shrub. Some seasons, depending on the weather, the tree and shrub would both blossom at the same time. As a kid, I used to stand between the two of them and suck in the air. That’s the closest comparison I can make to Kiran Shenoy’s scent. Jasmine, tangerines, and something else. A mystery ingredient I doubt I’ll ever be able to single out, but it’s probably the most important.

  Judging from the way her breathing deepened and her cheeks flushed yesterday afternoon, I hypothesize this attraction isn’t a dead end or one-way street. But the thing about troubled waters is that you either go with full diving gear or not at all. This is not a situation where you can just dip your toes. As curious as I am, I have no time for any deep dives outside of military exercises and drills.

  Even as I make the decision, I realize I’m still searching for her. She wasn’t on the beach today. She’s not at the bar tonight. But there is a huge crowd gathered around the large tiki hut. It would be easy to miss her. A large bonfire crackles on the beach, and a wooden platform is set up to act as a stage. The band, five guys in matching Hawaiian shirts, goes through the entire gamut of beach music. The best of the Beach Boys, Billy Ocean, and Jimmy Buffet battle with the crashing waves.

  The several beers I consumed created a decent buzz. Regardless, I’m definitely not drunk enough to mistake there are three girls flirting with me at the same time, and I’m not just seeing triple. We’re hanging out and joking around. They hail from North Carolina, but I’m not going to hold it against them. Girl number one makes it very clear I am welcome back to their room where they have a huge stash of cheaper and better alcohol. All three of them seem as into each other as they are me. I gulp as two of them lock lips. Almost every guy at the bar nods or claps or shows some form of appreciation for the fine show we are witnessing. There are wet dreams, and then there are wet dreams. If this isn’t every boy’s wettest dream, I don’t know what is.

  “You ready to go, cowboy?” Alabama asks. Wait, is that her name? She’s named after a state I think, but I was only half-paying attention. Outside of a Quentin Tarantino character, who names their kid Alabama? Especially if they are from North Carolina. Maybe I shouldn’t feel so bad. She doesn’t seem to know my name either. After all, she called me cowboy.

  “Let me finish my beer.”

  “Hurry up and gulp it down, Mason,” girl number two says, her fingernails digging into my shoulder. Well, guess one of them knows my name. Why the hell can’t I remember their names? If anything, I am a gentleman, even in this scenario. But as hard as I try, their names elude me.

  The offer is tempting. They are gorgeous after all, blond hair and creamy skin and bodies that could grace Penthouse. I am talking the October issue. Why the hell not? I’m not attached. I wouldn’t mind a hook-up or five or three all at once. Hell, I marked it as one of the things to do on this vacation the way some people mark the sights they want to see. Tits, ass, and legs were on my to-do list. I plan to check all of them off tonight. This is easy. These waters are shallow enough that even my small toe would touch the bottom.

  I am fully aware I sound like a sex-starved, horny teenager. But in my defense, I missed out on those crucial years. When all my friends were hooking up and satisfying their sexual appetites, I had to take Dana to Future Problem Solvers Club and coach field hockey practices or games. I’ve lived a life that a monk might be proud of…but not a straight-laced celibate one who sleeps on a hard bed or anything. More like the kind of monk that breaks a vow here and there. Still, I didn’t date all that much, and I never brought a random girl home. My priorities never really matched my age. That is a choice I would never change, but now… Now I have a little freedom. So why am I not running full speed for their room?

  Alabama is batting her thick, overly-done eyelashes at me. “We’re going to have fun tonight, cowboy.” For some fucked-up reason, I question the statement. One of the girls is groping my shirt. The third has her hand on my ass.

  This is perfect, right? So can someone explain to me why the fuck I’m having second thoughts? Someone? Anyone?

  I seriously need my head examined.

  Taking a step back to extricate myself, I shake my head. “Thank you, ladies, but I’m going to stay for a while.” To cement the decision, I order another beer.

  “Oh sure,” girl number three chirps, pressing her hand against my ass once again. “We can stay here for a bit.”

  We?

  I disengage her palm from my backside.

  “It’s a little crowded here. I’m going for a walk.” There, now I’ve gone and done it.

  “Sounds fun,” girl number two says, moving closer. Her name sounds like a musical instrument. She stands on her tiptoes and whispers in my ear about how she has never had sex on the beach. God, I hope she’s referring to the drink.

  “Actually, I’m really tired.”

  Girl number three slaps my chest. “Montana, can you believe this guy? He’s tired, and we haven’t even had our way with him yet.” Montana. Her name is Montana. That makes sense. She has big boobs. Mountains. Montana. Her hand goes lower.

  The bartender slides a shot to me. “This is for you.”

  I pick up the small glass filled with Baileys and topped with a huge mound of whipped cream. “Did you guys order this for me?”

  The girls all have matching toothpaste commercial smiles. Viola, yes, Viola is her name. She speaks first. “Baby,
if we wanted to give you a blow job, it would be the real thing.”

  “It’s from her,” the bartender says, pointing to the far end of the tiki bar. I do a double take. Kiran is sitting on the other side staring straight at me. She lifts up her glass in a toast, but her expression falls a few bars short of amused.

  Staring at the shot and back at her, I’m curious as hell. I don’t know what she means by this shot, but I sure as fuck aim to find out. “Excuse me, ladies,” I say, already walking in her direction with my beer and my newly acquired Blow Job.

  “Where are you going?” they ask, almost in unison. I wonder if they practice.

  I turn back. “You girls have fun tonight. I am a cowboy, but this isn’t my rodeo.”

  Three sets of heavily made-up eyes narrow simultaneously. I don’t wait for a response.

  Kiran has her hair down tonight, free of any cover. Turns out, it is long and straight. It hits the middle of her back. She’s wearing a dark blue dress with long sleeves that manages to mask her from shoulder to ankle. Over that, she’s got on a pink shawl. Honestly, I think Grams owned an outfit like that. Shit, Kiran, can’t you give me something? A little leg or some clavicle at least?

  “Thanks for the shot,” I say.

  “You’re welcome, but you didn’t have to come over here. I just wanted to thank you for the book.”

  “Did it make you smile?”

  The corners of her mouth twitch. “A smile so big it hurt. No one’s bought me a children’s book since… Well, since I was a kid. I’ve never read that one, though.”

  I should have given it to her in person. It’s a damn shame I missed that smile. “You’re kidding. Oh, The Thinks You Can Think! is my favorite Dr. Seuss. It never goes out of style in my opinion.”

  “Definitely a classic. I read it cover to cover.”

  “Bet it took all of fifteen minutes.”

  “Ten times three.”

  “Three?”

  “It took ten minutes, but I read it three times. Roughly, thirty minutes. Thank you. It was really thoughtful.”