Summer Fling Read online

  “Why would I call a guy who’s been nothing but rude to me, for phone sex?”

  “Because you’re bored and lonely, remember?”

  “Who are you, really?”

  “I told you. I’m Silas.”

  “You live on Fire Island?”

  “Yes. In the summer.”

  “Give me a tidbit about you—the real you.”

  After a few seconds, he answered, “I have a full sleeve tattoo on my arm. You have my name and a main identifying feature now. There’s your glass slipper. But, baby, believe me, I’m the furthest thing from Cinder-fucking-rella.”

  Lola

  “UGH.” I WALKED out front onto the porch with my morning coffee and sat down next to Summer. “We got another email.”

  “From the landlord?”

  “Yup. We weren’t even playing the music that loud last night, were we?”

  Summer chuckled. “Ummm. We weren’t. But you were. Half of the town of Saltaire probably heard you.”

  “Me?” Last night was a bit hazy. “I don’t even know how to turn on the house stereo.”

  “I know.” She smirked and sipped her coffee. “You were using your phone…to have a dance party in the street, remember?”

  Oh shit. A fuzzy recollection of last night started to come back to me. I remembered standing in the street, bent over laughing, holding my shoes in my hands. But I couldn’t for the life of me remember the singing part.

  “What does the email say?”

  “It’s bizarre. The guy either thinks he’s Dr. Seuss, or he was drunk when he wrote it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I held up one finger while I scrolled to the email app on my phone. Digging out the landlord’s message, I read it aloud.

  Ms. Brookes,

  Now this here’s a story all about how

  You lost your deposit on a rent-al.

  And, I’d like to take a minute

  Just sit and read.

  Clause five got you evicted from a tiny town called Salt-Air.

  Sincerely,

  M.S. Borden

  When I was done, Summer started to crack up. “That’s actually pretty clever.”

  “It is? Then I must be missing something.”

  “Yeah, part of your memory apparently. Last night…the song you were singing out in the street…was the theme song from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.”

  I smiled. “Oh…yeah, that’s right. I love that song. It’s so catchy, isn’t it?”

  “It sure is.”

  “But what does that have to do with the landlord’s strange email?”

  “Read it again, Lo. Only this time…sing it…to the tune of Fresh Prince.”

  My brows pulled together, but I did as she said, rereading the email in time to the song.

  Now this here’s a story all about how

  You lost your deposit on a rent-al.

  And, I’d like to take a minute

  Just sit and read.

  Clause five got you evicted from a tiny town called Salt-Air.

  When I was done, I snort laughed. “Oh my God. I guess that means the landlord heard me singing last night?” I looked around at our neighbors. “Does that mean he lives in one of these houses?”

  Summer and I silently scoped out the property to the left, then to the right, before finally squinting at the house across the street from us. Nothing seemed unusual at any of the houses. Not that the landlord’s house needed to have a big scarlet L on it or anything—though it felt kind of creepy to think he might be watching us right at this very moment.

  A few days after we’d arrived at the beach house, we received the first of a few emails from the guy we’d rented from on VRBO. The first had asked us to stop hanging our beach towels and bikinis over the deck railing, because apparently there was some dumb town ordinance that forbids such a thing. The second email came a week later. We were scolded for mixing the recyclables with the regular garbage. The last one that we received instructed us to stop leaving our bicycles on the front lawn because it ruined the grass. But the address on the bottom of his email wasn’t in the town of Saltaire where our rental was. It was in Ocean Bay Park, an area of the island at least a mile or two away. So we’d assumed the landlord had someone keeping an eye on the house. Although now it seemed more like those eyes might belong to him.

  “Well, I guess we should write back and apologize like we did with the other warnings he gave us.” Summer said. “You were kind of loud.”

  “Maybe I’ll do a video and rap my response, Fresh Prince-style.” I laughed.

  Summer smiled, but shook her head. “Probably best not to poke the bear.”

  “Weren’t you the one instructing me to have more fun the rest of the summer?”

  “I was. But let’s not get kicked off the island before you even get laid.”

  I went home alone. Again.

  Though, at least, it wasn’t because of lack of opportunity this time. A few weeks ago, Summer and Charlie had met these two guys at the beach. Tonight we’d hung out with them at one of the local bars, along with a few of their buddies. One of their housemates, Ian, was actually cute and seemed super interested in me. We really hit it off. Yet, for some reason, I got the distinct feeling that Ian hit it off with a different girl every night. So when he asked if he could walk me home, I’d declined. Now I was sitting in my room all alone, second-guessing that decision. It had been almost six months since Nathan and I split up, which meant it was closer to seven since I had had sex.

  After I got changed and climbed into bed, I still felt wide awake. Actually, if I were being honest, what I felt was horny. Ian had given me his number. But I’d never had a no-strings-attached hookup in my life, so I wasn’t even sure what I would say if I managed to get up the nerve to call.

  Maybe I should text him instead.

  But what the hell would I send?

  Hey! Are you tired? Because you naked keeps running through my mind.

  Or perhaps something more romantic…like poetry.

  Roses are red, violets are blue. I like spaghetti. So come over, let’s screw.

  Something cheekier…

  Hey. In my mind, we’re going to have sex tonight, so you might as well come over and be in the room.

  Oh my God. I had to be the biggest dork. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t going to send him any of those texts. Maybe I should call? Tell him I’m still thinking about him and see where things go from there.

  I picked up my cell from the nightstand and stalled for a bit…checking Instagram and Snapchat, scrolling through email and popping onto Facebook. When I finally grew bored, I took a deep breath and went to my Contacts. Only, I inadvertently hit the button next to Contacts...and wound up in Recent Calls. Looking down, I was about to swipe back, but the last number I’d dialed caught my eye. It was a local number on Fire Island, and I was momentarily confused about who I’d talked to for six minutes last night.

  Until I remembered the guy from the bathroom wall.

  Silas.

  I bet Mr. Good Time would be able to give me some advice on how to handle a booty call. Calling him felt totally different than calling Ian for some reason. I felt absolutely no pressure about anything. In fact, unlike my hesitation about the guy I’d spent actual time with tonight, I didn’t waste another minute debating over calling. Instead, I hit Call and laid back on the bed.

  He answered on the second ring. In my semi-drunken state last night, I’d forgotten how gravelly and deep his voice was.

  “What color are your underwear, Lola?” he said.

  I smiled, even though he couldn’t obviously see it. “I need some help, Mr. Good Time.”

  “I figured that, since you called. Now tell me what you have on.”

  “I actually didn’t call for that. I thought maybe you could give me some advice. You know, since obviously you know how to have a good time.”

  “I told you, I have no idea who wrote that on the bathroom wall.”

 
“Well, obviously it was written by a satisfied customer. And that’s what I want to talk you about.”

  “You want to talk about how I’ve satisfied other women? That’s kind of kinky. But, hey, I’m game if that’s what you’re into.”

  I laughed. “No, that’s not what I want to talk about. But it’s nice to know how flexible you are.”

  “So what do you want to talk about then?”

  “Calling a guy I met. More specifically, what do I say to a guy I just want a booty call with?”

  “You want me to tell you how to invite a guy over to fuck?”

  I felt a little tingle between my legs the way he said the word fuck. It had an almost angry edge to it.

  “Well, yeah…I guess that’s what I’m asking.”

  He was quiet for a moment, then said. “Who is this guy?”

  I shrugged. “Just some guy I met.”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “I don’t know. Not very well, I guess. I met him tonight, but he’s a friend of the guys my friends have hung out with a few times.”

  “And you want to fuck him?”

  I squeezed my thighs together. “It’s…let’s just say…it’s been a while since my needs were satisfied.”

  “Does that mean the last guy didn’t do it for you? Or the last guy was a long time ago?”

  I sighed. “Both.”

  He was quiet again. “Maybe you should get to know the guy a little better before inviting him over? It’s dangerous to just meet a random stranger for a hookup.”

  “Oh? So you’ve never done it then?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I figured the person who wrote your number on the bathroom wall probably wasn’t someone you took home to meet your mother.”

  Silas blew out a deep breath. “I told you. I have no idea who wrote that.”

  “So then you do have random hookups?”

  “On occasion. But with a like-minded person. Usually it’s someone who works a lot of hours like I do, and she isn’t into the dating scene.”

  “How do you know I’m not like that?”

  “You told me last night that you just got out of a five-year relationship. You’re just feeling a little lonely. Let me ask you something…if you did invite this guy over for a hookup, how would you feel if he got up a few minutes after you were done, pulled on his pants, and said ‘thanks’, then you never heard from him again?”

  Oh God. Is that how it works? The guy is going to walk out two minutes after it’s over? Imagining that made me feel kind of icky. “I don’t know. I guess it would feel strange if he walked out the minute it was over. And I’d probably wonder why he didn’t call if the sex was good.”

  “Exactly, you’d wonder if you’d done something wrong, replay it over and over in your mind until you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t you, it was him. Then you’d start to think the guy was a dick. Even though he’d come over and done exactly what you’d invited him to do.”

  My shoulders slumped. Mr. Good Time was right. I wasn’t sure I was cut out for hookups. I guess, deep down, that had been why I’d been stalling to call Ian. But what was the alternative when you were single and in the mood?

  Hmmm.

  The alternative might be right here…

  I started to debate what I was considering, and then remembered rule number one…

  Be spontaneous. If an opportunity for fun arises, take it. Don’t overanalyze it. So…I took a deep breath.

  “Pink,” I said.

  “Pink?”

  “Yeah. You asked the color of my underwear…”

  “Oh yeah…that’s true. I did, didn’t I? Well, not sure I’m in the mood anymore. I’d feel kind of hypocritical getting off on you, then hanging up after what we just talked about. Know what I mean?”

  “Damn.” I laughed. “Where can a girl get some phone sex around here? You’re no fun, Mr. Good Time,” I teased, secretly disappointed he didn’t want to go for it. “I’m kidding. You’re a good guy. Or at least you seem like it.”

  “Wouldn’t go that far. I’m no angel. But I do know how to dish out a good dose of common sense once in a while.”

  I twirled my hair. “Do you think I’m crazy for calling a complete stranger for advice?”

  “Well, I think you’re crazy for a number of reasons.”

  “I thought so.”

  “I was kidding. I winked, but since you can’t see me, you can’t tell as easily when I’m joking.” He laughed. “Honestly, I can tell you’re good people. Maybe a little confused, but good people.”

  “I’m drawn to your voice,” I blurted. “Is that weird? It’s very sexy yet soothing. I think maybe that’s why I really wanted to call you tonight, just to hear it again.” I bit my lip, immediately regretting my candor, then admitted, “Maybe what I’m looking for more than anything, though, is just a human connection. It’s easier in some ways to connect with a voice without the distraction of everything else.”

  “You mean the distraction of…real life?” He chuckled. “Because you do realize there’s no such thing as connecting with a voice, right? Eventually you’d have to meet the person behind it, and nine times out of ten, whatever image you have of him in your imagination is going to be better than the reality. High probability of disappointment.”

  His comment made me think of a show I’d recently watched.

  “Not true,” I said.

  “Really…”

  “I just binge-watched this series about blind love. Two of the couples fell in love after only talking to each other behind a partition for several days. They had no clue what the other one looked like. Eventually, they did see each other, but by that time they were already smitten. They even got engaged before they saw each other.”

  “Okay, but those shows are carefully orchestrated. They intentionally choose decent-looking people and probably manipulate things behind the scenes. You’re not actually taking reality television seriously, are you?”

  Suddenly feeling dumb, I said, “Forget I mentioned it.”

  The next thing he said took me by surprise. “When I was younger, I was overweight. I had a pen pal who lived across the country. I basically fell in love with this girl. I’d wait with bated breath for every one of her letters.” He exhaled. “I sent her a photo of myself at one point. And you know what happened?”

  “What?” I braced myself.

  “She never wrote back.”

  Fuck.

  “I’m sorry, Silas. That must have sucked so bad.”

  “Well, let’s just say I learned my lesson the hard way at a very young age. As I got older, I placed too much focus on my appearance. It was always about getting a revenge body and not about being healthy. When I’m pumping iron, what happened when I was a kid is always at the back of my mind. I can’t say I regret being healthier, but that experience will always make me cautious of anyone who claims looks don’t matter. Should they matter? In an ideal world, no. But we don’t live in an ideal world.”

  I took a moment to ponder his words and felt a bit guilty about wondering what his “revenge body” looked like. By the same token, now I’d feel weird about asking him for a photo.

  Clearing my throat, I said, “I’ve been told I’m attractive, but who knows what people really see when they look at me. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And it truly doesn’t matter how good-looking a man is, if he’s a bad person with an ugly soul, I don’t want anything to do with him. And yes, I speak from personal experience with that.”

  He changed the subject. “What do you do for a living, Lola?”

  “Right now, I’m not currently working. I’m on a break from school. Working on a degree in cosmology.”

  “That explains why you have the summer off with nothing better to do than try to get laid twenty-four seven.”

  “Very funny. Believe it or not, I’m not trying to get laid twenty-four seven.”

  “Just half the time?” He laughed. “I’m kidding. Anyway…a
cosmologist? That’s cool. Doesn’t get any bigger than studying the universe. You must be pretty smart.”

  “I do have nerd tendencies. I genuinely enjoy it, and that’s important. What do you do?”

  “I dabble in a lot of things. Real estate and also landscape design. Not as exciting as studying the Big Bang, though.”

  “Well, speaking of big bang, you saved me from probably another miserable ‘big bang’ experience with a man tonight. Thank you for your honest advice on that.”

  Gosh. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that. I also couldn’t believe I was starting to really like this guy. Is that weird? Was I truly having a good time with Mr. Good Time?

  We stayed on the phone for another hour that night. I kept wondering if he’d ask to meet up, but he never did. But maybe it was better this way?

  Lola

  TWO DAYS LATER, I was on the second floor when I looked down and noticed a man in a black hooded sweatshirt picking up all our clothes off the ground. Everything that had been hanging out to dry must have blown away last night. At first, I thought he was doing a good deed, but then I noticed him stuffing everything in a backpack. He was stealing our clothes? Was he some kind of freak?

  Despite the landlord’s warning, we’d continued to use the deck to lay out our bathing suits, panties, and other garments. There was simply no other choice, since a lot of the delicate items would be ruined in a dryer.

  What do I do?

  Do I go after this guy?

  Still unsure of how to handle things, I ran downstairs, but by the time I got there, the bandit had hopped on his bike and started to take off. Without thinking the potential danger through, I grabbed my own bicycle and began following him down the road.

  After a couple of miles, I realized I was in Ocean Bay Park, the same area of the island where the landlord lived, at least according to the address on the correspondence we’d always received from him.

  I stayed several feet away and watched as the hooded man parked his bike and took the backpack full of our clothes inside the house with him.

  What the fuck?

  After several minutes of debating whether I should knock on the door, I decided to call Summer and ask her advice. But before I could dial her, a notification lit up my phone, indicating that a new email had come in from the landlord. I opened it. It was addressed to all of us.