Summer Fling: An Anthology by Vi Keeland

 

 

 

 

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.

Thank you for your kind donation of undergarments and other clothing items for those in need. Because of you, this clothing will be dropped off later today at the local Salvation Army donation bin. If you care to continue to litter my property with lingerie and other clothes, I’ll be happy to make future donations on your behalf as well.

Clearly when you hung your shit on the deck this time, you hadn’t accounted for the fact that a wind storm was coming. I passed by to find everything thrown around on the property and some of it on the road. You know who gets in trouble with the town for something like this? Me. I get fined because of your irresponsible behavior. Not gonna let that happen again, so I’ll be doing a drive-by clothing collection run daily.

Sincerely,

M.S. Borden

Then he sent a link to a song on YouTube. It was “Blowin’ in the Wind” by Joan Baez.

What an ass!

I marched up his driveway with steam practically billowing from my nose and banged on the front door. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I waited. When no one answered after a few seconds, I banged again, the second time harder.

Even though I’d been anticipating the impending confrontation, when the door suddenly whipped open, I jumped.

“What the hell?” the guy grumbled.

My mouth opened to start to ream into the jerk, but my jaw seemed to get stuck catching flies. The dark hoodie he’d been wearing was gone, replaced by a wall of rippling muscle. I blinked a few times, gawking at a carved eight-pack covered in beautifully smooth, tanned skin. When my eyes rose to find the owner of such an incredible body, I was met by a set of bright blue eyes and one hell of a chiseled jaw line. Jesus Christ. Seriously? I’d heard the term jaw-dropping handsome before, but I’d never actually experienced it. Continuing to just stare, it became awkward.

The man’s brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

God, his voice was even sexy, too. Deep and raspy and...familiar. I knew I’d heard it before…but when? As far as I could remember, I’d only ever interacted with the landlord over email. My brain began to sift through its mental Rolodex of sounds, trying to figure out the puzzle. I felt confused; like there was a piece that I was missing. I needed to hear him speak again.

“What?” I said.

He did a quick sweep over my body, seeming to assess my physical health more than checking me out, and then he looked over my head and scanned the street.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

That voice.

I definitely knew it from somewhere…

But where…

My eyes widened when my brain finally made the connection.

Mr. Good Time.

The landlord’s voice sounded exactly like the guy whose number I’d found on the bathroom wall. I’d spoken to him on the phone twice now, last night at length.

Oh my God.

Could Mr. Good Time and our curmudgeonly clothes-stealing landlord be one in the same?

It couldn’t be…

“Are…” I stopped when it suddenly dawned on me that if I’d identified his voice in only a few words, he’d probably be able to do the same with me. In a panic, I made a very spur of the moment, rash decision and became...

A Brit…

“Sorry, yes fine,” I said. “Just a bit wonky from the heat. Would you happen to have some WAH-ta?”

Mr. Good Time squinted at me. “Are you…Australian?”

I let out an over-exaggerated laugh. “No, no. Of course not. I’m from England.”

He looked like he was on the fence about buying it. “From England?”

I nodded. “Yes, that’s right…across the big pond, as they say.”

He tilted his head. “And you pounded on my door because you want…water?”

“Sure. Yes.” I thumbed behind me toward my bike. “I slipped on my trainers and went for a ride on the old bicycle. Got a little knackered and could really use some WAH-ta.”

He scratched his chin. “Yeah. Okay. Let me grab you something.”

Mr. Good Time disappeared and came back a minute later. Handing me a bottle of Poland Spring, he said, “What town?”

“Pardon?”

“What town in England are you from?”

Shit. I drew a complete blank, even though I’d been to England before. Unfortunately, the first thing that popped into my daft brain came tumbling out.

“Schwinn,” I said.

The man’s eyebrows jumped. “Schwinn? Like the bicycle?”

“Uh-huh. That’s right.”

“Never heard of it. Whereabouts is it?”

“Oh…you know… the Northwesterly part of England.”

His eyes scanned my face. “Right.”

The feeling of impending doom that had been present since he opened the door grew abundantly stronger. I needed to get the hell out of here…now. “Okay. Well, thanks for the wah-ta, mate.”

Mate? Shit…was that Australian or British? I had no damn idea. But I wasn’t about to get schooled by this guy. So I hightailed it the hell out of there. Turning, I walk-ran to my bike and hopped on. “Thanks again!” I yelled without looking back. “Cheers!”

“Yeah…cheers.”

Summer was standing at the coffee pot when I walked in.

“You’re up and out early,” she said.

“Apparently I went to England and back.”

She laughed. “Must’ve been some morning swim.”

I sat down at the kitchen table and rubbed my temples. “I think I might’ve just gotten us evicted.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“The landlord stole our clothes.”

“What are you talking about?”

I covered my face with my hands and shook my head. “And I tried to get him to have phone sex with me.”

Summer sat down across from me. “Have you been day drinking already?”

“I wish. This is a mess…”

“What’s a mess? I think you need to backup and start at the beginning.”

For the next ten minutes, I told Summer the entire crazy story, beginning with the tipsy phone call I’d made from a bathroom stall at Salty’s and ending with my chasing down the clothes-stealing landlord and banging on his front door.

She shook her head. “That’s so insane. And you’re absolutely positive it’s the same guy?”

“Well, I think so…it’s hard to be a hundred percent sure. But I’m like ninety-seven, ninety-eight percent certain it was him. He has a really distinct low voice. It’s raspy and kind of rumbles.”

“But yet he didn’t recognize your voice?”

Oh. So I lied. I hadn’t exactly told Summer the entire story. I started to crack up thinking of the part I’d left out. The entire last half hour had been absolutely insane, but my bad British accent was the proverbial icing on the cake. “I disguised my voice by pretending I was British.” I snort laughed. “From the town of Schwinn.”

Poor Summer looked utterly confused. “British? Schwinn? Is that even a real place?”

“I have no freaking idea.”

Summer leaned across the table and felt my head. “Yup. Just what I thought,” she said.

“What?”

“You don’t have a fever, so that means you’ve lost your bloody mind.”

That night, I debated calling Silas. While this morning I’d been ninety-seven or ninety-eight percent sure that our panty thief landlord was also Mr. Good Time, as the hours went on, I started to doubt myself. Now I felt like the chances were more like fifty-fifty. But if I called him…heard his voice from the phone one more time, I was certain I’d be able to figure it out.

Though…Summer and Charlie had made me promise I wouldn’t do that. They didn’t want to risk getting kicked out of our rented beach house. So even though I really, really wanted to call Silas right now, I didn’t. But as I started to drift off to dreamland, my cell buzzed from the nightstand.

The number wasn’t one programmed into my phone, but I definitely knew who it was. Sitting up, I debated answering.

I’d promised my friends I wouldn’t call and stir the pot.

But I hadn’t promised them I wouldn’t answer if Mr. Good Time called me.

I could just answer the phone and see where things go.

I’d keep my distance from any conversation that might be considered stirring the pot.

The call could be short, even…all I needed to do was hear his voice to be sure.

When my cell buzzed a third time, I grabbed it from the charger.

“Hello.”

“Are you wearing your pink panties again tonight?” he rasped.

My eyes widened. I wasn’t, of course. Because my pink panties were one of the items stolen today!

I cleared my throat. “No, actually. Tonight I’m not wearing any.”

Sadly, that wasn’t even meant to get him riled up. It was the truth. I hadn’t had a chance to buy more underwear, so I was conserving the few pairs I had left and simply not wearing anything under my pajama shorts tonight.

“Damn. I’m trying to be good here, but you’re not making it easy with that visual. Actually…you’re making it hard.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

That was all he needed to say. Not only was he turning me on with that one sentence, but now I was a hundred percent sure that Silas was also my landlord. That voice. It’s confirmed. It’s him.

And now I was sitting here, feeling moisture between my legs because I had the added unfortunate knowledge of what he looked like. What was once a harmless, anonymous flirtation now felt like a tsunami of desire inside of me. At the same time, I was a little annoyed at myself for liking our jackass landlord.

Needing to change the subject off of my bare vagina, I asked, “Wha…what did you do today?”

He sighed. “I had a shitty day, actually.”

I swallowed. “Oh? What happened?”

“A problem with some of my tenants.”

Crap.

And there it was. Final confirmation.

“You own properties?”

“Yeah. Two on the island. They’re right on the water. I rent them out.”

“What kind of problem?”

“If I tell you…you’ll probably think I‘m a dick.”

“Actually, I already think you’re a dick, so you’re good there. Hasn’t kept me from wanting to talk to you. In fact, I quite like your dick.” I shook my head fast. “That came out wrong. Meant to say, ‘I quite like that you’re a dick. You’re. You are.”

His raspy chuckle vibrated through my ear. “I think that was a Freudian slip.”

Feeling my cheeks heat up, I again tried to push the subject off of sex. “So what happened today?”

Of course I already knew the answer.

He paused. “These crazy ass girls are renting one of the houses for the summer. They like to hang their clothes out on the deck to dry—like underwear and shit. Yesterday I got fined from the town. They’d already issued me a warning, and I’d spoke to the tenants about it. But they kept doing it anyway. Today I passed by and saw that the wind had blown the stuff all over the property and into the road. So, I collected it all and sent them a message telling them I was donating it.”

“Wow, that is kind of a dick move. Although, I can’t blame you for being upset. I’m sorry that happened.”

I truly was—sorry.

He chuckled. “I’m not really donating their stuff. I plan to give everything back, but I’m waiting a few days to teach them a lesson about respecting property that’s not their own.”

I smiled. He really wasn’t a bad guy at all. I’d had the “landlord” pegged all wrong.

“How long have you been a landlord?” I asked, genuinely curious as to how he’d acquired the amazing beachfront place we were renting.

“Having to manage the properties wasn’t something I necessarily wanted. They meant a lot to my grandfather. He died of a heart attack a few years back and left them to me because he felt like I’d be the only one to take on the responsibility. Made me promise never to sell them. So, I’m honoring his wishes.”

That warmed my heart. “That’s so nice of you.”

“Yeah. It’s good money. And I give most of it to my mom and sister. It really helps them make ends meet. My sister is a single mother. But it’s a pain in the ass dealing with people who come from out of town and get drunk off their asses. In the off-season, I have to go in and repaint and fix shit that they break. There’s better stuff I could be doing with my time. It sucks.”

He was definitely giving me a new perspective. “I’m sorry that the tenants can be difficult.”

“Whatever. It’s par for the course with a summer rental. Pretty sure whoever wrote my phone number on that bathroom stall was probably some renter pissed off after I kept their security deposit to pay for damages. I stopped using my personal cell for business a while back, but apparently that slipped in before I switched it.”

That made sense. Now I felt even worse. I could totally see one of us getting stupid drunk at Salty’s and doing the same thing to the “bully landlord.” Except he wasn’t a bully. We’d been selfish in not adhering to the rules. He was just a guy trying to do his damn job, fulfilling his grandfather’s wishes.

“Well, the good thing about that pissed-off renter is that her actions led you to me.” When he didn’t immediately respond, I regretted my comment. Twirling a piece of my hair, I settled back into the bed and asked, “Why did you call me tonight?”

“I guess…I just wanted to hear your voice,” he admitted.

I shut my eyes. I’d really wanted to hear his voice too. Not just to prove Silas was the landlord, but also because I missed it.

“Well…” he said. “That’s not the only reason I called you.”

I sat up straighter and pulled my sheets toward me. “What’s the other reason?”

“I was wondering if maybe you’d…want to meet up.”

My heart pounded. This was the moment I’d been waiting for, except now I was more confused than ever.

What do I say? Either way, I’m screwed, whether it was because of my fake British accent that I’d used over at his house today, or the fact that I’m one of his “crazy ass” problematic tenants.

Schwinn. I cringed. You fucking idiot, Lola! I was toast.

Needing to buy myself some time, I said, “Can I think about it?”

“Yeah. Whatever.” He sounded a bit disappointed. “I just thought it’d be nice to meet you. You seem really cool.”

“You too, Silas.”

A part of me wanted to confess everything to him so badly…just get it over with. But I really needed to think this through before making a rash decision.

“Just so you know…I’m not suggesting we meet up and fuck. In case you’re wondering about my intentions. I’m just thinking…we came this far. We might as well meet. You know?”

There I was, loving the way he said the word fuck again.

I was fucked, alright.

“I appreciate you saying that. I know we met because I called a number from a bathroom wall for a good time, but I’m not really that type of person. I’m not easy.”

“I didn’t think you were. That’s why I wanted to put it out there that I don’t have any expectations. I just…” he paused. “I don’t know…you seem really honest. When I asked you about why you called that first night, you admitted you were lonely. That’s not a thing people tend to admit so easily. And when I asked about your last relationship, you didn’t give me some bullshit answer. It’s refreshing to talk to someone who’s honest and open, so I thought maybe we could meet for a drink. Even coffee, if you’d rather that.”

I closed my eyes. Honest. That was definitely the last thing I’d been with him in the past twenty-four hours. His comment made me feel like shit. “Can I ask you something, Silas?”

“You just did…”

I smiled. “What happens if we meet, and I’m not who you expect?”

“You mean what happens if you don’t match the picture in my head?”

“Yeah, I guess…well, sort of…”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re hideous or something, Lola?”

I laughed. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

“So what exactly are you worried about then?”

I sighed. God, what a tangled web we weave… But fuck it…I either needed to come clean or cut things off with this man. As strange as it was, I felt a real connection to him, even before I’d even known how insanely gorgeous he was. Somewhere in the back of my head, I heard Summer and Charlie’s voices…

Be spontaneous. If an opportunity for fun arises, take it. Don’t overanalyze it.

That was the rules they’d made me agree to.

So I took a deep breath and said, “Okay, let’s meet.”

“Now you’re talking…”

“But I need you to promise me one thing.”

“Jesus…you’re already being a pain in my ass.”

I chuckled. “Maybe, but promise me something anyway.”

“What is it you want assurance on?”

“That when we meet, you’ll stay for at least an hour.”

“You think I’m going to hightail it out of there when I look at you?”

“No. But promise me anyway.”

“Alright, Lola. I’ll give you a full hour, at least. Now when and where is this meeting happening?”

I thought about it. “Where it all began. At Salty’s. How about tomorrow night at eight?”

“Sounds like a plan. That place gets pretty busy. How will I know it’s you? What will you be wearing?”

Hmmm. I got up from bed and walked over to my closet. Thumbing through, I pulled out a blue and white sundress that I’d been complimented on while wearing on more than one occasion.

“A sundress…with spaghetti straps. It’s blue and white.”

“Okay. I don’t know what I have clean. But how about this? I’ll have aviators on. So look for the guy wearing his shades inside the bar. By the way, I fucking hate it when people do that. It usually means they’re douchebags.”

Oh, don’t you worry. I won’t have any trouble finding you. “Sounds great. I’ll look for the biggest douchebag in the room.”

His laugh was a low rumble. “Good night, Lola. Get some sleep.”

“Good night, Silas. Sweet dreams.”