Bayside Heat (Bayside Summers Book 3) Read online

  “Sorry, man,” Rick said. “But at some point you’ve got to stop looking out for her and look out for both of you.”

  “Leave it alone, Rick,” Drake warned.

  “Just sayin’. You’re almost thirty-five. Soon you’ll go gray, and then how many chicks are going to want you?”

  “Getting women has never been an issue for me,” Drake ground out as his cell phone vibrated. “This is a choice, Rick. Don’t you get that? Making her life harder to make mine easier is not the kind of guy I am. I’m out of here.”

  As he headed back toward the resort, he pulled out his phone and read Serena’s text. OMFG. Know where I can get boxes this late?

  See, asshole? Drake thought to himself. I know exactly what she needs.

  Chapter Three

  SERENA DROPPED THE movies she was holding onto the floor and checked her phone for a response from Drake. Nothing. He was clearly pissed at her for taking the job in Boston, despite his efforts to appear okay with it. She groaned and tossed her phone on the couch. Tired, hungry, and sad about moving away from everyone she loved was no way to approach packing. Serena and the girls had shopped until the stores closed, and then Chloe had left to prepare reports for work the next day and the others had wanted to get back to their men instead of grabbing something to eat. She went into the kitchen and poked her head into the refrigerator, cursing herself for forgetting to buy milk. She opened the pantry and stared at the shelves until everything blurred together.

  Ugh. Nothing looked good.

  She grabbed a bottle of wine—a poor substitute for milk and cookies—and filled a glass. She polished it off without taking a breath, then refilled her glass and carried both into the living room. If she had to pack, she didn’t have to do it sober. She sat on the floor by the couch and picked up a movie. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. She hated that movie, but Emery loved it. She set it in the box and picked up another. Animal House, one of Drake’s favorite movies.

  Drake.

  You big pain.

  She’d known he’d drive her crazy finding a replacement, and she didn’t blame him. It would be as difficult for her to adjust to a new boss as it would be for him and the others to adjust to a new person in her position. Serena had met her new boss, Suzanne Kline, the daughter of one of the owners and the only corporate namesake running the show, when she went in for her interview. She was friendly enough, but she definitely had an edge to her. Serena had been mentally preparing herself for the difference between the laid-back environment at Bayside and the professional nature of KHB. She was ready, or at least she hoped she was.

  She set the movie in the box and picked up Fifty Shades of Grey. Drake had watched it with her as payback for her watching Dirty Harry with him. He’d made her promise not to tell the guys he’d seen it, and now she wondered about his sexual habits.

  What had he been thinking while they watched it?

  She drank her wine and picked up her phone. After taking a picture of the cover, she texted it to Drake with the caption If you make replacing me hard, I’ll tell the guys about this.

  She finished her glass of wine and set the movie in the box, remembering how they’d watched the whole movie cuddled beneath a blanket. Not once had she felt like he wanted her sexually or that he’d been uncomfortable watching it with her, which she’d made peace with over the years. But after Emery had spent all evening cornering her, trying to secretly convince her to sleep with Drake, she couldn’t stop thinking about the desires she’d thought she’d long ago stopped giving any serious consideration to.

  Three hard raps at her door startled her to her feet. Breathing too hard, she went to the door and peeked out the sidelight window. Relieved to see Drake, she let out a pent-up breath, only to stifle it again when he lifted his face and she saw tension written in the creases around his eyes and the telltale dimple in his cheek. She opened the door, and he barreled in, bringing a gust of tension with him. He carried a bag in one hand and a bundle of flat boxes in the other.

  “You send that to the guys, and I’ll send this to the girls.” He set the flat boxes against the wall and handed her his phone.

  She glanced at the picture he’d taken at Undercover a few weeks ago. She was sticking her tongue out and shoving her finger into her mouth, like she was gagging. In the background Rick and Desiree, Matt and Mira, and Dean and Emery were slow dancing and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  Drake’s deep laugh wound around her. “Bet they’d love seeing your reaction to their kissy-kissy-lovey-dovey dance.” He set the bag on the coffee table.

  She looked at the picture again, unable to stop smiling. “I’ll tell them I was making the face at you, not because of them.”

  “Yeah, they’d believe that.” He grabbed his phone and pocketed it. His gaze drifted around the room, landing on the single box she’d begun packing. “Wow. You’re really making a dent in packing, huh?” He picked up the bottle of wine and cocked a smile. “Serena’s little helper? Is it that bad?”

  She groaned. “I hate packing as much as I hate grocery shopping. Thanks for bringing boxes. I set an alarm on my phone for noon tomorrow so I wouldn’t forget to pick some up. I totally flaked on picking them up before shopping, and then I was tied up too late with the girls.”

  Drake smirked, his eyes darkening.

  She realized what she’d said and rolled her eyes. “Not that kind of tied up. Although, you never did finish telling me about your dirty deeds, Mr. Grey.”

  “I’ll plead the Fifth on that one.” He reached into the bag he brought and withdrew a half gallon of milk.

  She squealed, pleasantly distracted from her dirty thoughts. “Thank you! How did you know I needed milk?”

  “You always need milk. Besides, I figured you’d need it with these.” He pulled out a package of snickerdoodles from Because We Can bakery, which was open 24/7.

  “I love you!” She snagged the cookies and headed into the kitchen. “I take back everything bad I have ever said about you.”

  “You’ve said bad stuff about me?” he asked as she took two cups down from the cabinet.

  She gave him a deadpan look and poured the milk. “Do you need a list?” She handed him a cup and said, “I called you a pain right before you arrived. Or, to be more accurate, a big pain.”

  “Ouch.” He gave her a cookie and took one for himself. “I guess that’s only fair. I called you stubborn.”

  She touched her glass to his. “A toast to big stubborn pains and snickerdoodles.” She lifted the glass to her lips.

  “You are the only person I know who can drink milk after wine and not get sick.”

  “I’ve got mad cookies-and-milk skills. What can I say?” She waggled her brows and bit into the cookie. “Mm. This is just what I needed. The perfect dinner.”

  “You didn’t eat dinner?” He pulled out his phone. “I’m ordering us a pizza. You figure out where we should start packing.”

  “Drake, you don’t have to—”

  He stepped closer, his body brushing against hers. She felt her nipples rise to greet him. That was new—and nerve-racking. Her body hadn’t responded to him like that in years.

  She glanced up at his authoritative expression, and she knew arguing with him would get her nowhere. Given the way her body was suddenly all lit up inside, she also worried their bickering might further confuse her lonely hormones. Maybe she needed to push finding a man to the top of her to-do list when she got to Boston after all.

  “You’re so good to me,” she finally managed.

  The edges of his lips curved into the smile she’d fallen head over heels for all those years ago, and he said, “Someone’s got to be.”

  Her own mother had ignored her enough for her to know that wasn’t true. Nothing was a given in this life, especially being cared for.

  “That’s what friends do, Serena,” he said, once again reminding her where she was firmly slated in his mind.

  She stepped bac
k, putting space between them and reminding herself how foolish she was being. It was like ninth grade all over again. “Well, that’s not really true, but I’m glad you are.”

  He set that concerned stare on her again. “You’re easy to be good to, Supergirl. Don’t ever let anyone make you think otherwise.”

  That made her feel all kinds of good, and also a little awkward. They were still standing in her kitchen, and she couldn’t drag her eyes away from his.

  “We’ve been so busy,” he said, breaking the silence, “I haven’t had time to ask if you’ve found a place to live in Boston or if you need help moving.”

  “Thanks, but I’m keeping the lease on my cottage until it ends in October so I can come back and help with the music store and see everyone. KHB owns a block of furnished apartments walking distance from the office. They let their first-year employees use them at a reduced rental rate, so there’s no heavy moving. I should be all set with just a few suitcases and boxes.”

  He nodded, looking a little disappointed, and said, “Good. I’m glad you’re all set, but if you need help, just let me know. Day or night, whatever you need, you know I’m here.”

  Why did she feel like she might cry? “What will I do without a friend like you in Boston?”

  A genuine smile crawled across his face, stealing most of the disappointment from his eyes. “Throw yourself into your career so you can shoot to the top of your field. I want that for you, you know.”

  Her chest filled with love for him. Not hot-and-bothered fuck-me-now lust, but deep-seated, fill-her-heart-up love for the man who understood her, liked her despite her faults, and had always supported her decisions. Even when she wasn’t sure if she could pull something off, he always pushed her to try. He may have blown off her romantic notions all those years ago, but look where they were now. She wouldn’t trade this for the world.

  He grabbed the box of cookies, slung an arm over her shoulder, and headed for the living room. “And come back on the weekends, of course, so I have my partner in crime to hang out with.”

  WHEN THE PIZZA came, they polished it off, along with half the cookies, while they packed Serena’s movies and books, reminiscing about old times and talking about her new job. She had never been one of those girls who was always on a diet. It was just one of the many things that set her apart from most of the women Drake knew. He glanced at her, sitting with her back against the couch, knees pulled up despite the miniskirt she wore, which bunched around her thighs as she flipped through an old yearbook. One bare foot rested on the other, her toenails painted a pretty shade of pink. A flash of memory sailed into his mind from when they were young, when she and Mira would paint each other’s toenails in his parents’ living room. They’d sit on the floor facing each other, painting with tiny sparkly nail polish brushes while they talked about Lord only knew what. Something that made them giggle a lot—he remembered that. After they finished their nails, they’d do their hair and then insist he and Rick watch their silly fashion shows. That was a hundred years ago, and he remembered it as clearly as if it had just happened. Back then Serena’s eyes had seemed too big for her face, her lips too full, like she’d accidentally been given an adult’s features. But the beauty gods sure knew what they were doing, because by the time she was a teenager, she was flat-out stunning. As a guy filled with too much testosterone, that had proven problematic when they’d go to the beach and Serena would wear one of her skimpy bikinis. Drake had spent much of those early summers waist deep in the frigid sea.

  “Drake, look at this.” Serena’s voice pulled him from his memories.

  He moved beside her against the couch. “Is that your senior year?”

  “Mm-hm. This is the guy I went to prom with, Rod McDale.” She pointed to a guy with longish hair like Drake’s. He had on a Black Sabbath T-shirt and jeans, and he was leaning over a keyboard.

  Drake’s gut clenched.

  “I saved every penny I earned for a whole year to afford the dress I wanted.” She flipped a few pages to the part of the yearbook that featured pictures from prom.

  His eyes were immediately drawn to a photograph of a group of girls standing arm in arm, wearing bright, sparkly dresses, but all he saw was Serena’s beautiful face, caught midlaugh as Mira and whoever the girl was on her other side kissed her cheeks. Serena wore her hair pinned up, with side-swept bangs, and her cheeks were flushed. The yellow halter-top dress with a thread of gold beneath her breasts might have looked simple on anyone else, but on Serena it looked elegant. On her wrist she wore a corsage of white roses, and a strange beat of jealousy pulsed through him.

  “You’re the prettiest girl there,” Drake said honestly. “He was a lucky guy.”

  She tilted her chin up, studying his face for a long moment. “Want to know a secret?”

  “Not if you’re going to tell me that he’s the dude who stole your virginity or something equally disturbing.”

  “Like I’d share that with you? Get real.” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

  “Aw, come on. I was kidding. Tell me your secret.”

  “No. Forget it.” She closed the yearbook.

  “Come on, stubborn girl.” He took the yearbook from her and opened to her senior picture. “I want to know a secret about this cutie pie in the tasseled hat.”

  “It’s embarrassing, and you’ll just make fun of me.”

  He touched her cheek, guiding her face toward him again. “No, I won’t. Tell me.”

  An uncharacteristically shy expression came over her. “I called to ask you to go to prom with me,” she said so quietly he tried not to breathe, for fear of missing it. “Not as a date date, you know, but as friends. We always had fun together, and I figured…”

  His chest constricted. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Call you? I did.” She paused, her gaze skittering nervously around the room. “But you told me about the trip you’d planned to the West Coast with your friends from school.”

  “Serena…” He wanted to tell her he would have gone with her, but he knew that wasn’t true. He’d been in his third year of college, and she was just graduating high school. He’d matured, gained experiences she’d had yet to enjoy and conquer. He’d had too much experience as a man to be with her then, especially when she was just starting her life, gearing up for college. And then, by the time she was old enough that it felt appropriate to be with her, she’d had her heart set on achieving more than a life on the Cape.

  “Why me?” he asked. “As I remember, you had plenty of punks sniffing around every time I came home to visit.”

  “Yeah, and you scared them all off!”

  “Hey, I was away at school for months at a time. You had enough time to hook up without me around.”

  “And I did,” she said too nonchalantly, making him wonder just how many guys she’d been with.

  “Do not tell me about them.”

  “Oh, please. You were probably hooking up with all sorts of women at college. Don’t even pretend you were bothered by not being here to watch over your fake sister.” Her eyes widened, and she jumped up to her feet. “I just remembered something I have to show you!”

  She snagged her phone from the couch and shoved it in her pocket. Then she grabbed his hand and tugged him to his feet. “Come on.”

  He followed her down the hall toward her bedroom.

  “I have a shoe box with stuff from the guys I went out with in high school and college. It’s hilarious.”

  “I don’t want to see that.” He stopped walking.

  “Yes, you do! It’s funny. They’re not love notes or anything.”

  She grabbed his wrist and ran into the bedroom.

  He swept his arm around her waist, hauling her against him. “I don’t want to see it.”

  They both laughed as she struggled and twisted.

  “Okay, okay!” she said between giggles. “Then let me show you the pictures from when Mira and I made you and Rick play wedding with us! You were such a handsome
groom, and you have to see how serious Rick was when he officiated the ceremony. It’s way funnier than the high school guys.”

  She wrenched free and went into the closet. He’d been in her bedroom so many times, he could navigate around the king-size bed and matching oak dresser and nightstand with his eyes closed. He had carried her to bed when she was too ill with the flu to walk or too drunk to manage it and dozens of times when she’d fallen asleep in front of the television as they watched movies. He knew that when she was sick she hated using flat sheets, preferring the softness of her comforter against her skin, and that she needed the closet light left on in order to fall asleep, because she had never quite gotten over her fear of the dark. Who would know to do those things for her in Boston?

  Fuck, I hate this.

  His gaze swept over the new fancy clothes and silk lingerie littering her bed, tags still in place. The empty shopping bags lay forgotten on the floor. He diverted his eyes from the lingerie, but not before imagining her wearing the sexy black lace panties he’d seen by her pillow, her bare breasts brushing against his chest as she lay beneath him.

  “Drake? I think I might need you,” she called from the closet.

  Not in the way I want you to.

  Biting back his desires, he went into the closet and found her standing on a stool, teetering precariously on her tiptoes while she reached for a stack of boxes. He wanted to run his hands up her long legs, to feel goose bumps chase his fingers and her flesh grow warm as he brought his lips to her skin, taking his first taste of her.

  Jesus. I’m a fucking prick. She’s days away from making her dreams come true, and all I can think about is making her mine.

  “It’s okay,” she said, stretching farther to reach the topmost box. “I think I got—”

  She swatted at the boxes, sending them flying through the air as she lost her balance and fell into his arms. Dozens of pictures, cards, and other memorabilia sailed down around them. She was breathing hard, her soft curves pressed against him. Her beautiful hazel eyes blinked up at him, an intoxicating mix of amusement and heat. In the space of a second, he saw dozens of images of her, laughing, crying, eating, lying in the sun. What felt like a lifetime of loving her culminated into one split second.