Spring Fling Read online

  “Well, one of us has to go, and it isn’t going to be me,” she said, mirroring his folded-arm stance. “I put down a deposit just like you. I’m not going anywhere.”

  The man blinked and looked at her with his mouth open wide. He probably wasn’t used to strong women like her taking what they deserved. She smiled at his clearly visible expression of disbelief.

  “We are out in the middle of nowhere! The nearest hotel is probably an hour and a half away!” he huffed. “Why should I have to go? Seriously, I was here first.”

  The Sun had just about set over the Gulf of Mexico, but through the glass back wall, the answer to their problem became crystal clear. Along with a pool and a hot tub, the house had also come equipped with a small studio pool house. Monica nodded her head to the tiny building and raised her eyebrows.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Nuh, uh. This is a two-story house. I can just stay in one of the rooms upstairs until we get this figured out.”

  “Sir, you are a stranger,” she said, fingering the knives in the nearby kitchen cutlery drawer. “I am not going to share a house with you. No.”

  “Fine,” he grumbled, stomping over to the glass back door. He undid the lock and tugged hard at the sliding glass door until it finally opened.

  Monica followed him out and flipped on the back porch light, revealing the pool and hot tub area overlooking the beach. It was not the most glamorous pool in the world, but it was heated and looked clean, and for that, Monica was grateful. The man took the key out of his pocket again and opened up the door to the pool house, stuck his head in, and looked around. He slammed the door and headed back into the house, keeping his eyes low, refusing to meet her gaze.

  “And just where are you going?” she demanded, following him back into the house. He turned a corner and headed into a strange little room that looked like it might have been the original homestead kitchen.

  “I’m getting my things so you can have your house,” he huffed, zipping up his suitcase.

  “Don’t forget your toothbrush,” she smiled, examining her nails. The polish on her pinky finger had chipped on his face.

  “Don’t get too comfortable. Once we get all this straightened out, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay.”

  “Is that right?” she said, her hands on her hips.

  The man didn’t say anything else as he finished packing up and headed back out the sliding glass door.

  “Hey!” she called after him. “I need the house key!”

  It was dark now as his feet came to a dramatic screeching halt on the pool deck. He mumbled something under his breath and turned, taking wide, giant steps back in her direction. The man dropped the key in her open palm before storming back off toward the little pool house.

  Once she was satisfied that the man was in his space and she was in hers, Monica locked the back sliding door and did a full security sweep of the property. The house was indeed large enough for more than two people to share, but she wasn’t about to take chances with a strange man she didn’t know. She crept up the stairs and flicked on the light to inspect the three bedrooms and bathroom on the second floor but decided it was too creepy to stay up there and quickly skittered back downstairs.

  Better to be able to easily escape if I need to, she reasoned with herself.

  Under any other circumstance, Monica would have left the situation and settled for the first hotel she could find. But this was her vacation. This was her time and her special spot that she had worked so hard for. Even if her old “friends” ditched her, Monica was determined to make the most of her mini beach getaway, and some white-collar, middle-aged bro wasn’t going to chase her off.

  Monica gazed forlornly at her unopened bottle of wine as she tried to call the property manager again and again later that night. She pouted and decided that, in light of her current situation, drinks were going to have to wait for another time. She needed to stay sober and quick on her feet since she was being forced to share her rental property with a strange man.

  The intruder didn’t show his face again that evening as Monica ate the salad she had brought with her and settled into the downstairs bedroom. She changed the sheets on the queen-size bed, highly aware that the man that was now occupying the pool house had just taken a nap in that very same space. The thought stayed with her as she drifted to sleep that night, lulled by the now-turbulent, crashing waves on the shore just outside her window.

  Chapter Four

  Jim awoke the following morning before dawn with a crick in his neck and a bruised left eye. The ridge underneath his eyebrow was slightly puffy, but it was his back that hurt more than anything at that point. The only bed in the studio-size pool house that he had been banished to was a pullout couch mattress that was probably as old as he was. Not only did the couch smell funny, it featured a thin mattress with a thick beam that stuck straight down the center of the bed frame which made sleep nearly impossible.

  A quick check on his phone showed that it was just after six-thirty in the morning when he finally arose, but it wasn’t the time that made Jim do a double take. There was an unread text message in his inbox from a number he hadn’t seen in a while. Jim’s mouth screwed up into a frown as he selected the text from his ex-wife, Julie, which came in after one a.m. that night.

  Hey, we need to talk. Are you home?

  Jim snort-laughed through his nose and deleted the message before tossing the phone back on his pullout bed. Of course, she wants to talk now, just as he was trying to relax and forget about things for a while. Just as he was finally taking some time to heal and figure out how the heck he was supposed to start all over.

  The cruise with Mr. Wonderful must not have gone as well as she hoped, he chuckled to himself, pulling his pants back on.

  Jim winced, holding his left eye as he laughed. He glanced through the pool house window to the looming main house, recalling his current predicament all too well. He needed to get to town ASAP to try and find the property manager to his rental beach house and figure this whole thing out. Even if the woman who was holding the rental property hostage looked like she could have been Selena Gomez’s curvy older sister, Jim wasn’t about to just let her stay for free. Especially after she clocked him in the eye.

  After rummaging around in his suitcase, Jim found his hoodie and pulled it over his head. Spring break in the Panhandle was nice during the daytime but still pretty chilly in the early morning and at night, so Jim already knew to be prepared. As he opened the door leading out onto the pool deck and veranda, he was still shocked at the blast of chilly wind that greeted him. He pulled the hood up over his head and shoved his hands in his pockets as he made his way to the one place he had been hoping to visit since he arrived.

  The beach was calm and quiet as he plodded down the sloping sandy path to the shoreline. He passed a makeshift fire circle flanked by hammocks on his way and jumped as an animal scurried in the palmetto bushes to his right. Though he still felt broken outside and inside, Jim knew that an early morning jog would be good for him, and this vacation was exactly when he had planned on getting back into his old routine.

  A sliver of moon hovered in the sky as the sun began to rise and Jim enjoyed the wet, hard packing sounds of his feet as they slapped against the shoreline. Within moments his breath went ragged as he pushed himself, his limbs and lungs quickly protesting at the sudden burst of exertion. He dodged over all manners of debris from the sea, tripping over driftwood and trying not to slip on seaweed and bits of coral reef that had washed ashore. The sand glittered with shells as the water receded back into the gulf, and he made a mental note to come back later and do a little beachcombing.

  Just as he was getting at a good, steady pace, another figure emerged out of the dark, heading straight his way.

  “Ahhh!”

  The cry was shrill yet strangely familiar, and it registered to Jim that he had heard that exact scream before as the shape of a woman passed him on the shoreline. Her long, dark hair bounced wildly in a ponytail as she made a beeline for the house, and he knew it must be the horrible woman who had crashed his vacation. Jim clutched his chest and doubled over on his knees, fighting against the stitch that had formed in his side.

  “Hey, it’s just me!” he called out to her. His voice was drowned out by the waves and the rasping of his breath, and she didn’t turn back around. It was then that he realized he didn’t even know her name.

  Doesn’t matter what her name is, he reasoned with himself, trying to stretch out the pain in his ribs. She’s going to be gone by the end of the day, and I’ll have my vacation house back.

  After another fifteen minutes of half-hearted beach jogging, Jim wandered back to his itty-bitty pool house, starving and in need of a change of clothes. He didn’t know what time the grocery store opened in town or if there was a decent diner around, but he was ready to eat just about anything. He also needed to find the Panhandle Vacation Rentals office and have more than a word with Analisa Burkett. But first, a shower.

  The pool house didn’t have much in the way of creature comforts, just the couch that converted to a bed, a television, a table, and a closet with a toilet and sink. There was no kitchen or anywhere to bathe, however, so Jim wasn’t exactly sure what the purpose of the space was supposed to be. Certainly not a mother-in-law's quarters or proper guest house, but more like some kind of fancy teen hangout space or kids playhouse. As a result, if Jim wanted to get cleaned up that morning before heading into town, he only had one option, and it was one that he did not want to take.

  With his toiletry bag and a fresh change of clothes at hand, Jim trudged up to the back of the main house and rapped on the sliding glass door. The woman was in the kitchen, drinking cof
fee and reading, something and seemed to jump out of her skin at the sight of him. He frowned, shook his head, and stepped back as she came to the door and opened it just an inch.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I need to take a shower,” he said, his eyes flicking to the bathroom down the hall.

  “Doesn’t the pool house have a bathroom?”

  Jim exhaled deeply.

  “Just a toilet. Look…” he said, leaning up against the frame of the house. “I just want to get cleaned up so I can go into town and straighten this all out. The rental office opens soon, so I’m going to go down there in person.”

  The woman wrinkled her nose and thought for a moment before opening up the sliding glass door a little wider.

  “You best be quick.”

  “Oh, thank you,” he said, stepping over the threshold. “How very generous of you.”

  Jim rolled his eyes and headed toward the bathroom as she returned to the kitchen. His ears felt hot, and it wasn’t from his recent jog down the beach.

  “My name is Jim, by the way. If you care,” he said, his body cocked to the side as he stood in the bathroom doorway. He looked at her out of one eye just in time to see her shrug.

  “Good for you, Jim.”

  Ugh, he snorted through his nose.

  Jim closed the bathroom door with a little more force than was probably necessary and started the water in the bathtub.

  That’s just great, he fumed to himself. Jim Martin, the dumbass doormat.

  His gaze fell over the rusted old bathroom mirror long enough for him to appreciate the blooms of blackish blue color surrounding his left eye. He looked like he was wearing makeup. He looked like a mess. Jim huffed and stripped down, hoping the hot water from the shower would help ease his aching back. He bathed quickly and furiously, scrubbing his body and scalp, all the while trying to get his ill-begotten housemate’s scowling, pretty face out of his mind.

  Jim dried himself off and fluffed his hair with a towel, skipping a shave; he was on vacation after all. He struggled into the only pair of jeans that still fit and an oversize navy sweater before emerging from the bathroom again. This time, the woman was busy making breakfast, and whatever she was cooking made his stomach call out — loudly.

  She looked over her shoulder at him as he made his way towards the exit, and Jim still couldn’t help but want to stare. Even in a pair of workout pants and a clingy long-sleeve tee, she had curves in all the right places, and no amount of anger could help him ignore that. Still, Jim knew when he wasn’t wanted and didn’t bother to linger or try to talk.

  Just as his hand hit the sliding glass door, the woman called out a “Hey” in his direction. A glimmer of hope shot through him as he considered that maybe she was finally willing to make peace. He turned to look at his housemate, a pan of sizzling eggs in one hand and a spatula in the other. For a brief moment, he thought she looked like a goddess of the kitchen. Or maybe more like a demon. He still couldn’t be sure.

  “My name is Monica, by the way. Be sure to tell them that at the office downtown when you get your full refund. You can let them know I’ll still be staying until Friday.”

  She smiled at him, showing two rows of perfect pearly white teeth and turned back to the stove, humming as she worked. Jim bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, and his whole face flushed to a deep, hot crimson as he slammed the sliding glass door closed behind him.

  Chapter Five

  Monica washed the last of her breakfast dishes and smirked to herself, shaking her head in disbelief at the audacity of some men. Sure, the Chris Pratt lookalike guy — Jim, did he say? — was cute. But that didn’t mean that she was going to let him invade her space and her time, all over some kind of clerical error. Plenty of other people had tried to take advantage of her over the years, and at thirty-eight, Monica Suarez was done with all those games.

  Still, the tiniest little pang of guilt edged at her conscience as she remembered the hurt look on his soft, puppy dog face. The shiner she gave him was coming in pretty good, though she couldn’t blame herself too much for that one; he had yelled at her with a pretty intimidating voice, after all, and she was only trying to defend herself. In any case, Monica knew she had been pretty mean, and in any other situation, she might have been a little bit nicer. But this was not a normal situation. The secluded beach house was out in the middle of nowhere, and there was no way she was going to trust her person around a total stranger. And didn’t that one serial killer guy that killed all of those coeds look handsome, too? No. Monica was not about to let her guard down for one minute until he was out of her hair for good.

  With breakfast and her morning jog done, Monica set her sights on relaxation for the rest of the day by the heated pool. First, she wanted to show off and make sure that all of her so-called friends knew what an amazing time she was having without them and exactly what they were missing. She washed her face, applied her usual makeup (BB cream, concealer, coral lip lacquer, false eyelashes, lip liner), and piled her hair high up into a bun. She added a pair of turquoise tassel earrings and slipped into her new leopard print high-waist bikini and sheer black cover-up before she was ready to go. Satisfied with her reflection, Monica started her Facebook Live video and took all 3,000 of her followers and friends on a tour through the house.

  After fifteen minutes of showing off the best angles of the exterior of the house, the pool, and (mostly) the beach, Monica signed off her live video and trudged back up the beach toward the pool deck. The cool of the dawn had burned away to reveal a bright and sunny Florida morning, but it was still a steady seventy-two degrees and much too cold for swimming, even in heated pool water. Fortunately, Monica had brought a stack of paperbacks and was more than happy to spend her day soaking up the sun and flipping pages. She grabbed a tumbler of water, her sunscreen, and her portable Bluetooth speaker and set out to start her vacation in style.

  Monica laid out on the pool deck chaise lounge and tried to focus on the fluffy rom-com she had brought with her but found herself reading the same paragraph over and over. Her eyes kept flicking to the pool house, wondering when her unwelcomed housemate would return. Her thoughts volleyed from whatever his name was — Jim — back to her group of so-called girlfriends. Selena, Michelle, Leticia, Renee… none of them had a problem coming to her for free hair and makeup whenever they had a date or a photo session or a wedding to go to. They all smashed that “like” button whenever she posted on social media, but none of them had come out to celebrate her thirty-fifth birthday a few years back. None of them ever called to just talk or invited her for so much as a girls’ night out. Why on Earth she thought any of them would actually show up to an all-expense-paid beach vacation was beyond her.

  I couldn't even get them to come spend time with me for free, she sulked, turning over on her stomach.

  It was a depressing thought. Monica had long suspected that she came off as too showy when it came to her friends. In an attempt to be her authentic self, she probably seemed too eager, too loud, or just too… Monica. It hurt. In high school, she held back who she really was in an attempt to fit in with the cool clique of girls, and now, as she tried so desperately to cling on to the past, she wondered if she ever really shared one with any of her supposed friends after all.

  Just as she was beginning to drift off into a late afternoon nap, heavy footsteps thudded on the concrete pool deck beside her. In one swift burpee-style move, Monica jumped to her feet, fists held high and ready to fight.

  “Ease up, Rocky,” Jim said. “It’s just me.”

  Monica’s heart hammered in her chest as she rubbed her eyes at the now-intense sun overhead. Jim had two bags full of groceries and his sweater draped over his arm, and Monica couldn’t help but stare at his well-defined arms. Even if he was a little soft, he still looked strong, which was, admittedly, just her type.

  “Do you always sneak up on people like that?” she asked, taking a sip of water. Monica reclined in her seat, slid on her shades, and resumed her air of ambivalence.