Shock Waves. Colleen Collins
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this week was about chilling, then about winning points and being on her favorite show. But now all that paled to what she really wanted—to be with Bill and have fun. The kind of no-regrets, go-for-it fun she never allowed herself. Now was the perfect time to indulge herself.
And he was the perfect man to indulge herself with.
Everything would be great, too, as long as she kept up the facade, never let on that she lived in that depressing vampire world where he assumed goths resided. From what she’d gleaned, this was his only afternoon off, so she didn’t have to keep that facade up for long anyway. A few hours, hopefully more. Not a daunting task.
Although the thought of saying goodbye again was.
“Something wrong?” he asked, concern filling his eyes.
She glanced at the coffee stain. “It’s probably set by now. Too late to get it out.”
“Now, now, Ellie, so pessimistic,” he kidded, lightly rubbing her back.
She could feel the heat from his hand through the open spaces in the fishnet, warm and liquid against the bareness of her back. His touch was light, confident, exciting.
“We have bigger things to worry about than a coffee stain.” He took her hand and started walking toward the festival. “Like what should we order for lunch?”
It’d been seventeen years since her maddening childhood crush. Seventeen years of remembering and fantasizing about Bill, and now all those memories and dreams and girlish yearnings coalesced into this single afternoon. If she ever had the opportunity to live in the moment, this was it. To revel in each moment, each minute, each hour.
Even if what happened in Malibu stayed in Malibu, she’d have the memories of this afternoon for the rest of her life.
4
GOING TO THE FESTIVAL was one thing.
Getting inside was another.
Ellie stood on the beach, the afternoon sun hot on her skin, her sweaty hand in Bill’s, staring down the imposing-looking man blocking the festival side entrance. His size put him in the sumo wrestler league, and that patch over his eye gave him a Captain Barbossa in Pirates of the Caribbean look. If that combo wasn’t bad enough, the words “You Lookin’ at Me?” emblazoned on his tank top indicated either he had a rampant paranoia streak, or she would any moment.
“Go on in,” murmured Bill, giving her hand a tug.
Digging her wedgies into the sand, she rasped, “Yeah, right, I’ve always wanted to die in Malibu.”
“C’mon, Ellie. Thought you were hungry.”
She averted her gaze in case Captain Sumo thought she was lookin’ at him. “Can’t we go in the main entrance?”
His eyebrows pressed together. “What’s wrong with this one?”
“Like you need to ask.”
With a low, throaty chuckle, he leaned his face close to hers. “I refuse to believe,” he murmured, “that anyone who wears a Queen of Evil tattoo is afraid of walking past one itty-bitty security guard.”
“Itty-bitty?” She blinked. “You’ve obviously been out in the sun too long.”
He squeezed her hand. “Trust me on this, Ellie.”
When they reached the guard, Bill paused, nodded a greeting. “How’s it going, Sam?”
“It’s cool, Bill.”
“Mind if we go in?”
“You’re the man.” Sam stepped aside, motioned for them to enter.
They stepped inside a small tented area, the air cooled with the help of several rotating fans. Ellie stopped, brushed a strand of damp hair off her forehead. “So you two know each other.”
“He’s one of the security guys on the Sin on the Beach set.”
“And you couldn’t have shared that while I was freaking out?”
A rakish grin spread across his face. “Maybe I wanted to look big and bad in your eyes.”
“Aren’t you the macho one,” she said with dry sarcasm.
“And you love it.”
God help her, she did, even if she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. She looked around the area, set up with folding chairs, coolers packed with ice and drinks, tables on which sat several monitors projecting black-and-white images of the festival. A buffed guy in shorts and a tank top with the word Security on its back sat viewing one of the monitors. He nodded hello to Bill, went back to his work.
“I feel like I’m with the in crowd,” Ellie said, watching a group of people playing volleyball on one of the monitors. Maybe it was her imagination, but that brunette woman spiking the ball looked a lot like Candy.
“I know these guys from the Sin on the Beach set, where they work our security. I didn’t know that was their special entrance, though.” He looked over at the cooler. “Want a soda?”
“Should we—” But he was already heading over. Just like Bill to do what he wanted, screw the rules.
Watching him walk away made her forget any rules, too, as she admired the view. Broad, muscled back that narrowed to a fit waist. Great buns that shifted and moved under those khaki shorts. He had a bit of a bowlegged walk, like a cowboy, which made her smile. Unlike a cowboy, his legs were bare so she could see how compact and muscled they were.
She imagined gliding her palms down that muscled back, over that hard behind, around to his front where she’d dawdle…tease…explore….
He turned and she jerked her gaze up to his.
A slow, knowing grin danced across his face.
Caught. Well, so what? He’d probably seen plenty of women doing the same thing.
“Here you go,” he said a moment later as he handed her a cold can of pop. “And dig this. Meat loaf sandwiches. I helped us to one.” He handed a half to her. “Have a seat, relax.” He leaned against a table and started munching.
She looked over her shoulder. “Should we—”
He motioned for her to sit, giving her a knowing nod as he ate.
She did, realizing she was doing that good-girl, what-are-the-rules thing again, which would never go over with a guy like Bill, who claimed his territory on the fly. Reminded her of the boys back in the hood and their power plays over turf—be it a porch, a street corner, a park. She wondered if Bill realized how, despite his so-called new life, he was still a boy in the hood.
For the next few minutes, they ate and drank in silence.
“This is delicious,” she said, finishing a bite.
“You make meat loaf?”
She rolled her eyes. “Too busy. The only thing I make is coffee. You?”
“I make the best sandwiches this side of NewYork.”
“Humble, aren’t you?”
He grinned. “I prefer to call it truthful.”
The guy watching the monitors had flipped on a portable radio to an oldies but goodies station. The upbeat, sexy song, “Walk on the Wild Side,” started playing. Same tune she’d downloaded for her ringtone. Perfect background music for sneaking glances at Bill’s mouth as he nibbled and chewed, at his tongue as it flicked against his drink. She had no doubt he could do incredible things with that mouth in bed, too….
He lowered his soda. “Who’s singing this song?”
“Lou Reed.”
“That glam rock, punk guy?”
She