Sex On The Beach: Bad Boys Club Romance #1 Read online

  Sex On The Beach

  A Bad Boys Club Romance #1

  Olivia Thorne

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  Books By Olivia Thorne

  ALL THAT HE WANTS Volume 1

  ALL THAT HE LOVES Volume 2

  THE BILLIONAIRE’S WEDDING Volume 3

  ROCK ME HARD Part 1

  ROCK ALL NIGHT Part 2

  HARD AS ROCK Part 3

  THE BILLIONAIRE’S KISS Volume One (Parts 1-4)

  THE BILLIONAIRE’S REDEMPTION Part 5

  MIDNIGHT DESIRE

  MIDNIGHT LUST

  MIDNIGHT DECEIT

  MIDNIGHT OBSESSION

  PASSION AND PRIDE

  1

  Katie

  I was running away.

  I’d left behind a bad situation in Kansas – a life I desperately wanted to avoid thinking about or dealing with – and never looked back.

  Where do people go to reinvent themselves? Where do they move to get a shot at a new life, to live out their dreams?

  For me, it was Venice.

  No, not Italy – Venice, California. That funky little beach town chock-full of all the people too weird for the rest of Los Angeles. (Which is saying something.)

  I didn’t need to go halfway around the world to escape. Compared to what I was used to back home, Venice might as well have been another planet.

  I was running because love had dealt me a bad hand, and I had played it even worse. As far as I was concerned, I was done with love.

  Funny… because while I was running away from it, that’s when it came and found me.

  2

  It was my first day settling into the neighborhood. I’d just rented a room in a house nearby, and I was enjoying the fruits of my awesome new digs: a two-block stroll to the beach.

  As I lay there on my towel, slowly getting over my self-consciousness about my pale skin and incredibly unfashionable one-piece, both of which came courtesy of Kansas (note to self: go get a bikini as soon as possible), I saw him.

  He was absolutely gorgeous – a blond-haired surfer with several days of scruffy facial hair. Late 20’s. Bronzed skin. Muscles to make your jaw (and panties) drop. He was wearing only board shorts and flip-flops, so I got the full show: enormous biceps, powerful chest, broad shoulders, massive thighs.

  I couldn’t see his eyes because of the sunglasses he wore, but he had a strong chin, sensual lips, and cheekbones to die for.

  Big hands and feet, too.

  I’m just sayin’.

  Now why couldn’t I get a guy like THAT back in Kansas? I thought.

  Note to self: learn surfing as fast as humanly possible.

  He was walking towards the water with his board under one arm, and he dropped something as he passed – a little round object that plopped in the sand.

  “Uh, excuse me,” I said, rolling over to pick it up.

  He kept walking.

  “Excuse me!” I called out.

  He turned around with a scowl.

  “You dropped your – ” I started to say, then looked down at the little cellophane-wrapped package in my hand.

  Mr. Zog’s Sex Wax.

  I immediately blushed.

  I might have been thinking naughty thoughts about his body, but I wasn’t about to say ‘sex wax’ out loud to a stranger.

  What the hell is sex wax?!

  The label said, ‘The best for your stick.’

  …your ‘stick’?!

  Did he put it… ‘down there’?

  Why was he bringing it out to the beach, then?!

  “Uhhhh… you dropped this,” I said, blushing even worse, as I lifted it up to him.

  “Thanks,” he grunted, snatched it out of my hand, and then walked off without another word.

  Rude!

  Just goes to show, hot guys don’t always have the best personalities.

  Even insanely hot ones with perfect physiques.

  I sighed and just enjoyed the show as he moved towards the water.

  That was when my phone rang.

  3

  I knew from the ring tone who it was.

  Rick.

  My stomach twisted and I felt sick.

  He doesn’t know where you are, I told myself. You don’t even have to answer it.

  But… part of me felt like I owed him at least that much.

  I held the cell in my hand for a few seconds… steeled myself… and then finally hit ‘Accept’ on the screen.

  “Hello?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even, though I still think it trembled.

  “Katie? FINALLY,” he snapped, pissed off like always.

  “I don’t want to talk to you if you’re going to yell at me, Rick.”

  “I’m not yelling – I was just concerned.”

  ‘Concerned’ sounded an awful lot like it was a couple of steps away from yelling, if you asked me.

  “Look, just… come home, Katie. We can talk about this.”

  “I don’t want to talk.”

  “Well, we HAVE to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  He ignored me and breezed right past. “Where are you? I checked with Jen and Susan, and you’re not there – where are you staying?”

  “I’m not telling you.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I knew he was struggling to keep his anger in check. That’s what he always did when he was trying not to blow his top.

  Unfortunately, that brief pause was enough for him to hear what was going on around me.

  “Are those waves?” he asked incredulously. “Was that a seagull?!”

  Crap.

  I should have answered this back at the house, where it was nice and quiet and not full of hints…

  “What do you want, Rick?”

  “Are you at the ocean?!”

  “I said, what do you want, Rick?”

  “I want you to come back!”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “We’re going to talk about this, whether you want to or not!”

  “No, we’re not,” I insisted. “I’m done talking.”

  “After everything you did to me, I think I deserve that!”

  Guilt welled up inside me. “Rick… I told you how sorry I am…”

  “You humiliate me and break my heart, and you’re SORRY? Wow, must be nice to just be ‘sorry,’ and that’s it.”

  I felt like crap. Lower than dirt. “I just… I don’t want to talk right now.”

  Jealousy got the better of him. “No, you want to go get a suntan and play in the water and find some drunk douchebag and sleep around – ”

  Suddenly my guilt was gone, replaced with icy contempt. “Only one of us ever slept around.”

  He got even angrier. “ I told you, that wasn’t what it looked like!”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It was just business over drinks – I love YOU – ”

  “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  He saw it wasn’t going the way he wanted, so he went back to questioning me. “Where are you? Florida? Are you on the East Coast? …did you go to the CARIBBEAN?”

  “I’m hanging up now, Rick.”

  “DON’T YOU DARE – ”

  I
hit the little red button.

  Immediately my entire body started shaking, and the sobs welled up uncontrollably. I pulled up the beach towel to hide my face as I cried.

  I wasn’t crying because our relationship was over. I still felt sad about that, but it wasn’t the main thing. The worst was how I’d ended it, and how many people I’d hurt in the process. The guilt and shame were overwhelming.

  I kept sending him to voicemail every time he called – six times in the next four minutes. After number seven he finally stopped.

  I thought about blocking his number, or at least turning off my phone, but I guess my guilt got the better of me. I felt like he was right – that I did still owe him something.

  Maybe I hadn’t left behind everything I’d hoped.

  4

  After talking to Rick, I couldn’t stop thinking about him – and not in a good way. I was miserable and distracted and unable to enjoy the sun and surf, so I decided to call it a day. I packed up my towel in my bag, pulled on a long t-shirt over my bathing suit, and put on my flip flops for the walk back home.

  I made my way up the Venice Beach boardwalk, past the bong shops and t-shirt bodegas and little carts selling Mexican ices and churros. The smell of saltwater and suntan lotion was everywhere, along with the occasional whiff of marijuana or food from a hole-in-the-wall burger joint. Families strolled along in their bathing suits. Teenage girls hung out flirting with mop-topped skater boys. Street musicians sang covers with beat-up guitars. Artists hawked their wares, ranging from watercolor sunsets to spot-on caricatures of celebrities. And there were homeless people everywhere – drinking 40’s in doorways, lounging on benches, even camped out in 70’s-style vans parked on the side of the road.

  I’d been shocked when I first got here to see how many folks were homeless, but now I was getting used to it… sort of. It was a far cry from what I was used to back in Wichita.

  I got a lot of lingering looks as I walked along, even wearing my shapeless, oversized t-shirt. I wasn’t interested. Any thoughts of lust inspired by the hot surfer were long gone. In their place was only dull heartache and bitter regrets.

  I walked the two blocks to my new place and let myself in. It was a cool little two-bedroom cottage with a nice porch. The yard was miniscule, with a couple of lime trees on the side of the house.

  Once inside, I heard my roommate’s voice calling out to me. “You back already?”

  I walked into the kitchen. My roomie was at the kitchen table drinking an iced coffee concoction and poring over the lines in a movie script.

  Aisha was her name. She was a pretty African-American girl who had been born and raised in Los Angeles. She wanted to be a filmmaker and actress, and she seemed to fit right in with the general craziness that was Venice. The first time I met her – 24 hours before, actually, when I first looked at the room she was subletting – she’d told me that she had a script for a ten million dollar movie starring Kerry Washington.

  “All I need now is ten million dollars and Kerry Washington,” she’d said with a completely straight face.

  I’d burst out laughing, thinking it was a joke.

  She didn’t laugh back.

  But other than her semi-delusional behavior – which I guess you need to make it in Hollywood – she was incredibly cool and kindhearted.

  “What, rethinking the whole Venice thing?” she asked jokingly.

  I set my bag down on the table. “No, I just… I…”

  I couldn’t stop my tears – they just came pouring out.

  Aisha jumped up in alarm and put an arm around me. “Are you okay?! Did somebody do something?! Did one of those freaks out there on the boardwalk say something to you?!”

  “No,” I hiccupped. “No, it’s… there was a guy back in Kansas, and he called…”

  “Oh. Was he an asshole?”

  “Yeah… but after what I did, I kind of feel like he has a right to be.”

  “Unh-unh,” she said, shaking her head. “Nope. Never say that. Don’t ever even think that.”

  “But I really hurt him.”

  “That doesn’t give him the right to be an asshole.” She stepped back and frowned. “What did you do? Cheat on him?”

  “No,” I said. “Actually, I think he was cheating on me.”

  “Well then it sounds like he deserved whatever he got.”

  “I don’t have any proof, and he always denied it.”

  “You listen to your gut, girl. If you think they’re bad, they usually are.” She looked at me kindly. “You want to talk about it?”

  “No. Thank you, but it’s still a little too… raw.”

  “I know what you mean. Look – don’t be too hard on yourself. Even if you did do something to break his heart, hell, he’s from Alabama or Arkansas or whatever, right?”

  “Kansas.”

  “They listen to country music in Kansas, right?”

  “Uh… yeah?” I said, not really sure where this was going.

  “Then he can write a song about it. ‘She Done Me Wrong,’ about you stealin’ his dog and blowin’ up his truck or whatnot.”

  I laughed. “I guess.”

  “I’m heading out pretty soon, so you’ll be alone for the evening. If you want anything, there’s food in the fridge, and ice cream in the freezer – that always helps me deal with assholes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Any time, sweetie. And if you decide you want to talk about it, I’d be happy to lend an ear when I get back.”

  “Thanks.” I gave her a grateful smile, then headed to my bedroom.

  5

  My room was small but cozy, with a comfortable queen-sized bed, a tiny wooden desk, and a window that looked out on the lime trees. After I changed out of my bathing suit and into daisy dukes and a regular t-shirt, I lay on the bed for a long time, staring out at the greenery, trying not to think about Rick but failing miserably.

  I heard Aisha leave about ten minutes later. I wandered out into the main room, turned on the television, and flipped through the channels aimlessly, but couldn’t get over my feelings of restless unhappiness.

  I was getting hungry, so I went and checked out the fridge.

  Lots and lots of vegetables. Eggplant, spinach, kale, celery, baby carrots…

  No. Not in the mood for a salad.

  There were several store-bought bottles of ‘fresh-pressed organic juices.’

  Nope.

  I checked the cupboards. There was some peanut butter, but it was that natural stuff, and there was a half-inch of oil on top of it. And the bread was some sort of sprouted grain weirdness.

  Where was the good stuff? No cheese, no bacon, no meat of any kind. No milk or butter, either.

  Is she a vegetarian? I wondered, then checked the ice cream in the fridge.

  Soy-based.

  Jeez, it was even worse than I’d thought: she was a vegan.

  I guess it came with the whole Venice thing, but eating rabbit food wasn’t going to cut it for me. I was from Kansas, dammit.

  I left the house and started walking, looking for the corner grocery I’d seen when I Ubered here yesterday. Along the way I stopped in a lot of cool little shops with all sorts of artwork and clothes.

  I saw a surf shop and thought of the hot surfer guy. I went in, half hoping he’d be in there, which was totally stupid – why would he? He was out catching waves, right? He wouldn’t be hanging out in a surf shop.

  My mind drifted back to his body… those muscles like a Greek god’s… that gorgeous face and blond scruff on his granite jaw…

  But rude, I reminded myself, which dropped me out of the fantasy.

  Since I was there in the shop, I browsed the bathing suits and vowed to come back the next day to try some on. My stomach was growling by now, and I asked the shop owner for directions to the corner store.

  Thirty minutes later I was walking back to the house with eggs, bacon, milk, orange juice, cheese, peanut butter, and real bread. It would tide me over till I w
ent shopping for real.

  I’ve always been a fan of breakfast for dinner, so I fixed an omelet and some bacon and sat outside eating as I watched the sunset. I couldn’t exactly see it, what with all the buildings in the way, but the sky was still a beautiful mix of orange and pink.

  It was dark by the time I washed the dishes and pans. I was trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my evening when my phone rang again.

  My stomach filled with dread, but I knew it wasn’t Rick. Different ring tone.

  No, it was worse than Rick.

  It was my parents.

  6

  I hadn’t talked to them for days. The last conversation hadn’t gone well, and I didn’t particularly want to talk to them now. I thought about not answering, but I couldn’t exactly stonewall them forever. Plus, I felt like I would be a bad daughter if I didn’t pick up, especially after all I had put them through.

  So I steeled myself and answered the phone.

  Very unwisely, as it turned out.

  “…hello?”

  My father spoke first.“Katie?”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Oh, Katherine,” my mother said, apparently from another one of their house phones, “we’ve been so worried about you!”

  “I’m fine,” I said, irked. My mother tended toward the over-dramatic.

  “Rick called,” Dad said. “He said you’re in Florida or the Caribbean somewhere!”

  I immediately bristled. I knew what was coming next, and I tried to head it off at the pass.

  Good luck with that.

  “That’s none of Rick’s business,” I said, thereby implying that it was none of theirs, either.

  Didn’t work.

  “What are you doing?” Dad asked, and not in a ‘how’s it going?’ kind of way. More like ‘Why are you destroying your life?’