Giving In (The Sandy Cove Series Book 1) (3 page)

“Language, Miss Hannum. Now do as I say or I
will be forced to handcuff you and take you down to the
station.”

Side note: handcuffing her sounds pretty
cool right about now.

“Ugh, fine.” She repeats it, and I so want to
laugh right in her face. That’s what you get for being a hot,
fan-fucking-tastic lay with the blood as cold as a snake.

“We are almost done. Next thing is I need you to
stand by your car, turn and face the back of the vehicle, and
perform the moves to the Macarena.”

She turns suddenly and throws her arms in the
air. When she does so, her shirt rides up the slightest bit to
reveal her flat stomach and belly button. Her shirt hangs off her
one shoulder. Her skin shines from the lights, and it looks soft.
My dick so badly wants to escape into her vertical smile, so I do
my best not to look at it like it’s a piece of taffy I want to
lick. I silently plead to Morty, my penis.

Now is not the time boy, behave, and I will
get you a treat later.

“Is this some kind of a joke? I’ve had a rough
night. I’m lost. My phone died, and I’ve been driving for over
three hours. My friends expected me to be here hours ago.”

She’s so flustered, and I’m enjoying every
fucking second of it. I lower my voice an octave.

“This is no joke. This is how we do things at
the Jersey Shore, ma’am. Now just do it.”

And she does. She’s so God damn submissive.
Guess she’s not as smart as she looks. She shakes her ass and does
all the moves associated with that stupid-ass dance. I remember
those moves, the way her ass shook that night at the bar. My dick
was at full attention, and the memory of it is making my pants a
little tighter now. Shit, I can’t have a boner while I’m giving her
a sobriety test. I better bail, even though she keeps doing the
dance, jumping from spot to spot, and then repeats it. Oh, God am I
going to have some stories for the guys tomorrow.

“Ok. You are finished, Miss Hannum. Please
return to your vehicle while I call in your license and
registration.”

She turns to me, so I turn my head towards my
patrol car when she speaks.

“Wait, if I’m not mistaken, aren’t you supposed
to do that before you give me a sobriety test?”

Oh, crap, she’s on to me. Think Cruz, think with
that handsome head of yours.

“We do things differently here at the shore,
Miss Hannum.”

She doesn’t argue, doesn’t protest. She just
goes and sits in her car. I have no intention of calling this in.
She’s obviously not drunk. Her explanations make sense. I wait a
few minutes, check my phone for texts, there are none. Everyone is
most likely passed out. I get out and travel back to her car to
hand her her things back. I pull my hat down a little more and try
not to make eye contact with her.

“Here are your things, Miss Hannum. I strongly
suggest you make sure that when traveling long distances, your
phone is completely charged and if it drops on the car floor,
either pull over to retrieve it, or leave it there. You should be
smarter than that, being a teacher and all.”

She looks up at me, and for a nanosecond our
eyes meet. My blues with her blues, surrounded by black horn rimmed
frames. Hot for teacher, baby, hot for teacher. She still doesn’t
recognize me.

“Thank you Officer… Cruz. You know, for a split
second you looked familiar to me. Do I know you from somewhere?”
She looked at my name tag.

R. Cruz. Glad it doesn’t say our first names. As
soon as she’s done looking, I bow my head.

I’m done messing with her.

“No, that’s impossible. I live here, and you
obviously don’t. Have a good night, Miss Hannum. Stay safe.” I
think I just dodged a bullet. She shrugs and turns the ignition on
her car.

“You know I’m still not sure of the way you
conduct things here Officer Cruz, but do you know where Barnacle
Lane is? That’s the street my rental house is on.” Now I’m
frozen.

Is there a hidden camera here, in the street
light, in a tree somewhere? This is impossible, unimaginable, and
just plain old mother fucking insane.

“What’s the house number?”

“1027.”

“I happen to know exactly where that is, Miss
Hannum. Just follow me.”

***

H
arlow
~

Patrol car number… check. Badge number…
check. Last name of the bastard who totally embarrassed me with
his, ‘I’m the law, now bow down to me, ‘cause I’m about to make you
look like an ass with my fake sobriety test’ attitude… check. I
know what I’m doing first thing in the morning. I’m reporting the
grade-A ass of a cop. He may think I was the
deer-in-the-headlights, never getting pulled over before, but when
I get his ass canned, he’ll know better. That’s really all I needed
to end this horrific night. I’m tired. I’m cranky, and he messed
with the wrong girl. Willow and the rest of the girls are probably
so worried, unless they’re drunk and don’t even realize I’m late. I
should have been there three hours ago. Last summer when I came
down for the weekend with Willow, she drove, and of course, I
didn’t pay attention. My nose was most likely stuck in a book.
Studying for the Praxis was a bitch. So was student teaching, but I
loved it. They were amazing kids, and I’ll miss them, but since it
all went so well, I pray that they will hire me before the end of
the summer. For now, I just want this summer to be relaxing before
I enter into the real world. I want to sleep till noon if I want. I
want to go to the beach, read, drink, and just have fun. I want a
no-worry, stress-free summer. God knows these past few years have
been horrific, for reasons I can’t allow myself to think about
right now.

This cop is going so fast, someone should pull
him over. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m bringing this jerk
down.

Dickcop, yep new name for him, pulls up to the
address I gave him. Dickcop is rolling down his window and sticks
his hand out to point to the house. It’s a three-story twin, with a
huge deck on the top floor, spanning the length of the front of the
house and the house attached to it. There are parking spots under
the deck that are now occupied, so I guess my car will be ok if I
park in front of the house. I can still see a few people on the
deck. Red solo cups as far as the eye can see cover tables, and the
only lights that are on are the ones on the street illuminating the
deck. Guess I missed a good party. I get out of the car, and I can
smell the salt in the air, and the distant, sweet scent of cotton
candy from the boardwalk. I inhale as droplets of memories flood my
senses about the last time I was here. They are blurry, but I
didn’t forget. I can feel my cheeks heat up, and all I can do is
shake my head.

I see a guy in a short, black mohawk peek over
the railing. He doesn’t spot me yet.

“Who’s down there?” I look up at him as he
notices Dickcop’s car. Dickcop is ignoring him. He’s now backing up
his patrol car, and rip roars it down the street. Nice. Doesn’t
even wait to see if I get inside okay. So much for depending on the
safety of law enforcement. That just solidifies the fact that cops
are pigs. Bacon bits, pork heads, I can’t think of another analogy
right now. My head hurts.

“Hey, who are you? Is that Cruz?” Mohawk man
yells down to me.

“Harlow.”

“Harlow…” He taps his finger to his chin,
squints his eyes, and takes a sip from his cup. “Harlow, oh,
Willow’s friend. You are in big trouble, Missy. She’s been having a
heart attack waiting for you.” Mohawk man smiles. I roll my eyes. I
knew it. Willow is so high strung, and I’m surprised she didn’t
have a search party out looking for me. I pop my trunk and grab my
suitcase. When I close the trunk and look back up towards mohawk
man, he’s gone. Second man tonight who has the manners of a
Neanderthal. Twenty three year old guys are assholes. I spin around
after retrieving my suitcase, and standing there, hand extended out
to me, is mohawk man.

“Max Vincent. Nice to meet you.” I return the
gesture.

“Nice to meet you. Harlow Hannum.”

“You are in the dog house with that crazy friend
of yours. She’s nuts, you know that right?”

I chuckle because his statement is right on the
nose.

“Yes, this is true. I’ve known her since the 6th
grade.” I give him a half-smile.

I know she’s nuts. Now a stranger knows it too.
Way to make a good first impression, Willow.

“Well, I’ve known her for less than a day, and I
too know this is true. Let me grab that suitcase for you. Anything
else I can bring up?”

Max seems like a nice guy. Cute, polite, and I
dig the close-cropped mohawk, his ‘Keep Calm and Party On’ t-shirt,
and the black Chuck Taylor’s. “I’m good. Just have to get a box of
stuff from the back seat.”

“Ok, great. I’ll carry this up for you.”

Max grabs my suitcase and begins to walk up a
flight of wooden steps that are located beside the house I’m
staying in. It’s dark so I’m not really sure what the house is
like. There are a lot of windows, that I can tell. We reach the
top, and I follow Max through a sliding glass door which leads to a
kitchen. I see Willow sitting there with our other friend, Thea.
She turns and just the way she looks at me, makes me think, yep,
I’m in big trouble. Max turns to my ear and whispers, “Certifiably
crazy. I feel bad for ya.” He winks at me and flashes a smile.

“Harlow Hannum, where in the hell have you been?
I was ready to call the cops.” She hops up and stalks towards me,
grabbing my shoulders, and I can faintly smell the scent of hops
and barley on her breath.

“No need, I was just with them. I got pulled
over.”

“Why would you get stopped by the cops? What did
you do?” Willow asks in a tone a mother would use to scold a
teenager. She flips her long, blonde hair over one shoulder and
takes an autocratic stance before me.

“Nothing. He thought I was drinking and driving,
but I bent down to get my phone that dropped on the floor of my
car. I may have swerved off the road a bit.”

“Great, Har. You are in town for five minutes
and already have a run in with the fuzz. Am I going to have to put
a leash on you this summer?”

“First time in Sandy Cove I take it.”

“No, Mr. Mohawk. It’s not her first time. We
were here last summer, stayed at the Beach Comber Inn,” Willow
spews at Max, obviously annoyed with his questioning.

“Were you invited into this conversation
what’s-your-name… Max is it?” Willow says with attitude.

“Geez, bring it down a notch, Miss Crazy Pants.
I helped her with her suitcase.”

“Willow, relax. The cop, who pulled me over, led
me here. I was lost, and he knew where the house was. Max was on
the deck and asked who I was when I pulled up.”

I turn to him and out of Willow’s grasp,
surprised.

“Max, when I pulled up, you called out to the
cop and referred to him by name. How do you know him?”

“Cruz? Cruz lives…” Before he can finish, we are
suddenly interrupted by Porter, Willow’s cousin, as he pulls open
the sliding door and strolls in.

“Harlow, you made it! Wills was going nutso. We
were about to send out a search party to look for you.” Porter
comes up to me, pulls me to his chest, and gives me a bear hug. I
love Porter. He’s a great guy and has been protecting Willow and me
ever since we grew boobs. Porter has the face of a noble dignitary,
someone with money, aristocratic even. Tall, well over 6’2” and
shoulders that are proportionally fitting for his stature. Chiseled
chin, dark hair, thick and wavy, perfect nose, cleft in the chin,
and a smile of epic proportions. Porter was “it”, every girl’s wet
dream, except for mine. I look at him as a brother. Always have. I
think I have serious problems.

“I’m fine. I was lost and my phone died, and I
got pulled over by…”

Max now interrupts. “Cruz pulled her over. He
brought her here.”

“Oh, so you met Cruz?” Max squints his eyes,
looking at me intently.

“Wait, you said you came here last summer? To
Sandy Cove? Your name is Harlow?” He looks confused, then nervous,
then runs his hand over his mohawk and mumbles something along the
lines of he had too much to drink tonight.

“Porter, dude, I um, I think we better let the
girls get some sleep. It’s getting late.”

“Wait, Max. You didn’t answer my question. How
do you know Dickcop?”

“Dickcop?” Everyone asks in unison.

“Yes. Dickcop. He pulled me over because he
thought I was drinking and driving, then proceeded to give me the
most farcical sobriety test in all of God’s creation, when I was
clearly sober, and acted like a total ass the whole time.” Max
looks to Porter. Porter looks to Max, then at me.

Thea looks up at Willow, in her drunken stupor,
“She’s using the big words again, isn’t she?”

Max asks, “What did he make you do?”

My anger returns as the memories of what he made
me do resurface.

“The Macarena.”

“The Macarena?” Porter asks, and I nod. I take
Willow’s cup out of her hand and drink some of the contents.

Laughter erupts between Max and Porter, and my
irritation grows. Porter turns to me.

“Har, are you serious? Cruz isn’t like that,
he’s pretty cool. You’ll meet…”

Max tugs at his arm suddenly with force and
shoves him towards the door.

“Um… We better go now. Glad you made it here
safe, Harlow. We’ll see you girls tomorrow. Beach, badminton, and
beers.”

“You can count on it after this night. Oh, and
Max, this conversation is not over, but if you see Officer Cruz in
the very near future, tell him his ass is mine.”

Max looks to me with a smirk. “Oh, I’m pretty
sure you already have had it.”

He and Porter exit, and I’m left with that
absurd statement.