Release (3 page)

“I’m gonna get going,” I tell Leona and Kayla. “You
two don’t have to, I can get a cab by myself.”

I haven’t finished my second
glass of wine and I don’t want to. I haven’t eaten since before the show – bad
move, but I got caught up in the excitement of the night – so I’m feeling
slightly lightheaded now. I’m also finding it impossible to stop looking at
Dane, and he keeps noticing. Obviously that means he’s doing the same thing to
me, but getting caught every time I do it is embarrassing. I’m tired as well,
so that’s three good reasons to get out of here.

“Just let me finish this and
I’ll come with you,” Leona says, holding up her glass of Rosé.

“Me too,” Kayla says.

“Okay, toilet for me whilst
you both finish your drinks.” Jumping off the stool, I pick up my bag from the
floor and my jacket from the end of the bar, where I had it draped. “Meet me
outside the ladies, there’s no point in me coming back in here.”

There are too many people to
say goodnight to, so I wave at those who see me and those who are visible
enough for me to snatch their attention. Dane and his friend are sitting close
to the door, but I manage to walk past without looking in their direction –
even though I’m highly tempted to. I felt Dane’s focus on me from the moment I
got off my stool.

In this instant, he becomes a thing of the past.

****

Today’s clear blue sky and pleasant weather are ideal
for an afternoon at the beach, and that’s where we’ve come. It’s the first day,
since I came to San Francisco a month ago, that hasn’t been chilly or overcast.

I climb out from behind the
wheel of my Ford, slip on my white-framed sunglasses and correct the waistband
of my long, white gypsy skirt. As I close the door, I scan the car park, which
only has a few parking spaces vacant.

“I hope we get a good spot,
it seems busy,” I say to Kayla at the passenger’s side.

“We totally will. Let’s just
make sure we stay closer to this end, so we avoid the nudies.”

My lips curve into a smile
at the idea of seeing gorgeous male bodies. “I don’t mind those of the hot
variety.”

“I don’t want to see oldie
nudies or gross ones,” Leona says, getting out from the back seat.

“You can’t avoid either of
those, I’m afraid. We’ll stay away from the rocks. That’s where the nude part
is,” Kayla says.

With our towels and lunch in
hand, we saunter onto the beach.

I pause, observing my
surroundings. It’s lovely. The ocean is relatively calm; the waves gentle in
the light breeze. The sun’s reflection sparkling off the surface gives the
feeling of being in paradise. I don’t know what I expected, but this is
perfect, and the view of the Golden Gate Bridge at one end is amazing. I prefer
small beaches like this, and it isn’t too busy after all. A mix of families,
groups of friends, couples, and dogs make up the attendees.

“Let’s sit over there,” Leona
says, pointing to a space between a couple and a small group consisting of
three guys and one girl.

We lay our towels out.
Before I sit down, I get trigger happy with my camera. It goes everywhere with
me, mainly so that I can post pictures on Facebook to share my experiences with
my parents and my brother. And so I can show off to my friends back home. I’m
in San Fran-bloody-cisco! Who wouldn’t want to show off about that?

It’s warm, but the light
wind is carrying enough of a chill to encourage me to keep my skirt and
chocolate brown strapless top on. I had hoped for the opportunity to strip down
to my fuchsia colored bikini, but that’s not going to happen. I’m happy it’s
nice enough to enjoy the afternoon here, though.

I sit down and cast a glance
at the four to our right, who are having lunch. “Leona,” I call in a whisper,
just loud enough for her to hear me, but not them. “Looks like you’ve pulled.”
The moment we stopped to pick a spot, I saw that one of the guys noticed her.

The three of us giggle, and
he smiles, clearly knowing what we’re laughing at. Leona’s quite shy until she
gets to know people, so it didn’t take long for the heat of her blush to stain
her fair cheeks pink.

“Can you two shut up,” she
says in a low voice, which sounds menacing with her teeth gritted like that.
It’s because he’s laughing as well that she’s so embarrassed now.

Dark, short, messy hair,
unshaven face and nice, slightly muscular arms – he is definitely her type.
Going by his reaction to her, the feeling is mutual. As far as I’m concerned,
Cupid’s arrow has struck. Leona won’t approach him, and I don’t know if he’ll
come to her, so it’s down to Kayla and me. Some giggles here and there, and the
odd glance, just might do the trick. It seems to have gotten his attention so
far.

He takes a bite of his
hotdog, which I have to say looks tasty and buff, full of onions, ketchup and
mustard.

“Would you like to sample
his sausage?” I say to Leona, still only loud enough for us to hear.

She ignores me, but with the
tight press of her lips I can see she wants to laugh.

I love girlie days out like
this, especially when we find a hottie to entertain ourselves with.

“Okay girls, name and
occupation?” I say.

“Jed, pro surfer,” Kayla
says with utter confidence.

“Impressive, I like,” I say.
“Hmm … Marcus, a bartender with the potential to be a model for any trendy
menswear brand.”

“Suck a dick! I like that
one,” Kayla says.

“Leona?” I ask.

“I was thinking bartender,
but you got there first. Aiden, lifeguard.”

We all glance at him and
giggle quite loudly, which is more blatant than intended. Thankfully, my dark
sunglasses hide my wide-eyed expression when he stands up and starts walking
over to us, his bare feet sinking into the sand.

“Shit,” Leona says under her
breath, staring straight ahead at the ocean.

Kayla gazes off in the
opposite direction to the one he’s coming from.

I don’t know where the heck
to look, but my skin prickles with excitement.

“Hello ladies, can I offer
you a drink or somethin’?” he says in a gravelly Californian accent that I
can’t help but find sexy.

Leona has to look at him
now. We all do. I’m tempted to ask him what the “somethin’” in his offer is,
but I won’t. My best friend would
not
be impressed.

“We’re fine, thanks,” Leona
says.

“We’re about to play a game
of volleyball. Would you like to join us?” he asks, slipping his hands into the
front pockets of his black jeans.

“We were just talking about
an activity of some sort,” I say, before Leona can refuse.

“Where you girls from?” he
asks, now that he realizes two of us have accents.

We’ve been asked this so
many times since we arrived in the U.S. “The UK, London. We’re visiting for a
show we’re performing in at the moment. Kayla’s from here, though,” I add with
a small incline of my head in her direction.

“Cool, what show’s that?”

“We’re dancers. The
production’s called
Release
.”

“Awesome,” he says, sounding
impressed.

“Will your friends mind us
joining you?” Kayla asks. She’s probably reading my mind right now, because
this conversation shouldn’t be between ‘Marcus’ and me.

“Nah, they won’t mind, come
on over.” His emerald green gaze rests specifically on Leona.

Hah! This is so exciting –
playing volleyball on a beach in America with a guy who looks like he should be
a model. Photos. Loads of photos.

We join our new
acquaintance, whose name is Xavier, and his mates. After one game of
volleyball, which I need to become much better at, we spend the rest of the
time talking. I can confirm that twenty-nine year old Xavier is single and he
is, in fact, a chef.

After a while, we find
ourselves in smaller groups, leaving the love birds talking. I can see there’s
a definite chemistry between them. Mission accomplished, I’m exceptionally
pleased. I’m also cold now. As Kayla shrugs on her denim jacket, I’m annoyed
that I left my nice warm cardigan in the car. The way things are looking, we’re
still going to be here a little longer.

I lean towards Kayla. “I’m
going to get my cardie.”

“You want me to go with
you?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine, it’s
only two minutes away. Back in a bit.”

There are fewer vehicles in
the car park now, and the sky has clouded over. I rub the goose bumps on my
arms as I approach my Ford. Taking the brown, woolen garment from the back
seat, I leave my sunglasses in its place. With my soft, thick cardigan on, I
lock the car and wrap my arms around myself for extra warmth. I start walking
back to the beach.

As I pass the rear of the
Volvo, one space away from my car, a smooth voice stops me in my tracks.

“Brooklyn,” is all he said.

He wasn’t calling me. He was
simply saying my name, low and curious. Stupidly sexy, too, but let’s not get
caught up in that detail.

I know who that voice
belongs to. I recognize it from last night.

Correcting my stunned
expression, I turn around. Everything sort of … falls out of focus, becomes
non-existent. When I stop, barely two feet away, I realize I’ve walked over to
him. We’re standing at the boot of my car.  

Dane’s hazel eyes are
lethally enticing. I can’t do anything but look into the golden brown of his
irises, touched with flashes of varying shades of green. I don’t know what to
say to him, and he isn’t speaking, he’s just standing there looking at me. I’d
like to shrink and disappear.

“I’ve been warned not to
talk to you,” I say just to give me something to say. I instantly feel guilty
for being such a blabber mouth.

“Kayla told you that.”

Smoothest, sexiest voice
I’ve ever heard, and so, so sure. He doesn’t seem to mind what I said. I owe my
friend a big apology.

“Apparently, I’m too nice
for you. Too nice a girl, that is. Not too good looking for you. Not your usual
type.” Now I’m talking shit. My cheeks feel warm, too. Please, don’t let me be
blushing.

Dane’s expression is
unreadable, but he answers. “That might be true.”

He pauses for one long,
powerful moment.

There’s something commanding
about him. This is definitely a man who gets exactly what he wants, when he
wants, without having to make much effort for it.

“Maybe you are too nice for
me, but I’d really like you to be the one who decides that for yourself. You’ve
been given a heads up. That gives you an advantage, right?”

Oh, he’s good. What do I say
to that? I don’t know. I’m taken aback by his honesty and tempted at the same
time.

Tempted by a man I have been
firmly warned to stay away from.

Find your brain,
Brooklyn, and say “Thanks, but no thanks.”

I still can’t speak.

His lips start to turn up at
the corners, but his gaze remains intense.

I still don’t know what to
say. It’s been about thirty seconds. Forty, maybe. Suddenly, I burst into
laughter and slap my hand over my mouth to shut myself up. Typically in awkward
situations, or at times when it’s most inappropriate, I laugh. I hate it, but I
can’t help it.

“I’m sorry,” I say, trying
to pull back my outburst. “It’s not you, it’s me. I mean, I’m not laughing at
you. I really don’t know what to say to you.”  

He’s still smiling, no less
focused about his stare. “It’s not every day a woman laughs in my face, but I
like your laugh.”

I straighten up and curl my
arms tighter around myself, still wrapped in my nice warm cardigan, which also
feels like a protective barrier. Though I still want to giggle at my ridiculous
self, I’m wondering if his complement is genuine or part of the charming process.
My friends describe my laugh as loud and dirty, and I’ve never been
complemented on it.

“Where do you live?” he
asks.

“Where do I live?” I ask
back, unable to stop my eyebrows reaching for my hairline. That’s a bit
forward, did I hear him correctly?

“Yes.” He looks me straight
in the eyes. This guy is unbelievable, he’s serious.

I swallow hard with my now
tight throat. “Um, the corner of Sutter and ...” Am I
really
giving up
this information? “Franklyn.”

“That’s good. Do you know
the Purple Cafe, on Bush Street?”

I nod. I haven’t been in
there, but I’ve passed it a couple of times. Maybe I should’ve said no.

“Meet me there for breakfast
tomorrow morning. I start work around nine, let’s be there for seven, outside.
Think of it as your chance to decide for yourself.”

I’m speechless, again.

Dane turns around and walks
away. “See you tomorrow, Brooklyn.”

Standing astonished, all I
can do is watch his departure. In motion, he’s even more fascinating. He
strides away with a feline grace, that air of command remaining.