Romance: Seducing The Quarterback (58 page)

Stretched at the Beach House

© Patricia Heat, 2015 – All rights reserved

Published by Steamy Reads4U

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This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, businesses,
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imagination or used in a fictitious manner.  Any resemblance to actual persons,
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Published:  Steamyreads4u @September 2015

Warning

This book contains graphic content intended for readers 18+
years old.

If you are under 18 years old, or are not comfortable with
adult content, please close this book now.

“Mom, do we really have to be doing this?” I groaned as I
stuffed the last of my bags into our silver SUV. We were headed to our family's
beach house for a week like we did every summer since I was little, but I
assumed the tradition would stop once I turned eighteen and started college. It
seemed so lame to be vacationing with my parents. Well, my mother. Paul wasn't
my real father. And I was definitely not the kind of person who wanted to strut
down the beach in a bathing suit.

It wasn't that I was ugly – definitely not. I was just
bigger than most girls. I knew I had a pretty face, and I was proud of my shiny
dark hair and deep brown eyes, but I was absolutely
not
looking forward
to the college guys who flocked to the shore around this time of year seeing me
in a bathing suit. They could be unnecessarily cruel.

Also, it wasn't that I didn't want to go, really; I loved
our beach house, with its sea-weathered siding and wide front porch overlooking
the ocean. I just didn't want to spend that long with my mother. We didn't
exactly get along. Once I began college, it had gotten better, but I had the
feeling it was just because we weren't in such close quarters anymore. Since I
was a young teenager, she'd been critical of the way I looked. She was always
putting me on diets or urging me to try the newest fitness craze, and when I
didn't slim down like she wanted, she just became more and more disappointed.

My mom sighed, already exasperated before the trip even
began, and said “Oh, Claire, don't start this again...” She pulled the hatch
down on the back of our car and made sure it was shut. “We got you those nice
bathing suits that flatter your figure, Ashley will come visit in a few days...
It's really not going to be so terrible.” My mother was beautiful, with
shoulder-length blonde hair, a slim figure, and a dazzling Christie Brinkley
smile. She turned heads everywhere she went.

Unfortunately I took after my father – short, curves that
don't quit, and dark hair. It was so not fair. I think I reminded her too much
of my dad. It was either that or how blatantly I didn't fit into her new
perfect family.

Even the man my mom married after she and my dad divorced
was unbearably attractive. Paul was a marathon runner, tan and toned with light
brown hair and piercing blue eyes. They married when I was fifteen and I've
been in awe of him ever since. Hey, I could look if I wanted to – it's not like
we were blood-related. Besides, there was no chance he would ever look at me
that way even though I was eighteen because he had my gorgeous mother as his
wife.

“Fine,” I grumbled, settling down into my seat and pulling
the seat belt tight. 

Paul got into the driver's seat next, his white polo and
light blue shorts complementing, well...everything about him from his tanned
skin to his sky-blue eyes. He turned around to face me, a smirk on his face and
a twinkle in his eye. “Don't worry, kid. I'll make sure you have a good time.”
He winked and I couldn't help but smile back at him. I stared out the window,
hyper-aware of the effect he had on me; palms sweaty, heart racing...feelings I
definitely shouldn't have for my stepfather.

I plugged in my iPod and vaguely noticed my mother getting
into the passenger seat next to Paul. She reached for his hand with her
perfectly manicured one and I felt a wave of jealousy rush over me. I wanted to
be able to do that with someone; just sit and hold hands comfortably. The last
boyfriend I had was critical of my body too, which begged the question: why was
he with me in the first place? Since then, I'd been avoiding guys like the
plague. I wasn't going to put myself through that misery again. If he didn't
like the way I looked, that was his problem; but I wasn't changing for anyone.

Suddenly my mother's hand was tapping my knee rapidly, her
face impatient. I took my headphones out of my ears. “What?” I asked.

“I've been trying to get your attention for at least five
minutes -” she started.

“It wasn't five minutes,” Paul said, cutting her off. He
looked back at me, “It wasn't five minutes,” he clarified.

“Well, whatever,” my mother said dismissively. “We're
getting salads at Rainbow Kale before we leave, what would you like?”

I rolled my eyes and lolled my head back onto the headrest.
It was beginning already. “Whatever has the highest fat content,” I replied
sarcastically. Paul snorted from the front seat and mom shot him a warning
look.

“You know,” she began, lecturing, “if you put in any effort,
you'd be a very pretty girl.”

Thanks mom.

“Oh, she already is a pretty girl, Christine,” Paul
stressed. “Claire, don't worry about it,” he told me, winking again. I smiled
and put my headphones back in, ignoring my mother. I thought of the way Paul
smiled and winked at me; not once, but twice, and I bit my lip at the thought
of him kissing me. I quickly shook the thought from my head. I
definitely
shouldn't be thinking of my stepdad that way.

Still, there was something about the way he'd been looking
at me lately...maybe I was just imagining things.

After an unbearable argument with my mother at Rainbow Kale,
which was apparently her new favorite place in the world to humiliate me, I
placated her with ordering a grilled chicken Caesar salad. Just to spite her,
all I ate were the croutons and the chicken. Her disapproving look showed me
I'd succeeded and it gave me a great feeling of satisfaction. I smiled through
my crouton-filled mouth and once again stared out the window. Paul chuckled at my
childlike petulance.

The beach was about an hour's drive from home so for the
remainder of the car ride I sat back and listened to the music pouring out of
my headphones. I tried to avoid looking toward the front of the car because I
knew Paul and my mother were still holding hands and I still felt that strange
pang of jealousy. It wasn't fair for my mom to have married someone so
good-looking.

We pulled into our sandy driveway at around 3:00 and I
immediately unbuckled my seat belt and retrieved my bags from the trunk. The
sooner I could unpack, the sooner I'd be able to enjoy what was left of the day
at the beach. Getting here so late in the afternoon meant I wouldn't have to
worry so much about sunburn. My skin was so pale I burned even on cloudy days.

Paul tossed me the keys while he and mom were still
unpacking and I fumbled with the doorknob (the sea air always made it stick a
bit). When I opened the door I was greeted by the familiar smell of childhood
and summers spent here since I was a baby. Maybe I
was
happy we were
here.

I tossed the keys on the metal plate sitting on the light
wooden table by the entrance of the house and made my way up the stairs.

My bedroom here was an absolute oasis and paid homage to
everything sea-related. The bed was made of the same light wood as the table
downstairs and had a large headboard and footboard that curved slightly
outward. A canopy hung from the ceiling framing my bed. It was draped with a
small amount of decorative fishing net which was, admittedly, a little kitschy
but I loved it. The pillows were big and comfortable and the bedclothes were
dotted with little anchors. All around the room, the decorations screamed
'This
is a beach house!'
It might have been tacky to some, but I loved it.

I plopped my bags down on the bed and began to unpack, but
soon the sunlight peeking through my blinds made me forget unpacking. I just
wanted to go to the beach, and I knew I'd have to mentally prepare for whatever
comments my mother would make about my body.

I pulled out the new bathing suits that apparently
“flattered my figure” and frowned. These were definitely made for old ladies.
Once again, thanks mom. She clearly didn't want to be embarrassed by her fat
daughter.

What she didn't know was that I packed my own swimsuit, and
it was a two-piece. Regardless of what she said, I was wearing it. I think it
flattered my figure just fine.

I quickly put it on along with a cover-up and grabbed a
towel and a book. Paul and mom were just getting in the house as I came down
the stairs.

“Going to the beach?” Paul asked excitedly.

“Yeah,” I responded, smiling. “That's the whole point, isn't
it?”

He smiled again while mom set some bags down. “You're
wearing one of those pretty suits?” she asked hopefully.

“Yep,” I lied. “I'm gonna go now,” I said quickly, heading
for the back door that led straight to the beach.

“We'll join you in a few minutes!” Paul called out. “Have
fun!”

I smiled as I slid open the glass door.

The sun was blinding and I realized I'd forgotten my sunglasses.
I tossed them on the table when I first came in along with the keys. I turned
around to go get them, but Paul was already there holding them out in his hand.
His blue eyes met my brown ones and we held each other's gaze for a split
second.

“Thought you'd need these,” he said, eyes now averted. Did
we just have a moment?

I reached out and took them. Our hands brushed together
slightly. “Thanks,” I breathed.

He nodded curtly then turned around, sliding the door closed
behind him. Slightly dazed, I continued my walk to the beach.

I found a spot just enough out of the sun for me to not burn
and started applying my sunscreen. I turned around to see if my mom and Paul
were close to getting ready, and noticed Paul staring at me from the corner of
his eye in the kitchen window. I waved and he turned away. Weird.

Soon enough, Paul and mom came bounding out of the house
like two tan models they hire for vacation commercials. I laughed out loud when
I realized that my mother was wearing the same bathing suit I was. Oh, she
would love that.

Paul didn't bother to wear a shirt and the muscles he got
from all of his exercise glistened in the beachy sunlight. He had a slight bit
of chest hair and six-pack abs that descended into a V-cut like I'd never seen.
His trunks sat low on his waist. I was not complaining.

“Well, baby, show me your suit!” mom prompted giddily. “It
looks so nice on you. Did you wear the blue one?”

I grinned a bit before saying, “Uh, no actually. Wore one of
my own.” I took off my cover-up and she gasped.

“Claire Elizabeth Wilkins! Where did you get that?” She
demanded.

“I've had this,” I insisted. “Where'd you get yours?”

Paul hadn't stopped giggling since he realized we were
wearing the same thing. “Well, one of you is going to have to change,” he
finally said through his laughter.

“Do not get sassy. Go change,” my mother commanded, pointing
to the house.

“Mom, no,” I insisted. “There's literally no one around,” I
said, gesturing to the empty beach. “Who is here to make you embarrassed of your
fat daughter?”

Her jaw tensed and she just harrumphed, sitting daintily in
her Adirondack chair. She closed her eyes and leaned back, clearly not
discussing it any further.

Paul put his hand on my back. “You look great,” he mouthed,
shaking his head in my mom's direction.

“Thanks,” I mouthed back. I turned and looked the ocean,
realizing that despite my bravado, I still got hurt by my mother's criticism.
Paul's kind words helped.

“Want to go in?” he asked energetically.

I groaned in response. The ocean wasn't really my thing. I
was too scared of mysterious things touching my feet to really enjoy myself.
Plus, the waves were strong here and I had a feeling I'd inevitably lose a part
of my bathing suit.

“Come on,” he coaxed, already a few steps ahead of me. He
waved for me to follow.

I finally gave in and started the walk down to the
waterside, conscious of my belly and thighs jiggling. I didn't think Paul had
ever seen me this way. It was a little intimidating considering his
athleticism.

Demonstrating just that, Paul waded out to his waist and
dove straight in. When he resurfaced, he called out, “Let's jump some waves!”

Despite my aversion to the ocean, I definitely did not have
an aversion to Paul. I acquiesced only slightly reluctantly. I mirrored his wade-then-dive
approach and resurfaced right next to him. “Okay,” I said. “So how do I do
this?”

“What?” Paul asked incredulously. “You're telling me you've
never done this?”

“I'm telling you I've never done this,” I said, a slightly
flirty tone to my voice that surprised even me.

He locked eyes with me again for a moment, then quickly
looked away.  “Okay, so see that wave coming?” He asked, pointing to a large
wave about to crest. I nodded. “When it gets close enough, dive under it.”

“Under it?” I asked. “I thought we were jumping them.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever. Look alive,
Claire!” he shouted just as the wave crested. He dove under gracefully while I
tumbled through the water, completely at the mercy of the ocean.

He emerged on the other side, exhilarated, while I tried to
regain my balance and get my bikini top to actually cover me. The wave must
have knocked it out of place and it was completely undone. Unknowingly, he
paddled over to me. “You okay?” he asked, a slight smile in his voice.

At that exact moment the tide went back out and I was fully
exposed. Oh no. Paul's eyes widened as I scrambled to get my top back in place.
I didn't say a word, but I noticed his stare.  He was looking at my breasts
straight on as if he couldn't look away. “Let's, uh,” he paused. “Let's just
take a break for a while, lay out in the sun.” Hurriedly, he got out of the
water and started the walk back toward my mother.

If anyone was embarrassed that day, it was definitely me.