June has only one more summer before she marries her high school sweetheart. She intends to make the most of it, but she has no idea what is waiting for her in Dolphin Coast. Socks on the Beach is a tale of steamy love, jaw-dropping heartbreak, and...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Nathan! Thank God you're okay!" Louise's concerned voice rattled loudly through my phone and I winced, frantically rummaging through my exploding dresser drawer for shorts.
It was too hot for pants and I was late for brunch.
"I'm so sorry, Louise," I paused, turning my phone onto speaker mode before setting it on the cherry-wood dresser. "My phone was dead or I would've called you. I spent the night at a...at a friend's house and time got away from me. I'll be there in fifteen minutes!"
Aha! Found them!
I clumsily hopped into a pair of khaki shorts, stumbling in the process and falling sideways into my wooden bed frame. I groaned at the impact.
"A friend, eh?" She teased, her tone suddenly playful and smiling.
"Don't want to hear it," I grumbled back before quickly ending the conversation.
I pulled a navy blue short-sleeve shirt over my head, loosely shaking my curls back out after their brief constriction. Finding a seat on my bed, I pulled on a pair of socks and my Chuck Taylor's.
As I brushed my teeth, I had a brush with genius and grabbed my new signature cologne, apparently: Vanilla Bourbon. I sprayed it over my stale, sticky body.
I hope I don't still smell like alcohol... or weed...
My movements since I'd woken up this afternoon had been incredibly purposeful, calculated and carried out quickly.
Anything to put me back where I belonged: with my family. Last night I didn't just draw a line in the sand with June; I bombed the sandstone bridge.
I did what I had to.
Clearly, I can't control myself around her.
She was coke and I was the fresh shell of an addict, that first moment of pure adrenaline and euphoria meant to get me hooked and it had. She was in my gums.
I spat into the sink.
Static rattled through my silver KIA Soul's speakers on the short drive to Granny's Place, the locally controversial red-brick cafe in downtown Dolphin Coast. Gravel crunched under my tires. I didn't notice the lack of music on the radio until the engine cut off with the turn of my key, its paw-printed lanyard tickling the tops of my thighs. Sighing, I got out.
Inside, the smell of coffee prickled on my nose hairs and I resisted the urge to flare my nostrils in response. I found Louise and Garrison at our usual table, with the classic red and white tablecloth and the folding menus which depicted a cartoon 'Grandma' in various sexually charged poses and scenes. Right above an unsavory image of a caked-up old lady licking a mayo-covered hotdog was the decades-old promise: 'Granny's Place: Never Leave Hungry.'
