Killer Summer by Lynda Curnyn (e book reading free .txt) 📗

in. Almost.“Wait—don’t you think we should, like, use a condom?”

She shook her head furiously. “My father’s had me on the pill since I was, like, twelve.” She slid farther down, and though stopping her now was pure torture, stop her I did. Because the mention of Daddy Dear reminded me of something else.

“We can’t do it here. Your father could be back any minute!”

She looked at me then, eyes narrowing as a small smile creased her mouth. “Don’t you think I know that?”

And then, before I could utter another protest, she slid down the rest of the way. Ahhhhhh… So tight…so fucking tight.

Okay, we’ll make this a quick one.

That was probably the last sensible thought I had. Because everything else flew out of my head at the sight of Francesca, rising up and down above me, her round breasts jiggling, her pink lips parted and she let out the sweetest, softest little moans, her bangs falling gently over her eyes, which were shut. God, I would have given anything for her to open them just then, to look at me. But it seemed to me the closer Francesca got to that power-gasm she clearly was moving toward, the farther I felt from her.

Which I suppose if this were, like, a movie or something, I should have taken as foreshadowing.

Because the minute Francesca rattled out a groan that made clear she had peaked, I heard the shush of the sliding door. “I’m home!” came Tom’s cheerful voice, and suddenly she was off me like a shot, grabbing up her robe and darting from the room, leaving me to come—probably out of shock more than anything else—all over myself.

But I suppose things could have been worse.

The door creaked open again, and I pulled the comforter over myself, trying not to visibly cringe as I felt it come into contact with the stickier parts of my stomach.

Tom popped his head in. “Oh, you’re up.”

Umm, not quite. At least not anymore. “Uh, yeah, I’m up. Sorta.” I blinked, as if perhaps he had woken me from a dream rather than the fantasy I’d just been living in. “I think everyone’s pretty much in bed. Asleep, that is. Except maybe Zoe. I think I heard her go out a little while ago.”

He frowned. “That’s strange. I thought I heard Francesca.” Then he shrugged. “Well, Les is on his way to the hospital. I’m sure you’ll sleep better tonight knowing your friend is all right.” Then he smiled, his expression satisfied.

“Yeah, I’ll be sleeping well tonight,” I said quickly. Just as soon as I cleaned up the evidence.

God, I was gonna sleep like a baby. As long as I forgot about the fact that I had just boned Tom’s baby, right in his fucking bedroom.

Hazardous. Jesus, I must be crazy.

Just as crazy as Francesca was, apparently.

Chapter Twenty-six

Zoe

Inside I’m screaming. And not for ice cream, either.

I had found Myles’s beach house easily enough, now that I had an address. But once I stood outside Daydream Believer, I wasn’t sure what I was doing there. Or if he was even home yet from his dinner date. All I knew was that I needed to see him. In fact, I was just contemplating throwing a rock at his window— assuming I could figure out which window belonged to Myles—when Myles himself came out the front door, looking positively adorable in a khaki green T-shirt and dark blue surfer shorts.

God, I was glad to see him. Especially after the night I’d had. He had a stabilizing effect on me.

“Hey,” I said, both relieved and embarrassed to be caught standing staring up at his window—yet again.

Still, he smiled anyway. “You stalking me now?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” I smiled. “So where’re you going at this hour?”

“In search of Moose Tracks.”

“I hate to break it to you, Myles, but there isn’t a moose on the island. Deer maybe.”

He shook his head. “No, silly,” he said, grabbing the brim of my baseball cap and giving my head a playful shake. “The ice cream. You know, peanut butter cups and fudge in vanilla ice cream. Moose Tracks. You’ve never had it?“

“Can’t say that I have,” I replied, wondering who had turned him on to this new flavor. When we were together, it was Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” I said, “but it’s almost midnight, Myles. The market is closed.”

“They sell it at The Inn,” he said. “Walk with me?”

I fell into step beside him, starting in immediately on the topic that weighed on my mind. “So I almost lost another housemate tonight to Mother Ocean.”

“What?” Myles looked at me.

“Well, not exactly a housemate. This guy, Les—a friend of Nick’s. He went out for a little walk on the beach by himself. Then a swim. Or who knows what? The next thing you know, he’s swallowing a lungful.”

“There seems to be a lot of that going around.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll never guess who came to Les’s rescue.”

“Who?”

“Tom Landon, of all people.”

“Really?”

“You should have seen him, Myles. It kinda reminded me of that night—the night I found Maggie. The way Tom just snapped to attention. Like he was some kind of rescue robot. He knew exactly what to do. And he wasted no time doing it. Diving into that ocean—” I shivered, the memory coming back of watching Tom getting smaller and smaller against those dark waves. “Pulling Les out. Applying CPR. I could have filmed the whole thing and turned it into an instructional video.”

“Wow. Who knew he had it in him?”

“Yeah.” Then I laughed, but the sound was without humor. “Too bad he didn’t get a chance to try that technique out on his wife.”

I felt Myles looking at me. “I see someone has revised her opinion of Tom Landon.”

I sighed. “Not exactly. I mean, yeah, he was a hero tonight, but there was something…I don’t know. Something strange about it. Almost bloodless. It was as if, paradoxically, Tom