Giving In: The Sandy Cove Series (Book 1) by M.R. Joseph Read Free Book Online

can make out her freckles that are splayed across her nose. I didn’t notice them last year or this morning. I like freckles, but this one’s a pain in the ass, so I try to pay no mind to how cute they are.
    “I am not sexually frustrated, you puerile neanderthal. But why is it that everywhere I am, you are? I thought I told you to get lost?”
    What’s with her and the big words? She sounds like Max and his big brain.
    “I did get lost, Little Miss Mike Tyson. I left the damn house to get away from you.”
    “Me? Get away from me? Of all the asinine things. I don’t even think you fathom the extent of the things you have done to me.”
    I am who I am. I’m not a revenge kind of guy by nature, but pushed far enough, I can easily be persuaded.
    I inch a little closer to her. Her friends are by her side, but I lean into her ear so that only she can hear me.
    “Listen, baby, let’s not forget about the things that you have done to me.” I wiggle my eyebrows up and down and slowly trace my lower lip with the very tip of my tongue.
    I can see it, the steam coming out of her ears. The color in her cheeks is heating up to a nice dark pink, and it’s not because of the sun. I can really get under her skin, rouse her up. Drive her absolutely, bat-shit crazy. This is going to be a fun summer.
    Porter and Max make their way down to where we are and they stand beside me. Boys on one side, girls on the other, and it looks like a standoff. Shit, the tension is fierce. I like a little heat. I like a little drama. I’m the king of it.
    “Well guys, Miss Hannum here thinks she owns the beach. I am here just being innocent, trying to take a nap, and my cojones were trying to rest as well. They’ve been through a war today thanks to you, baby.”
    She seethes at me, despises me, and has a true distaste for me and my words. She shuts her eyes as tight as she can, rolling her lips between her teeth. She speaks through them, not opening her mouth much, but the words are clear.
    “I told you, do not call me baby. I am not your baby. I loathe the word. It makes me ill. I will, however, apologize for my impetuous assault on your… well, those.” She motions towards Morty and the boys.
    “Fine. I accept. Now I will also apologize for making you look like a total ass the other night. It wasn’t professional of me. Truce?” I extend my hand to her, and she is reluctant to take it, so I repeat my mantra.
    “Come on, Harlow. Truce?”
    She does take it. I squeeze and allow my fingers to graze, gently, the top of her hand, which makes her pull away from my grip, fast. She acts like my hand was on fire. Jeez.
    Porter lays his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it.
    “Cruz, I’m proud of you man. It’s going to be a long summer, and I really don’t want any trouble in my parent’s house, and Willow’s mom will go ballistic if anything happens to hers. If we all have to live next to each other this summer, we all have to get along.”
    Everyone nods, except for Harlow.
    Ha!
    She figured it out.
    She knows.
    Awesome.
    Oh, shit. Nevermind.
    Her calmness is now replaced with a look of terror.
    “What do you mean, Porter, if we have to live next to each other? Who? Us, you and Max? Please explain before I go mad?”
    “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Cruz is our roommate. He’s going to be living in my house with Max and me, and…”
    Harlow is grabbing her towel and beach bag, stuffing the contents that were on her towel into her bag. When she’s done, she swings the bag over her shoulder and starts to walk away, fast.
    Her friends begin to yell at her to come back.
    Harlow turns and walks back, well, almost running towards us.
    “I’m not living here, Willow, with that, that, that man-whore.” She motions to me, and I have to agree once again.
    My name is Raphael Patrick Cruz, and I am a man-whore.
    Yes. My middle name is Patrick, my crack-head mother is a mick. So!
    She gets in my face (ohh, how I have a newfound love for freckles)