"You aren't going to the beach like that." Asher Adams, my father stood with his heavily tattooed arms crossed in the kitchen of our expansive Malibu home. A you shall not pass unmovable mountain of muscle.
This argument was one we'd already had three times this summer. A repeat trade of jabs. Where he'd say I was practically naked and I would remind him it was my body my choice.
To his credit, usually my swim wear was of the one piece variety, but this summer I'd given up on covering up. I was at my own home, and I had as much of a right to a two piece as the next girl...with a semi-private beach...in one of the nations most expensive zip codes. Malibu, USA baby.
"You act like your pool parties back in the day we're so PG..." I grumbled, switching strategies, having heard stories from Uncle Snake.
"What did you say, young lady?" He dug in further, and I rolled my green eyes behind my black cat eye sunglasses. My mother had taken me to Kitson, a small trendy boutique on Robertson Blvd, and helped me pick out the tiny black thong bikini set which complimented my full breasts and thin hips.
It was so unlike anything else I'd owned, living in sweats and UCLA sweaters, dressing in menswear that overwhelmed my 5'10" frame. I hated anything tight fitting and exposing, and this swim suit was everything I hated and more. Not that my mother really noticed, she talked to me as she texted one of her many needy song writing clients.
"I wasn't implying anything, daddy. Truly." I insisted, trying my damndest to win him over despite everyone knowing my younger sister, Collins, was his favorite. She could do no wrong, even when she totaled her fully loaded BMW X5 - three months after her sixteenth birthday.
"You know you aren't a child anymore..." My father chastised, taking a long sip out of his Coke can on the quartz countertop. "You have to be careful how you act, and dress, and behave, you don't want guys to get the wrong impression..."
Except I did. I was sick of being the only virgin in college, so freaking innocent, when every other girl in my dorm was on their third or fourth sexually active relationship...that month.
It wasn't like I hadn't had my fair share of opportunities. There was Chad, the football player who felt me up on my twin bed, and Rashad who kissed me at the dance club, and Kyle who put his hands down my pants in his Maserati, but all had failed to seal the deal. Which was entirely my fault. I couldn't do it. Couldn't do anyone else, because there was only one person I wanted. And he was two thousand miles away. In a different country. Forgetting I existed for the past four and half years...
"Daddy, it's just a swim suit." I insisted, pulling my thoughts away from him.
"And hell is just hot yoga." He rebutted.
I stifled my laughter. My father was always so strict, while my mother was so laid back. The dynamic was so incredibly backwards considering their pasts, and how fucking stuffy my grandparents on my mother's side were.
"Did you forget our beach is practically private?" I challenged, my hands on my hips, digging into the concave parts of my hip bones. "Unless you're concerned Mr. and Mrs. Rollins will return from their Croatian vacation, or weird Mrs. Weinholtz will re-surface for the first time in five years..."
"Anything's possible..." He grunted, rolling his brilliant hazel eyes, eyes that matched my sister's. Our eyes weren't our only difference. My slim nose and hips and my large lips and bust came from my mother. As did my naturally blonde hair that I kept cut just below my chin in a severe bob. Today, I'd pulled my platinum locks up tight into a bun at the nape of my neck - all in anticipation of surfing.
YOU ARE READING
The Sweetest Summer
Romance**COMPLETE** Elijah West was everything, and I was just...Avery Adams. The tomboy, the girl next door, the friend zone occupant. The girl who somehow grew up while he was gone filming his television show. But this summer he's back, and the sparks a...
