Until they heard sirens.
“Uh, Grandma?” Travis scratched his head. “You did get a license from the fire department to set off fireworks on the beach, right?”
Grandma’s silence was answer enough.
Everyone jumped to their feet and made a run for it. All the while Grandma yelled, “I’m not going back to the slammer!”
Luckily they made it safely into the house just as the fire truck and cops showed up on the beach. They turned off all the lights and locked the door.
“On that note,” Grandma sighed happily, “Shall we all go to bed?”
“Yes.” Travis growled, pulling Kacey against him.
Kacey pulled away. “Not until the wedding, hot shot… enjoy the couch.” She slapped his stomach and winked, but Travis wasn’t having any of it. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly, pushing her against the wall.
“Close your eyes,” Jake whispered in Char’s ear. “Last time I kept them open too long I saw tongue—haven’t been the same ever since.”
He let out a grunt when Char smacked him on the stomach and made her way to the bedroom.
“Oh, and Char? You and Jake can take the loft.” Grandma waved good night and walked off.
“But…” Char called to her. “Aren’t there more rooms?”
“Nope,” Jake murmured under his breath. “Looks like you’re stuck with me. Look on the bright side. It’s still your birthday; maybe you’ll get lucky.”
He moved away before Char could hit him. “And maybe you’ll survive the night without getting castrated.”
“Not what you said last time.”
Char glared. “You really want to bring up last time when I’m this close to knives and matches?”
Jake nodded and backed away. “I’ll just go take a shower and see if I can’t find you something to wear to bed.”
Chapter Nineteen
He was fine.
Fine, fine, fine.
Way too many fines in that sentence. Sure, Jake was doing a stellar job of convincing himself that being in the same room with Char wasn’t going to kill him. It was like junior high camp all over again. Except this time, he knew exactly what he was missing out on while the girl slept far, far, away from him.
He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to focus on the task at hand: finding Char some clothes. Then again, no clothes were always an option. He smirked, then remembered her threat and continued his search.
Opening up the top dresser door, he found some boxers and a t-shirt he used to wear in high school. Those would work.
By the time he had climbed the stairs to the loft he had almost convinced himself that it wasn’t a big deal. “Almost” being the key word.
Char was already lying on the bed, her legs crossed and her arms behind her head, causing her breasts to push against her dress in such a dizzying way that Jake had to close his eyes for a brief second. Take that back—not like junior high camp, not at all.
“I found you clothes.” He threw them toward her face. Okay, so maybe kind of like junior high camp after all, since he was still bullying the girls he liked. Where had his game gone? Out the window, that’s where.
“Thanks,” Char muttered, pulling the clothes off her face. “Hey, I remember this shirt.” She laughed and held it up to her chest. “Man of the Year, huh?”
Jake scratched his head and looked away. “Yeah, well, that was a long time ago.” He had been voted Man of the Year in high school, which basically to a hormonal teenage guy meant he was some sort of sexual god sent down to give attention to all girls within his vicinity. They’d loved that shirt. Every time he wore it—well, let’s just say every time he wore it, he was tardy to class.
“I hated this shirt.” Char put it on the bed and sighed.
“You hated it?” Jake took a seat next to her and grabbed the shirt. Had he really been that small? Hell, back in the day he’d thought he was a cut, muscled god. Pathetic, really. The shirt wouldn’t even fit him now.
“Hated it.” Char leaned back on her arms. “I thought it was stupid that people voted on something so silly and that girls took it so seriously. Like, oh my gosh! Did you see Jake Titus today? He’s so hot and he’s wearing the shirt. You know what that means!”
“Shit, how’d you know?”
“Everyone knew.” Char laughed. “If you wore the shirt, it meant you were ready for a little… extracurricular make out session behind the gym. Girls would go to their lockers, add lipstick, hike up their skirts, and just wait for you to pick them. So yeah, I hated that shirt.” She sighed. “Not that much has changed, though. At least now you get your pick without the shirt, right?”
He didn’t really know what to say to that. Was he supposed to agree? Or just lie his ass off? Because technically and sadly, she was right.
“Anyway, I need to change.” She looked at him pointedly.
He didn’t move.