Girlfriend of a Surfer Read online

  Girlfriend of a Surfer

  ALSO BY BEBE WILDE

  Sleeping Around: A Novel

  Hot Sex, Cool Erotica: Stories of Pleasure and Fantasy

  Adults Only: Seven Erotica Shorts

  Adults Only: Seven Erotica Shorts - Volume 2

  Adults Only: Seven Erotica Shorts - Volume 3

  Sex Story: An Erotica Short

  Sex Story - Part 2: An Erotica Short

  Sex Story - Part 3: An Erotica Short

  Love Hurts: A BDSM Erotica Short

  A Hot Fireman: An Erotica Short

  A Little Bit Submissive

  A Little Bit Rough

  A Little Bit Controlling

  The A Little Bit Trilogy Bundle

  You, Me and Him: A Ménage Erotica Short

  Cold Hard Cash: A Story of Erotica

  Sexual Tension: A BDSM Erotica Story

  The Weaker Sex: BDSM Erotica

  Merci: A Story of Erotica, Sex and Romance

  At the End of the Day: An Office Sex Erotica Short

  On the Same Page: An Office Sex Erotica Story

  Girlfriend of a Surfer

  Bebe Wilde

  Abernathy and Monroe

  Girlfriend of a Surfer: A Novel. Copyright © 2014 by Bebe Wilde.

  Published by Abernathy and Monroe.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher. For information, email [email protected]

  eBook ISBN–13: 978-1-938107-61-0

  eBook ISBN–10: 1-938107-61-6

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  For those who never stop looking for a sweet spot.

  Contents

  The Beast

  Taco Night

  The Stick Bug Has Moved

  Jackpot!

  Money Changes Everything

  Time to Say Goodbye

  Aloha

  The Beast

  “Bear!”

  He didn’t budge. He looked as snug as a bug in a rug, which made me want to throttle him. I held back my anger, just barely, and yelled, “Bear! Wake up!”

  One eye blinked open. He was finally waking up. He moaned something I couldn’t understand, then he pushed his head into his pillow and went right back to sleep. That really irritated me. If he weren’t so damned good looking, I might have done him some bodily harm.

  “I swear to God if you don’t wake up, you are going to regret the day you were born!” I yelled.

  He moaned, groaned and then rolled into a semi-sitting position, pushing the hair out of his face. He managed to mumble, “Yes, my love?”

  I was so pissed off at him my chest tightened and my heart raced. What the hell was I doing here, with him? I stared at his handsome face, those piercing blue eyes and that muscular body. Then I remembered. Oh. That’s what I was doing with him. He was hot and had the body of a champion surfer, which he used to be. The upper part of his left arm was covered in a big tattoo, which made him even sexier. However, he wasn’t a champion surfer anymore. Now he was just a bum. My boyfriend was a bum. A good looking bum with a stellar body, but a bum nonetheless.

  He gave me a sideways glance and yawned, then glanced again. “God, you look hot today, babe.”

  I groaned. He told me this all the time. He loved the way I looked. I think that’s the only reason he put up with me, to be honest. When we first met, he told me I didn’t look like anyone he’d ever seen; in fact the words he used were “unusually beautiful.” Like I was from another country. But I wasn’t. I was just a country girl from the south. I had long, dark hair, pretty blue eyes and a spray of freckles across my nose. I was dressed for work in a pair of distressed skinny jeans and a black button down silk shirt. I had on a pair of wedges to add a few inches to my height, and my hair was in a high ponytail. I glanced at the mirror. Yes, I guess I looked hot. Regardless, he was really, really pissing me off.

  “Bear,” I said evenly. “You’ve got to get your ass out of that bed!”

  He looked up at me and yawned. “What is it, Willa?”

  I gave him a look. “It’s the car again,” I said. “The alternator.”

  “It’s not the alternator,” he groaned. “It’s the battery.”

  “It’s the alternator!” I yelled. “I’ve told you a hundred times to get it fixed!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said and eyed me. “Why are you leaving so early?”

  “Because I don’t want to get stuck in traffic,” I said. “Why else? You know, some of us have to work. We have to worry about things like traffic.”

  “Take the Beast,” he moaned, then added, as if to appease me, “Please.”

  “No!” I yelled. “Get up and help me! I’m going to be late for work!”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said and rolled out of bed, his bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thump.

  If this were a movie, we’d cut to the car, which was sitting in the short driveway dead as a doornail. Then we’d have a close-up of Bear’s hand turning the key. And then the droning sound of a car that would not start and then cut to him driving me to work. But that’s not the way it happened, not with him. He actually got out of bed, then sat back down and grabbed my hand. The next thing I knew, we were kissing and I was on top of him, feeling his morning wood. His hands were all over me, grabbing me, pulling at my clothes and then I was naked and so was he. We rolled over and he was on top and his hand went between my legs, touching me right there, hitting my spot and I came just like that.

  “You’re so wet,” he moaned and kissed me.

  “Shh,” I moaned back. “Just fuck me.”

  While he was barely functioning a few moments ago, he was now was fully alert and more than happy to comply. He was inside me then, filling me up and he was fucking me. I kissed him hard as all the sensations began to play with me, bringing me into another orgasm. He licked and sucked on my nipple just as I felt it start to build and I grabbed into the back of his head as it gripped me, spun me almost out of control and then left. Whew! He was right there, coming then, pumping into me. He finished with one last, hard thrust. Then it was over. And it had only taken about five minutes. Talk about efficiency. I loved quickies.

  “God, I love you,” he said and kissed me again.

  I pulled away. “Shut up and fix my car.”

  Minutes later, we were standing beside it. Well, I was. He was inside of it, trying to get it to turn over. It refused. The car hated my guts, always had. I had wanted it so much, too, this older black BMW coupe, but it had never been good to me. I knew that I should just break up with it so we could go our separate ways.

  “I think you’re right,” he said. “It’s the alternator.”

  “Damn it!” I hissed and shook my head, noticing that it was getting light outside and I was going to be late for work. Again. All because of this car. All because I could not afford a new one. If my boss weren’t my best friend, I might have been worried about getting fired. I thought about relaying all this to Bear and really amp it up just to irritate him, but then realized he’d just say, “Cool. Now we can catch some of those early waves together, babe.”

  I just wanted to bang my head on the top of the car. I was already in so much emotional pain a little physical discomfort couldn’t hurt. This was getting so old. Bear got out and stared at me, then turned his head towards his car, an old, and I mean old International Scout. It would have to be old because they
hadn’t made them in years. The Beast was big and looked angry. And a little sad. It might have looked like that because of the shade of red it used to be before the sun had faded it out. You didn’t drive that thing. You fought with it and hoped it would take pity on you and allow you to get where you needed to go. I crossed my arms and said, “No.”

  “What do you have against the Beast?” he asked and shook his head as if I’d wounded his ego.

  I shuddered, just thinking about driving it. “It runs worse than my car.”

  “It’s been doing pretty good lately,” he said. “I had it tuned up and got the brakes fixed.”

  “I know,” I said. “I paid the bill.”

  “Then you already know all this.”

  He winked at me, trying his best to be charming. And, yes, he was charming. He was so charming he could get anything he wanted. But all he wanted was me. At least that’s what he said. Oh, and some good waves. Surfing and I were his two biggest passions. He reminded me of this on a daily basis and it got on my nerves so bad. “Whatever,” I muttered.

  “Keys are in it,” he told me and pointed.

  I rolled my eyes. Only Bear would leave his keys in his car. But then again, who would want to steal that thing? They wouldn’t get a half mile down the road before the fucker bombed out, forcing them to abandon it. Yes, that had happened at least twice since I’d known the Beast. Yet, I didn’t want to even look at it and instead looked at my car, my cool little coupe, willing it to start so I wouldn’t have to drive the Beast. But, no, that wasn’t going to happen. I turned to the Beast and took it in. It was classic and probably could have been cool if it weren’t adorned with so many rust sports and if the interior wasn’t just about shot. You could actually see the pavement through the holes in the floorboard. And it was just too big. But none of that was the real problem with the Beast. It was just too difficult to keep in the road. It wanted to veer to the right and it wanted to bounce and wobble. The thing was constantly torn up and covered in sand. But it held Bear’s boards and several of his buddies, too. And that was all that mattered. At least to Bear.

  “I can’t,” I said. “Maybe you should drive me.”

  “No way,” he said. “Me and Bernie are hitting the early waves this morning.”

  I didn’t know who Bernie was and this was this was the first time I’d heard of him. But Bear was always making new friends, so I didn’t give it much thought. I could hear the ocean breaking just yards from our front door in the sweet spot of Manhattan Beach, California. I could also see some surfers padding barefoot down the street, their boards tucked under their arms and headed for the beach.

  I nodded at him and said, sarcastically, of course, “Nice life, Bear.”

  “And it’s yours to join,” he said not noticing the sarcasm.

  “If I didn’t work, we wouldn’t have any food or electricity or clothes.”

  “I can live on love,” he said and tried to hug me.

  I punched him on the arm and shook my head. “Get my fucking car fixed today.”

  “I will get your fucking car fixed today,” he said and grinned at me. “You look beautiful. You should just take the day off.”

  Every day of my life he tried to get me to not go into work and join him “in the water.” Every. Single. Day. And every day I tried to sneak off to work so I could avoid these conversations. I would have done so today if my junky car had been working. But, really, how many women have the problem of their boyfriends always trying to get them to ditch work? It was ludicrous.

  I turned and was about climb into the Beast when I spied my favorite thing in the whole wide world. “Cupcake!” I squealed as our neighbor’s English bulldog came waddling up to me. He came every morning to say goodbye and get his love from me. I bent down and slapped my thigh, urging him to come to me. He made it over as quickly as his stubby legs would carry him and stopped. I scratched then kissed his head. “Oh, you are so cute!”

  “I think you like that dog more than me,” Bear said.

  “I think you’re right,” I said and kissed Cupcake’s head again. “You’re a good, good doggie, aren’t you, sweetie sugar lump?”

  “You know, he’s a dude, right?” he asked. “Look at the size of his balls.”

  I groaned. “Shut up! I know he’s a boy, but the name Cupcake makes me think of a girl.” I paused and thought about it. “What kind of person names a male dog Cupcake?”

  He shrugged and eyed the dog. “That’s just old James,” he said. “He’s weird like that and a total grey belly.”

  It was true. He was weird. And a total grey belly, which basically meant he was an old surfer with a big belly. But his was unusually large. I’d never seen a belly like that on any man, let alone on any surfer. It was like he had swallowed a beach ball whole. But he was better than most, even if he was older than everyone else by a hundred years. At least. However, like most of the residents of the neighborhood, he grabbed his board and took off to hit the waves every morning. Cupcake usually lagged behind to see me before heading there himself.

  Cupcake nosed my purse. I grinned. “You want your treat, don’t you?” I asked and pulled out a dog treat and fed him. Yes, I kept dog treats in there for him. He and I have a special relationship. Yes, I know it seems weird but I loved that fucking dog. I scratched his ears as he ate it. “Good, good doggie.”

  “You never do that for me,” Bear said. “You never give me kisses like that or treats.”

  “What kind of person wants a dog treat?” I asked, staring over my shoulder at him.

  “I didn’t mean it like that!” he exclaimed.

  I ignored him and gave Cupcake one last kiss on his head then stood. “Cupcake, go home,” I said and pointed to him. He waddled over and stood next to Bear. “He doesn’t have the treats, Cupcake,” I told him and glared at Bear. “You need to remember which side your bread is buttered on.”

  “He wants to go to the beach with me,” Bear said and leaned down to scratch his head.

  “Bad dog!” I said and pointed to him. “I gotta go.” With reluctance, I headed to the Beast and opened the door, wincing as it creaked, and climbed in. Oh, boy. Was this really my life? I shook my head and prayed that one day I could afford a new car. Please, God, a new car, please…

  “Kiss,” Bear said and held the door open.

  “Seriously?” I said. “Go kiss your board.”

  “But I want to kiss my lady,” he said and put his foot on the running board and leaned in towards me.

  I wriggled away and shook my head. “Leave me alone! And stop calling me lady!” Ugh! I hated it when he called me that! It was my biggest pet peeve. Who referred to their girlfriend as their “lady” anyway?

  He managed to kiss my cheek, nuzzle my neck, then stepped back and slammed the door. “Have a great day! I love you!”

  “I love you, too!” I hollered, and then added, “Cupcake!” Cupcake gave me a bark back and I grinned, and then looked at Bear, who was holding his hands up in mock anguish. “I love you, too!” I added because he looked so pitiful. And hot.

  “Finally!” he said then waved me away.

  I started the Beast, then put it in reverse and backed onto the street. Before I put it in drive, I glanced over at Bear, standing in the driveway of our little house just steps from the beach in sunny Southern California. He looked lean, as most surfers do, but with broader shoulders and was more muscular. He was also very tan. His longish hair was streaked with blonde highlights courtesy of the sun. He was hot, hot, hot. He looked like a vision, like the perfect man. Even his beard, which I normally hated because it was so coarse on my skin, made him look just rough enough to give a girl pause. I was about to smile at him, at his good looks, when he slipped his hand into the back of his boxers and scratched his ass.

  Just like a man. They know how to ruin everything.

  “Don’t forget to pick up my lottery ticket!” he called.

  He was obsessed wit
h winning the lottery. He played every week. Actually, I was technically the one playing as he always somehow talked me into picking up his ticket. It got on my nerves, to say the least. I mean, what kind of man asks his girlfriend to get his lottery ticket? It was just so white trash. And why was he still playing the lottery? He’d played for years and still hadn’t won. It looks like he would have gotten the point.

  “To hell with your lottery ticket,” I muttered under my breath and navigated the Beast down the street.

  * * * * *

  I worked as a house stager and with my BFF, Quinn Howard. I got to go into multimillion dollar homes, throw some furniture around and make them look even nicer than they already were. It also made me feel bad about my little beach shack. I don’t know what it was about working in these houses that made me feel inadequate, but it always did. I guess it made me jealous that I wasn’t living in some fabulous Malibu beach house or some giant home in the Hollywood Hills. The houses always reminded me that I lived in Manhattan Beach in a tiny, one-bedroom house with my surfer boyfriend.

  I met Quinn at the house we were staging in Los Feliz, a two-story Spanish house that made me weak in the knees. We’d already been there a few days earlier to scope out the project and make a list of things we’d need to stage it with and I had fallen in love. I don’t know if it’s possible to fall in love with an actual house, but I had. I yearned a little for it, too. It was perfect, just perfect with dark wood floors, big, wide rooms, a custom white kitchen and an over-sized walk-in shower in the master bath. I had imagined living there, throwing parties, lounging around the backyard pool and just having enough space to breathe. The thought of putting my clothes into the master closet gave me goosebumps. Our little beach house was so tiny and this house was so large. It was just so gorgeous that I wanted to buy it and live there forever. What would it be like to live in such a spectacular place? I would never know, mainly because I’d never be able to afford it, at least not on my salary.