In a daze, I turn around. The encounter seems like a blur.
Tasha hands me the wooden pegs to secure the mesh over the nest. “Was that Chad Kilmore? Doesn’t he have a job yet?”
I let out a sigh. “Who needs a job when you have Daddy’s money?”
“True. He must be incredibly bored. You’d think he’d want to do something productive, right?” She wipes the beads of moisture from her forehead and tucks a loose strand of hair into her ball cap. “The team sent me to get you. We’re ready to discuss the fundraiser this weekend and iron out all the details. Everyone’s excited about the kissing auction. Wait till you see the flyers.” She’s so giddy and enthusiastic about this. I couldn’t have picked a better person to organise our annual July fundraiser.
“Sounds great. Let’s get back to the hut.” The sun beats down on my back, burning through the cotton t-shirt I’m wearing. I squint as I glance back at the British guy sitting on a lounger. He raises the bottle and nods before I turn around in a huff and head towards the beach hut.
I’m not irked at him as much as I am my body for betraying me. Rich guys are all the same. They only care about themselves. Growing up here my whole life and dealing with his kind has been the bane of my existence.
Chapter Two
FINN
“She thinks she owns this beach. You should’ve put her in her place,” Chad scoffs.
I sip my beer, the cool liquid going down easy in this blazing heat. “She’ll warm up to me once I break through that hard shell.” I huff over the bottle at my joke. The sun must be getting to me.
“Bud. There’s no way mental Myrtle’s warming up to you. She’s been the ice queen for as long as I’ve known her.” Chad drops onto the beach blanket in front of me.
I can’t help the grin on my face, thinking of how I could make her warm to me. “You haven’t seen me turn on the charm, mate. Girls go nuts for this British accent.”
“Wanna bet?” Chad turns in her direction and points his bottle towards her. “I bet you can’t even get a kiss, let alone get in her pants.”
“Watch me. You might learn how to treat a lady. I thought all you Southerners were supposed to be gentlemen.” Though the sight of the curvy blonde withfrizzy hair blowing in the ocean breeze fills my mind with ungentlemanly thoughts.
“Bud, you’re on. If you can warm up Myrtle, maybe she wouldn’t be on our case with the ball games every five fucking minutes.”
“Who’s warming up turtle Myrtle?” Cavill says. Another one of my dad’s acquaintances.
Hang out with them, Dad said. Get to know them, he said. It’ll be fun, he said.
I prefer the art studio over the beach. Besides bumping into the turtle girl, the day’s been so fucking boring. At almost thirty, I’m beyond games, but maybe I can teach these twats a few manners. If it wasn’t for my father, I wouldn’t be hanging out with these morons.
“Why do you call her that?” I take another sip of beer, watching the curvy blonde disappear into the distance.
“Because she’s weird. All she cares about are the animals. She’s like Dr. Dolittle or something,” Bentley, Chad’s cousin, the dentist says.
Cavill opens the cooler. “Chad’s pissed that she got him in trouble with the cops in our teens when she ratted on him.” Cavill opens his beer and points in Chad’s direction. “He burned down the beach signs her family erected. They thought they owned the beach, too. Whole family are do-gooders.”
“Correction, Cav. She tried to get me in trouble. Dad resolved things with the sheriff. She has no right to stake signs everywhere anyway,” Chad says.
“Isn’t she simply protecting the sea life?” I pinch my eyebrows, wondering what I’m doing with these idiots. They’re around my age, but act so much younger.
“The sea life belongs in the sea. The beach is for us. I’m not having some hippie chick tell me where I can playball.” Chad scowls toward the girl as if he can fire lasers with his eyes.
“But mate, it’s for the turtles.” My voice comes off a little sarcastic, but I don’t mean to be. I admire anyone standing up for their passion. I attended many rallies with my mother growing up. She was always marching for some cause, whether it was women’s rights, poverty, more funding for the NHS. My mother was always leading the campaign until she sold out for the Chancellor of the Exchequer role. She wanted to change the world one bill at a time, but all she does lately is kiss the Prime Minister’s arse and raise taxes.
Chad huffs. “The turtles can breed farther down the beach. This is our turf.”
“You mean sand,” Bentley says with a chuckle, his teeth whiter than his cousin’s under the sun’s rays.
I don’t bother saying any more. As my mum always says, you can’t argue with stupid. My head shakes and I question what the fuck I’m doing here. Oh yeah, mother dearest sent me to work with my father because she didn’t want me embarrassing her while she announced the new budget.
The press would have a field day taking pictures of me spending Mummy’s money and living it up when there’s a cost-of-living crisis going on. I get it. Having to make cuts and raise taxes while you’re out spending money is just embarrassing.
Relaxing on the sun lounger, I try not to dwell on Britain and the bunch of tossers running the country. Except for Mum, of course. The sun’s rays warm my face and I close my eyes, thinking of the strawberry blonde and those bangers. Turtle girl has a decent rack, one I could bury my face in.
