Flirting with Boys Read online

  “Yeah?”

  “A guest at the Saunders guesthouse would like you to bring over …” Celeste quickly glanced down at Travis to see if he had heard that name, but luckily his eyes were still closed. She turned down the volume on the radio and pressed it against her ear.

  “Ah, here it is.” Rick apparently found his list. “Two towels, one glass of Perrier with lemons but no ice, a slice of wheat toast with butter and strawberry jam, and a copy of Us Weekly.” He paused. “Celeste?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” Celeste said into the radio, resisting the urge to bang her head against the tree branch. Us Weekly? What did he think she was, a flight attendant?

  “Look, Rick, just tell him—” Her father’s voice suddenly boomed in her head, like some sort of edict from God: Keeping the Saunders family happy should be your number one priority. Celeste gritted her teeth and sighed. “Rick?”

  “Still here.”

  “Tell the, ah, guest that I’ll be right over.” She slid down from her tree perch and landed with a thump next to Travis.

  “Mmm,” he muttered without opening his eyes.

  “Definitely nap time. Come here.” He reached for her but she stood up.

  “Trav, I have to go deal with a guest situation. Rick just called over on the radio.”

  “No, don’t go,” Travis said dreamily. “So nice here in the sun. Let’s just chill for a minute.”

  Celeste smiled. His brown curls were falling over his forehead and his cheeks were flushed like a little boy’s. “I can’t, I have to go,” she said softly.

  To her surprise, Travis opened his eyes and heaved himself up. “Yeah, I should probably get back too.

  Dave’s going to come check up on me any minute.” He reached out and brushed some grass off Celeste’s rear.

  “I’ll walk you to your errand.” He turned and started heading across the golf course.

  Celeste’s hands went cold. She bounded after him.

  “Ah, Travis, wait,” she said, panting a little as she tried to keep up. “That’s okay. You don’t have to walk me. You should definitely get back. Dave’ll find you slacking off otherwise!” She tried to sound as casual as possible.

  Just then, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She

  whipped it out and shot a glance at the screen. Nick.

  She pressed mute and dropped it back in her pocket.

  They were almost back at the main building now. Celeste could see the swimmers in the pool, their bathing suits bright splashes of color against the turquoise water. Buzz-buzz. Her phone again. Travis glanced at her.

  “Why don’t you answer that?” he asked.

  “Oh, um, it’s probably a telemarketer or something,”

  Celeste fumbled. Travis wrinkled his forehead.

  “On a cell phone?”

  Buzz-buzz. Damn it, Nick! She flipped open the phone.

  “Hey, baby,” Nick’s voice said on the other end.

  Baby?!

  Celeste glanced at Travis. “Oh, hello, Mr. Juarez,” she said loudly.

  “Who’s Mr. Juarez?” Nick asked. “Are you bringing over the stuff I ordered?”

  Celeste gritted her teeth. “Of course, sir,” she said into the phone. “I’d be glad to recommend a few restaurants for your anniversary.”

  “Huh?” Nick said. “Are you whacked?”

  “Certainly, sir,” Celeste warbled. “I’ll have them for you by the end of the day.” She clicked her phone closed and mopped at the sweat trickling down her forehead.

  Travis stopped. They were next to the grounds shed.

  “Okay, so see you later?” he asked, leaning down to kiss her.

  “Definitely,” Celeste replied. She darted a quick glance around for any parental-figure types and then planted a lingering kiss on his mouth. Dave appeared at the screen door of the shed.

  “Trav!” He waved. “I need you to get on that weed-whacker, stat. All the edging on the main paths.”

  Travis nodded dutifully. He gave Celeste a squeeze and headed inside, letting the door bang shut behind him.

  Whew! Celeste took a deep breath as she hurried to the pool for water and towels. That could have gotten very ugly. She threw a few towels and a glass of water onto a tray (forget the toast, she wasn’t going to start making his breakfast) and hustled down the path to the Saunders villa, the Perrier slopping out of the glass with every step. She skirted the main building and headed through the palm grove. She was just rounding the bend when she spotted a tall, white-shirted figure puttering along the path, weed-whacker in hand.

  Travis! His name flashed in Celeste’s mind in big red letters. The figure ahead of her stopped to examine his machine and Celeste saw her chance. Still balancing the tray of towels and water, she jumped behind an azalea bush at the side of the path and crouched down. She peered through the skinny leaves in front of her. The dirt behind the bush smelled sour, and a mosquito buzzed up to investigate. Celeste swatted at her ear. A woman’s heels clicked down the path and Celeste glimpsed a pair of gold sandals going by. Not Travis, obviously. Where was he? Communing with his weed-whacker?

  Her right foot was going to sleep. Gingerly, Celeste tried to shift her cramped position. The mosquito bit her viciously on the lower back where her shirt had ridden up. She reached around to smack it but fell backwards onto the tray instead. “Shit!” Celeste whispered. The glass had tipped over, soaking the towels, which were now scattered with mulch. Not the most appealing setup, but then again, not the biggest of her worries right now.

  Just then, to her immense relief, Celeste heard the weed-whacker start up out on the path. The noise grew closer and after a minute she could see Travis’s size-fourteen New Balances coming slowly down the path as he guided the weed-whacker along the grass at the edge.

  The machine noise grew almost deafening, and Celeste wrinkled her face as Travis carefully guided the weed-whacker right along the grass by her azalea bush. She held her breath, despite the grass blades now spraying her face, and let it out only when he had moved on and the machine noise had faded to a safe distance. She rested her forehead on her knees. This kind of stress surely wasn’t good for her complexion.

  Celeste extracted herself and her disgusting tray from the bushes, trying not to fall over on her tingling right foot. She took a deep breath and balanced the tray on a pillar for a minute while she tried to smooth her now-wild braids with the palms of her hands. Whatever.

  Maybe Nick would lay off once he saw her looking like such a crazy lady.

  As she walked up the path to the Saunderses’ front door, she noted that the black Mercedes was gone from the driveway. Just deliver the empty water and the soaked towels and get out of here, she told herself. Thirty seconds. No more. She knocked carefully. There was no answer, but the door was ajar, so she cautiously pushed it open.

  “Hello?” she called, just in case Nick’s parents were there. “It’s—”

  “Back here!” Nick’s voice came from the back deck.

  Celeste made her way through the cool, airy rooms to the back. The guesthouse the Saunderses were in was the only one that came with its own private pool made totally of desert sandstone. One of the Pinyon

  bathrobes was thrown over a beach chair pushed askew on the deck. Celeste could see Nick’s figure bobbing in the turquoise water.

  “Hey!” he greeted her enthusiastically. He swam to the side of the pool and rested his tanned arms on the edges.

  “Hi,” Celeste said warily, as she set the tray down on a side table. “Here’s your stuff.”

  “Thanks,” Nick said, not even glancing at the tray. He stared up at her. His straight blond hair was plastered to his forehead and he wore a pair of baggy navy swimming trunks. In one clean motion, he hoisted himself out of the pool, the wiry muscles in his arms flexing, and stood in front of Celeste, dripping and panting. She couldn’t help notice that even though he was skinny, his abs and chest muscles were clearly defined and his shoulders were broad and strong looking. Celeste real
ized she was staring and looked away.

  “Well, I’m really busy,” she said, turning away, “so have a good swim and—”

  “Wait!” Nick said. Celeste turned back.

  “What?”

  “Don’t you want to go for a swim? My parents are gone all day and we could order lunch… .”

  Celeste had to consciously restrain herself from rolling her eyes. “Nick,” she said, as if talking to a kinder-gartener, “I’m working right now. That’s like a job, you know? Actually, maybe you don’t know.” It came out a little harsher than she intended and a faint frown crossed his face. “And shockingly,” she said, softening her tone,

  “I didn’t think to bring a bathing suit.”

  Nick smiled devilishly. His perfect teeth flashed in the sun and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. He stepped a little closer and Celeste caught a whiff of deodorant and warm skin. She felt her skin prickle at his nearness and inhaled sharply. “So what?” he said, grinning. “We don’t need suits… .”

  Celeste jerked her head back and suddenly realized how close they’d been standing. She stepped backwards, fast.

  Nick laughed. “Or we could just play Scrabble,” he said, collapsing gracefully onto a lounge chair. “Strip Scrabble.”

  Celeste gave him her dirtiest look and spun on her heel, marching through the empty guesthouse without looking back. She knew that if she did she’d see Nick staring after her with his nuclear-powered grin. “Nuclear”

  was also a good description for what Travis’s reaction would have been to that little conversation.

  Celeste stalked down the path, barely managing to fire a pleasant Pinyon-employee smile at an old lady tottering by with a walker. She blew air out of her nose like an elephant, trying to calm her pounding heart.

  As her heart rate slowed, she felt her phone vibrate.

  Damn it! He just never quit! Forget Dad’s warning. This was too much. Celeste grabbed the phone out of her pocket and flipped it open so hard she almost broke it off its hinges.

  “No!” she shouted. “No, I am not bringing over more towels! Or swimming with you. Or skinny-dipping. Not now or ever!”

  There was a moment’s silence on the other end.

  “Okay,” a voice said dubiously. “But are you sure about the skinny-dipping?”

  Celeste stopped walking. “Oh my God. Devon?”

  “Yeah,” Devon said. “Now will you go skinny-

  dipping with me?”

  Celeste’s knees felt weak and wobbly. “I’ve just had the worst half hour you can ever imagine,” she said, now walking very slowly, like an old, old lady.

  “Well, it’s about to get a little worse. You have to get over here ASAP. Travis is out back asleep and your dad was just in the office, asking where he was. He’s gone to look for him.”

  “Damn it! Distract him, do something!” The only

  thing worse than having Travis and Nick in the same place all summer would be not having Travis around at all. And while “sleeping on the job” wasn’t specifically on her father’s list of fireable offenses, Celeste was pretty sure it went without saying.

  “I can’t, he just left.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Celeste clicked her phone shut and broke into a run.

  Chapter Eight

  Celeste flew down the path to the main building, almost knocking over two of the sous-chefs wheeling a tower-ing pink-frosted cake toward one of the guesthouses.

  “Hey, Celeste!” one of them called after her, but she didn’t turn around.

  What was he thinking? she wondered as her deck shoes pounded the red sandstone. Now Travis would be fired and go back to the beach and she’d see him twice all summer! Or Travis would be fired and her dad would sue him for the golf cart money and he wouldn’t be able to pay it, so he’d have to go to jail instead of Arizona, and she’d still never see him. Or …

  Celeste skidded around the corner of the kitchen off the main building. Travis lay peacefully under the big tree, his arms stretched over his head and the cool green light from the leaves flickering over his face.

  “Travis!” Celeste hissed as loud as she could.

  “Wake up!”

  He opened his eyes slowly and smiled dreamily.

  “Celeste,” he mumbled. “You’re here. I was having a dream… . You were there. You were wearing this red silky thing … and cowboy boots.” He propped himself on his elbows. From behind her, Celeste heard the kitchen door bang.

  “Get up, get up, get up!” she whispered frantically, tugging at Travis’s hand. “My dad!”

  His eyes snapped open like window shades and he

  scrambled to his feet. “Your dad?” he said, whipping his head around. “Where?”

  “Here, now!” Celeste thrust the discarded weed-

  whacker into his hand and pressed the start button just as she heard her father’s voice from behind her.

  “Travis, I was just looking for you.”

  Celeste turned around. Travis was industriously

  whacking the grass around her feet. He straightened up, wiping his forehead as if he’d spent the last half hour trimming every blade of grass at Pinyon.

  “Hi, Dad,” Celeste said, wondering how her voice could sound so calm when her heart was still throwing itself wildly against the inside of her rib cage, like some sort of crazed hamster.

  “Hey, Mr. Tippen,” Travis said, breathing heavily.

  “Hello, Travis,” Celeste’s father answered, eyeing Travis’s grass-stained work boots and tucked-in polo shirt. He gave a tiny nod of approval that only Celeste caught. She smiled to herself.

  “I wanted to give you this.” Mr. Tippen extended a piece of paper. “I had Jeannette draw up a record of how many hours you’ve logged so far toward your debt.”

  “Cool. Thanks, Mr. Tippen.” Travis folded up the paper into a tiny square and stuck it in his pocket. Dad frowned faintly.

  “Are you going back to the office, Dad?” Celeste asked. He glanced down at the stack of papers in his hand.

  “Yes, I just came out to see how you were doing. I have a meeting with Solomon about the menu for the month—we’re switching over some of the entrees. Fresh fish has gone up exorbitantly at the market.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” she offered. She waved to

  Travis and started heading down the path with her father.

  As they strolled, Celeste cast a sideways glance at her father from under her eyelashes. “So, Travis hasn’t worked off the golf cart yet?” she asked after a minute.

  Her father snorted. “He’s got a ways to go on that one. If I were making him pay us in money instead of labor, it would take a lot longer than three months for him to earn enough.” Then his tone softened as he put his arm around his daughter. “I have to admit, though, he’s been a good worker. Dave says he’s really taken to mowing, even in this heat.” Her father glanced at her.

  “Maybe I’ve been a little hard about him in the past.”

  Celeste laughed. “A little? Maybe if you’re Genghis Khan. He really is a good guy, Daddy. I’ve been trying to tell you that all year.”

  Her father smiled and kissed her on the top of her head. “Well, we’ll see. The summer’s not over yet.” He swung the glass door to the main building open and disappeared inside. Celeste watched him go, and when the door had swung safely shut, she doubled back to the big tree.

  Travis was attacking the tall grass by the kitchen door with his back to her. She crept up behind him and smacked his butt.

  “Hey!” He whirled around.

  “Don’t turn the weed-whacker off,” she said quickly.

  “Dad’s still inside. But do you want to go for a swim tonight?” she asked. The engine noise and the odor from the kitchen Dumpster were making it hard to be seduc-tive, but she was doing her best.

  A grin split Travis’s face. “Do you even need to ask?”

  “Okay. Meet me at midnight at the pool gate. It’ll be totally empty at that hour.”


  Just then Celeste’s phone buzzed again. She glanced at it. Nick.

  Playfully, Travis craned his head. “Who’s calling, your boyfriend?” he teased. Thank God he couldn’t see the screen.

  “Oh yeah, right!” Celeste said quickly. She forced an idiotic little giggle. Travis gave her a strange look but leaned down and kissed her quickly.

  “See you tonight.”

  ✦ ✦ ✦

  Celeste felt good when she showed up at the pool gate that night, wearing her new H&M bikini under a loose cotton beach dress. She deserved a little fun after her day of insanity. But she could see Travis was in a rotten mood the minute he walked up. He grunted in response to her greeting, without kissing her, and then when went straight to the pool and dove in. Celeste followed. The icy blue water felt fantastic against her dusty, hot skin.

  She paddled over to the side, where Travis was resting his arms on the pool edge and gazing moodily out at the road, a sliver of which was just visible beyond the main gate. Celeste swam up behind him and softly ran her hand over the hard muscles in his back and shoulders.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He shook off her hand. “Nothing—I’m fine.” Almost angrily, he stroked to the other side of the pool. Celeste swam back and forth a little and then paddled over to the steps. She climbed up on the first one and sat down, looping her arms over her knees.

  Travis turned around. “Look, it’s just that Kevin told me today that the surf instructors at the beach are all hosting Derek Rodham next week.”

  Celeste must have looked blank because he burst out,

  “He’s like the biggest surfer on the West Coast! They get to surf with him and take a class. And I’m missing it because I’m stuck here in the desert!” He struck the water with his fist.

  “That sucks. I’m sorry,” Celeste said softly. To herself, she thought that Travis should just man up. It was his stupid prank that had gotten him here anyway. And besides, wasn’t he glad that she was here? “Anyway,” she said, pushing off the step and swimming over to him,

  “let’s forget about that. Give me a ride!” She jumped on his back.

  At first, he didn’t move. Then he grabbed her arms, held them around his neck, and dove under the water.