Don't Talk About Mickey

25 - Lord of the Thighs

A/N: Just want to say that this chapter is pretty explicit. Read at your own risk.

Carly opened her tired eyes. The sound of crashing waves roared through her ears, the vicious tide pulled at her legs. Panicked, she jolted to her feet and grabbed her towel to keep it from getting soaked more than it already was. It was just her luck to fall asleep on the beach and to be awakened by the dangerous rising tide.

  

Sebastian was nowhere in sight. Carly suspected as much, so she didn't sit around and wait for him, which was what he most likely wanted her to do. Instead, she trekked through the sand to the terrace and grabbed a comfy stool by the bar.  

The bartender, a young native, approached her with a smile. "What can I get you?" he asked, his Latin accent thick and heavy.

"Do you know what time it is?" Carly asked him.

He looked down at the knock-off Rolex wrapped around his wrist. "A little past ten."

So she had been asleep for thirty minutes to an hour. Thankfully, it wasn't long enough to have an unbearable sunburn. Maybe a little red on her cheeks, but she was sure the sunscreen kept her protected. Either way, the sun had left her drained and tired. She most definitely needed a drink.

 "In that case, I'll have a Cape Cod."

 "Coming right up."

As the bartender made himself busy with the drink, Carly glanced around the beautiful terrace. She was the only one present, except for a strikingly handsome young man sitting at a table next to an ivied column. He had an untouched, foamy beer in front of him as well as a Spanish newspaper. He tore himself away from an article, catching Carly in the act of staring.

Desperate to hide her reddening cheeks, Carly jolted her attention back to the bar where her drink was waiting for her. She took a sip, making a face at the stoutness of the vodka. It even would've made her mother cringe.

"Hey Carlos," a honeyed voice rang behind Carly's shoulder. It was newspaper boy. "Put that Cape Cod on my tab."

Carlos nodded and went to tapping on the touch screen computer.

"That's awfully nice of you," Carly said sincerely. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. I'm Riley, by the way."

"Carly."

"That's a pretty name," he said, taking the stool next to her. This time she was able to take a good look at him. He had almond-shaped hazel eyes, short blond hair, and a smile that could kill. He reminded her of Sam, but only by a smidge.

Riley placed his beer on a coaster that sat atop the bar. "How come you're here alone?"

Carly wasn't one to lay her hectic day on a complete and total stranger, and that kind of talk would only make the cute boy go away. "Everyone is off doing their own thing so I thought I'd do my own thing, too."

"I know exactly what you mean. My friends are off chasing girls, and whatnot."

Carly slyly grinned and stirred her drink with the little straw. "Isn't that what you're doing right now?"

"You could say that."

Over the next half hour, they drank and talked and exchanged little flirts. Carly learned that Riley was a twenty-year-old musician from Canada. He was on vacation with his band mates, who were doing a small tour around Middle America. They were somewhat big in their home country, which intrigued Carly just the tiniest bit.

"What's the name of your band?" Carly asked him.

"Lady Parts," he said.

"That's an unusual name," she said teasingly. "I'll be sure to look you guys up when I get home."