Trashed and Scattered

Peyton and Brian strolled along the busy streets of Huntington Beach. The closer they came to the waterfront highway, the more crowded the sidewalks became. They maneuvered around the bustling city, pausing only at the streetlights.
Brian couldn’t help but think back to the last time he’d enjoyed Peyton’s company in the sands of his hometown. A smile festered itself onto his face, despite his best efforts to hide it. Peyton noticed the delight written all over the guitarist’s expression and found herself mimicking it, for reasons unbeknownst to her.
“What’re you smiling about?” she asked him curiously as they stepped off the sidewalk and made their way across the street.
Brian tried his best to suffocate his embarrassment; the rose shade of his cheeks tucked conveniently behind his California tan.
“Nothing,” he lied poorly.
She cocked an eyebrow, “Mhm.”
“Maybe I just like your company,” Brian grinned down at the brunette by his side.
He was smug as shit to find her blushing. She didn’t strike him as the type to easily be made bashful, so he took it as the highest compliment that he’d ever received. Whatever interest had been blossoming within him about her was clearly reciprocated, even if just a little.
“I’m just here for the ocean,” she smirked, swallowing down her sentiment.
Brian laughed shallowly, “No better place to see it than from the pier. Have you been up there?”
“When I was a kid,” she shrugged. “But not since I’ve been back.”
“Well come on then,” he announced, wrapping his fingers around her arm to pull her in the other direction.
Surprising herself, Peyton didn’t flinch at the touch. Despite how hard she’d tried to escape the endless fear carved into her soul, she’d never been able to completely rid of the instinct her mother had taught her. Any sudden movements still caused Peyton to jump from her skin—but Brian’s touch hadn’t alerted her at all. The strangeness of the moment was hardly lost on her, and she dared herself to glance down as if she was able to see halos wrapped around each of Brian’s fingers.
But when he released her arm and stuffed his hand into his pocket, digging for cigarettes no doubt, she was still mulling over what had happened—or what hadn’t happened, more specifically.
“What?” Brian asked weirdly, sensing her gaze. “Did I overstep a boundary or something?”
She smiled, giving her head a light shake, “No, not at all.”
Brian let her overcompensated response sink deep into his ego. He was feeling pretty good about himself; his Brian Haner charm had clearly started to win her over through their pancakes. He hadn’t even had to pull out the Synyster Gates nonsense. Not that he was sure that would have worked on her anyway.
“I love the ocean,” Brian breathed, pulling the salt water scent up into his brain.
Peyton nodded, keeping her eyes set on the horizon as they stepped onto the concrete pier, “I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until the night I got back.”
“Yeah?” Brian pressed casually.
“Yeah,” she smiled. “I came down here to watch the sunset the night I got in. Seemed like something worth seeing.”
Brian smiled back, “You’re not wrong.”
“Is that lame?” she half-laughed. “Coming down here to watch the sunset by myself?”
“Fuck no!” Brian assured her. “I do it far more often than I care to admit. Though, I live just up the highway so…it isn’t exactly a far jaunt for me.”
Peyton was intrigued, “You live at the beach?”
“Across from the beach,” he corrected her lightly. “Which is about as close as you’ll get without moving into the Pacific Coast Condos.”
“That’s where I was!” Peyton beamed, pointing down the shore to their right to the massive white condominium plex sprawled out into the sand.
It was the only apartment building that was legitimately ocean-front in all of Huntington Beach. Peyton had never considered living in a condo on the beach, but given how beautiful the views were from the beach sat out before it, she thought it might be a nice place to live. Scenic, at the very least.
“That’s a good spot,” Brian smirked.
Their conversation lulled with comfort as they neared two shops positioned parallel to one another. Tourists ducked in and out from the small shops, toting plastic bags in their hands. Peyton wondered if she was a tourist—though she’d hailed from Huntington originally, this was hardly her home anymore. Did that, then, make her a tourist? She wasn’t a big fan of tourists. Especially in New York; they were always muddying up the streets and crowding the subways. Tourists are notoriously bad for being lost.
Peyton hated to be lost.
“Looking for some HB swag?” Brian grinned, following Peyton’s gaze to the gift shop.
She laughed, “No.”
“Liar,” Brian gasped. “You’re totally going to go and drop all of your money on HB gear.”
Peyton shook her head, “No, I swear to god—”
“You’re so lame,” Brian teased. “But a little lameness never hurt anyone.”
Before Peyton could fully object, Brian was speed-walking ahead and ducking into a shop. She would have normally been put off by the forceful edge he’d taken; she hated to be dominated, playfully or otherwise. But for whatever reason, she was following quickly on his heels. She chalked it up to the shit-eating grin stapled to his face; the happy glimmer in his eyes.
The shop was packed full of all things Huntington Beach. She followed Brian around to the back, where walls of shirts hung proudly on display. Brian immediately got to work digging through the selection, pausing over a baseball tee with Surf City scrawled across the front.
“I thought we were here for me,” Peyton noted smugly.
Brian shrugged, “You can never have too much HB shit.”
“Oh, I see,” Peyton moaned slowly.
“See what?”
She snickered, shrugging as she slipped passed him and began to peruse the display of tank tops.
“See what?” Brian pressed, a hint of amusement hanging over his lips.
Peyton glanced over her shoulder with a pointed stare, “You’re lame too.”
“I’m not lame!” Brian protested with a sharp laugh.
“It’s okay, Brian,” she assured him theatrically. “Don’t let your lameness dictate who you want to be. There’s still time to fix it.”
“What the fuck,” Brian stated with a frustrated pout.
Peyton snatched a tank from the rack and held it up for Brian’s approval. He nodded.
As she hung the shirt over her folded arm, she grinned up at him, “A little lameness never hurt anyone.”
Brian bit his tongue.
“We can be lame together,” Peyton suggested flirtatiously, prancing off before Brian had a chance to shut her down.
Not that he would have. Not for a second.
He was floored by her wit; enthralled by her enchanting way of floating from place to place. He’d met his match as far as he was concerned. She was a worthy adversary and maybe even an attainable friend. He wouldn’t mind spending his time with her, one way or another.
Peyton tried her best to keep her cool. It took everything she had not to throw herself at the fit guitarist, in the name of lust or love or something in between. It was too soon to tell, so for now she’d decided it was simply interest. He appealed to her in a way she hadn’t been inspired in quite some time. She found herself trying to figure out what it was about him that seemed to have her under such a spell.
Was it those deep doe eyes? The high cheekbones? His strong shoulders or tattooed arms? Was it purely physical? Lord knows he had many physical attributes to consider—she was fanning herself at the imaginative side of her mind that had taken a dive to his lower half.
“Aw,” Brian cooed from behind her. “Poor little New Yorker can’t stand the California heat?”
There was part of it, Peyton thought for sure. His smug attitude. It wasn’t entirely genuine, which was maybe what had her so entranced. He was deeper than he let on; he was caring and affectionate, of that she was sure. He’d been so willing to be understanding of all things Jimmy—the way he looked at her made her feel as thought she was made of glass.
She didn’t have the balls to tell Brian she’d been overwhelmed by heat from her imagination. But her eyes traipsed down from his head to his toes and she knew her mind wasn’t betraying her. There was no way this man wasn’t packing underneath all that confidence.
Stop that, she instructed herself sternly, dropping her waving hand back to by her side.
“I’m not accustomed to living in hell,” Peyton retorted with a smile. “You must be part demon to tolerate this shit year-round.”
He laughed, “It’s fall and people are walking around in shorts. What’s not to love about that?”
“The humidity,” was all she could think to respond with.
She pulled at the sleeves of a shirt, considering adding it to her closet. She’d always loved baseball tees but hadn’t managed to accumulate very many.
“Cute?” Peyton asked Brian like he was one of her girlfriends.
He tried not to laugh, “Did you just ask me if that shirt is cute?”
“Yeah,” she shrugged. “Is it?”
He furrowed his brows at her. She tried not to drown in those deep brown eyes.
“Let me rephrase, since you’re obviously not comfortable with the word cute,” she smirked. “Would this look okay on me?”
“You’d look good in anything,” he replied without thinking.
His eyes widened in a flash as he realized he’d temporarily lost his cool. Peyton grinned up at him, soaking up the accidental compliment with grace. She simply nodded and pulled the shirt from the rack, adding it to the growing pile draped over her arm.
“Are you buying the whole store or what?” Brian asked, keen to work out from the hole he’d stepped into.
Peyton shrugged a bit, running her fingers along a display of keychains. Each one sparkled in the light, jingling like abstract wind chimes beneath her touch. She happily snatched one up and clutched it deep into her palm.
“A keychain?” Brian asked flatly. “Seriously?’
Peyton snickered, “Dude. Are you going to just follow me around and antagonize me all afternoon?”
“Maybe,” he grinned.
“Let me see your keys,” she instructed firmly, holding out her free hand.
He took a half a step backward, “No!”
“Let me see your keys,” she insisted.
“Why?” he whined.
“Brian.”
Something about the feel of his name slipping from her lips was like pure heroin. It coursed through his veins, offering up a sweet and immediate rush. That pesky risk of addiction followed soon after. For whatever reason, her coaxing was enough that he was digging his keys from his pocket and plunking them into her open palm.
She inspected them closely. He didn’t keep many keychains, figuring they were always in the way. The weight probably wasn’t good for the ignition, he’d always thought.
“Vegas?” she asked lowly, one eyebrow cocked with condescension.
He smiled, “I fucking love Vegas.”
“No one loves Vegas,” she corrected him, appalled at the sheer lacking of cutesy chains in her hand. “And you need a new keychain.”
“No, I don’t,” he argued simply. “What I do need is a new beer koozie.”
He gestured for her to return his keys, which she did but under duress. Once he was turned around, finding himself a new coat for his beers, Peyton happily picked out a new commemorative ring for him. She’d collected keychains since she was twelve. Anywhere she went, she was sure to pick one up as a souvenir. It seemed only right that she purchase herself something from Surf City; it was her hometown, after all. That little realization unnerved her for a quick second. She quickly regrouped.
Once both adults had effectively gone wild with their selections, they paid for their new ‘swag’ and stepped back out into the California sun. They strolled along until they hit a lone cart, an old and slightly decrepit man selling ice cream by the cone—or bowl.
“Indulge with me?” Brian asked, letting that twinkle in his eye shine bright before plopping his sunglasses back down as a veil.
Peyton could never resist the sweet temptation of frozen ice. They shared a bowl, which Peyton tallied as the second time Brian had opted to share her food. Whatever penchant she was harboring, she was sure then that he was harboring one too. He was far too eager to share her germs for someone without interest.
They leaned against the rail at the farthest end of the pier, staring out into the endless sea. Peyton had never felt so small in her entire life. Her attention moved to the left as a surfer climbed a wave and rode it back to shore. Surfing had always impressed her.
“Wow,” she muttered in disbelief under her breath.
The amount of balance it must take to surf baffled Peyton’s brain. She was notorious for tripping over her own feet; slipping on banana peels and all that.
Brian’s ears perked up and he subtly searched for the origin of her amusement. His gaze found a surfer just in time as they bailed atop a wave and went plunging into the crashing blue. Peyton’s light laughter was a dead giveaway she’d been watching, too.
“Have you ever been surfing?” he asked her curiously.
She shook her head, turning around long enough to pull another spoonful of chocolate chip cookie dough from the bowl.
“Never.”
“Why not?” Brian pressed. “You’re a California native.”
“Mm,” Peyton considered, swallowing down her latest bite. “I was still a kid when I left California. And New Yorkers aren’t really the surfing type…So maybe it’s a lack of opportunity. Or that I’m a total klutz. It’s probably a bit of both.”
“I could teach you,” Brian suggested casually. “If you want.”
Peyton smirked, “That’s three times now that you’ve tried to step into my life.”
Brian’s immediate reaction was to get defensive. His gaze shifted as his forehead wrinkled from the attention he’d accidentally drawn.
“I’m not criticizing,” Peyton rushed in a panic, hands up by her chest. “I’m just starting to feel like a bit of a twat…. I don’t think I’ve actually taken you up on anything you’ve offered.”
Brian didn’t know what to say, so he opted to say nothing at all. He spooned another mouthful of sugar into his mouth to keep from saying something stupid. He was unequivocally nervous around this creature.
“You surf?” she tried then, feeling instantly embarrassed.
He nodded.
“Would you really teach me?” she asked quietly.
She wasn’t sure if her sudden interest was peaked because of the chance to spend designated time with Brian or if she was trying to smooth over her own accidental outburst.
“Sure,” he shrugged.
“I’d love that,” she smiled, reigniting the flame Brian had defensively snuffed out.
Brian smiled back, pointing to her with his spoon, “It’s a date.”
They loitered around the pier for a while longer, watching the surfers below tumble to their deaths. Some were successful, and rode the waves all the way to the sandy shores. The beach was absolutely cluttered by time Brian and Peyton made their way down.
“Lend a hand?” Peyton asked cheekily, giving the towel she was holding like a curtain a subtle shake.
Brian snickered but obliged her no less.
Behind the safety of her towel, Peyton slipped quickly from her clothes and into the bikini she’d tossed into her bag earlier that morning. Giving Brian the okay, she pulled her towel back and laid it down into the sand—a bit closer to Brian’s than was typical or necessary.
They stretched out, letting the rays of the sun sink into their skin. Brian’s company was nothing short of comfortable. There was very little awkwardness that usually accompanied new friendships—she felt somehow like she’d known him forever. The way that she knew Jimmy. There was an undeniable familiarity, and it was one that she clung to with a bit of hope.
After just fifteen minutes in the sun, Brian had a genius idea.
“I can hear your skin burning,” he told her with a sly grin.
She laughed into the sky, “No you cannot.”
“I can,” he insisted. “You’re turning into a fucking lobster right before my eyes.”
Against her better judgement, she let her gaze fall along her limbs. There wasn’t a hint of red to be seen.
“Sit up,” he told her, reaching back into his bag and pulling a bottle of lotion from within.
Peyton had absolutely no sense of objection. She greedily basked in the opportunity to graze beneath Brian’s fingertips, greedily soaking in his attention. She did as he said and spun around, pulling her hair away from her back.
Brian laughed as she winced from the cold lotion, watching her skin tingle with goosebumps as he smoothed the cream across her skin.
And then he found Wile E Coyote staring back at him.
It was like someone had punched him right in the gut. The eyes of the cartoon coyote seemed to bore right down into Brian’s soul; reminding him just who he was touching. Who he’d been mentally undressing all day long. Who he’d been getting entirely too comfortable with.
Peyton could feel Brian tighten up.
“Are my scales showing or something?” Peyton asked, peering over her shoulder at him.
He shook his head, doing his best to release his clenched jaw. The sheer amount of guilt that washed over him was nearly enough to bring him to his knees.
“I was just checking out your Wile E Coyote tat,” he told her sharply.
Peyton froze. Every fiber in every muscle in her entire body seized up. She wasn’t sure how much to explain; how much was owed. What was a meaningful memento to her and a point to prove with Jimmy, was now a thorn in Brian’s paw. A thorn that had grown from the vine of her past; unwilling to release her from its thistle grip.
As Brian’s hands finished their work, he pulled them back to himself. Peyton slowly spun herself around to face him, reluctant to show just how nervous she was.
“It isn’t the way it seems,” Peyton offered uncertainly.
Brian shrugged, “It’s a Jimmy tattoo, right?”
“Mmm…no,” Peyton replied slowly.
Brian’s face flinched.
“Yes and no,” Peyton sighed. “It’s a Wiley tattoo…Not Jimmy. I know you don’t get it, but there is a difference.”
Brian opened his mouth to explain that Peyton hardly owed him an explanation. He wasn’t her keeper and she wasn’t his anything. She could pine after Jimmy all she wanted, it was no skin off his back.
“Listen,” Peyton breathed. “I don’t want you to think that I’m harboring some weird idolization of Jimmy…because I’m not. This tattoo…” she reached back to run her fingers over top it. “It was supposed to be in memory of someone who meant a lot to me…Someone I never thought I’d see again. I’ve had it since I was sixteen.”
“Sixteen?” Brian caught.
She laughed, “Yeah. I sweet-talked my way into the chair. Please don’t read too far into it, okay?”
Brian decided then to be bold, “It shouldn’t matter what I think.”
“Maybe not,” Peyton considered. “But it does. I guess I sort of care what you think.”
Their eyes met from behind respective sepia toned lenses.
“Why’s that?” Brian dared.
She shrugged, “Don’t know.”
He was willing to accept the partial explanation. He was sure there was more to it; more to all of it. But if Peyton was willing to deny it and downplay every ounce of her connection to Jimmy, why shouldn’t he? Jimmy had left, he reminded himself. Jimmy had abandoned the opportunity to soak up the sun with the angel sat beside him.
“I think it’s,” Brian paused to grin, “cute.”
Peyton laughed lightly, ease rushing over her once more.
“Turn around,” she instructed him. “I can hear your skin burning.”
Brian objected with a roll of his eyes, “I don’t have weak New Yorker blood. I’m a Californian. We don’t burn.”
“I don’t have New Yorker blood,” Peyton informed him, climbing to her feet and stepping around to Brian’s back. “I have Californian blood.”
She leaned over him to grab the bottle still laying next to his thigh.
“But you were burning,” he smirked. “So, it must have morphed out.”
“I was not burning,” Peyton groaned playfully, smearing cream onto Brian’s muscular back.
She was in her prime as she ran her fingers atop his skin.
He scoffed, “Then why could I hear your skin burning?”
She grinned, leaning closer to him and letting her lips linger just inches from his ear.
“Same reason I could hear yours burning,” she purred.
Brian bit at every ounce of desire that crashed inside of him like a tidal wave. Self control.
“And what’s that?” he dared coyly.
Peyton pulled back, rubbing the rest of the lotion into Brian’s skin. She wasn’t going to give it up that easily; half the fun was in the game. And Brian looked like he could be a pretty good time.
“Let’s go wash this shit off,” Peyton snickered as she took off in a run toward the ocean.
When she realized Brian had trailed behind, she turned around and threw her arms out by her sides.
“Come on, Haner! What are you waiting for?”
He let himself smile, flirting with the danger line. Throwing Jimmy aside, he climbed to his feet and took off after the brunette beauty dipping her toes into the sea.

Notes

xx